Pentecost Sunday 2020

Mass during the Day
Lectionary: 63

On the last and greatest day of the feast, Jesus stood up and exclaimed,
"Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink. As Scripture says:

Rivers of living water will flow from within him who believes in me."

He said this in reference to the Spirit
that those who came to believe in him were to receive. There was, of course, no Spirit yet, because Jesus had not yet been glorified.

Today I lead this essay with the gospel selection for the Pentecost Vigil Mass. In this passage from the Gospel of Saint John we hear Jesus’ promise to give rivers of living water to those who believe in him. Our New American Bible Revised Edition (NABRE) provides four scripture links to illuminate this one. Two are from the Prophets Isaiah and Ezekiel: and two from the Gospel of John

1. Isaiah 12:3; With joy you will draw water from the fountains of salvation
2. Ezekiel 47:1. Then he brought me back to the entrance of the temple, and there! I saw water flowing out from under the threshold of the temple toward the east, for the front of the temple faced east. The water flowed out toward the right side of the temple to the south of the altar.
3. John 4:10, 14; [From Jesus conversation with the Woman at the Well:]
   Jesus answered and said to her, “If you knew the gift of God and who is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.”
   The woman said to him, “Sir, you do not even have a bucket and the well is deep; where then can you get this living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us this well and drank from it himself with his children and his flocks?”
   Jesus answered and said to her, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again; but whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst; the water I shall give will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.
4. John 19:34; From the Passion Narrative:
   …but one soldier thrust his lance into his side, and immediately blood and water flowed out.

Although we often imagine the Holy Spirit as a dove, wind, or tongues of flame, water is also a powerful and important symbol of the third person of the Holy Trinity. There is no life without water, and yet water comes to us in so many forms: liquid, gas, and solid. Its biological functions are beyond counting, not to mention its uses as a tool. Although it is essential to life, it readily destroys life by storms, flooding, and drowning. Cities form around major sources of water, and the same cities vanish when the water disappears. Wars have been and will be fought over water.

The Holy Spirit is like water in that we perish without it. Uninspired, we wither and die like dead branches off a vine. With the Psalmist (42) we sing,

As the deer longs for streams of water, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, the living God. When can I enter and see the face of God?

And Psalm 63 insists: “O God, you are my God— it is you I seek! For you my body yearns; for you my soul thirsts, In a land parched, lifeless, and without water.”

We celebrate Pentecost as the birthday of the Church and the great climax to the Easter Season. Saint Luke described this remarkable event in Jerusalem, when the disciples heard a rushing wind and tongues of flame appeared over their heads.

Saint John gives us water as another symbol of the Holy Spirit, and he tells us of Jesus’ gift of the Spirit. which could not come unless he were crucified: 

Bowing his head, he handed over the spirit. (19:30)

When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the holy Spirit….” (20:22)

If you’ve ever swam in the ocean or been caught up in river rapids you know the overwhelming power of water. It carried your helpless, flailing body where it willed, and you had little to say about it. The Holy Spirit comes to us as a healing force which is more compelling than our preferences, desires, and needs. It is a “power greater than myself” which saves me from myself.

As we face the now-familiar epidemics of drug abuse, alcoholism, and suicide; and are suddenly confronted by a viral pandemic coupled with economic collapse and its ramifications, we ask the Lord to, “Send forth your Spirit and renew the face of the earth.”

Saturday of the Seventh Week of Easter

Lectionary: 302

It is this disciple who testifies to these things
and has written them, and we know that his testimony is true. There are also many other things that Jesus did, but if these were to be described individually, I do not think the whole world would contain the books that would be written.


With these words the Gospel of Saint John ends, again. The stories of Jesus directing the fishermen, sharing breakfast with them, and then quietly testing Saint Peter were added to the Gospel, an epilogue. This additional text faithfully mirrors the theme of "witness" which we have seen throughout the Gospel. The role of the disciples was to see the signs and testify to what they had seen. If, by the time of this writing, the last of the eyewitnesses have died, the Church will continue to bear witness to what they saw. Many generations later, you and I testify because we are of the same community. I can say, "We saw him; we ate with him; we touched his hands!" with complete confidence although I am born and baptized many generations later. Their Spirit is my Spirit, and the Spirit of generations a thousand years hence. 
When the spiritual asks, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" I affirm it absolutely. I remember that day better than I remember yesterday. I was there when they crucified him, and when they laid him in the tomb, and when they rolled away the stone. 
In our fellowship, "I" is not a terribly important word. After I have said, "I believe in one God the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth...." I have taken my place in the congregation and belong to the assembly. 
We witness the Gospel most importantly by attending the Mass. Every Mass is directed "to the Father, through the Son, and in the Holy Spirit." Taking part in that sacrifice, we offer the Crucified Lord Jesus as he offers himself. We are witnesses once again of his Sacred Presence, from his Eternal Existence -- "In the beginning was the Word..." -- through his brief ministry in Judea -- "and the word became flesh and dwelt among us..." -- to his Coming Again in Glory. 
Our daily prayers are also a witness, both in solitude and with our loved ones. His Spirit speaks through us when we pray to the Father, offering Himself and us as sacrificial gifts.
Rising from prayer, we go out to "the world" to testify by our behavior to the Real Presence of Jesus. Our good works, patience, hospitality, and dedication demonstrate the Presence of God in our world. 
Anyone who knows us might testify to God's presence in their world. When they do so they "come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God." And they "have life in his name." 

Friday of the Seventh Week of Easter

Lectionary: 301

After Jesus had revealed himself to his disciples and eaten breakfast with them,
he said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?”
Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”
Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.”


On this day, one hundred years ago, Giovanni Battista Enrico Antonio Maria Montini was ordained to the priesthood. Well connected by family and patrons, and extraordinarily talented, he advanced in the elite world of Rome and the Vatican. If the skuttlebutt I heard is correct, the papal conclave of 1958 chose the elderly Angelo Roncalli with the expectation he would not live long. Monsignor Montini would join the college of cardinals, and become John XXIII's successor. Montini was elected on June 3, 1963 and took the "throne name," Paul VI, in honor of Saint Paul.
By a happy coincidence, today's gospel concerning a private conversation between the Risen Lord and Saint Peter, befits the optional memorial of a pope. A pastor's first qualification must be his unqualified love of God. 
Pope Paul VI did not have the public charm of his predecessor or his successor, John Paul II. But he had vision, experience of the Vatican's byzantine ways, and the political skills to promote the Second Vatican Council's agenda. He is rightly honored as a saint for the reforms that were long overdue. Few of today's children can imagine the ornate vestments and elaborate ceremonies this pope dismissed. 
In the United States, and perhaps much of the world, Pope Paul VI is most often remembered for the controversial encyclical, Humanae Vitae, in which he reiterated the Church's traditional teaching opposing artificial means of birth control. 
Another millennium may pass before humankind admires his courage and insight. A world dominated by the ideologies of personal liberty and capitalism, which habitually disrespects the sacred mystery of human reproduction, cannot appreciate the freedom which today's saint defended. It's ironic that they despise controlling persons, shun GMOs, and celebrate natural foods but press chemical means of birth control upon young women. 
Meanwhile, the human being is rapidly evolving as our bodies are accidentally invaded by manufactured chemicals and intentionally altered by alien implants. No one can imagine where this evolution will lead. Only an optimist with little understanding of Original Sin could suppose it's for the best. Dystopian prophecies abound; I know of few utopian expectations. 
As a chaplain in the Louisville VA hospital, I meet many Catholic men and women who have forgotten, or never knew, the beauty of marriage. Many were raised in violent, alcoholic homes. They have suffered the spiritual distress of chemical abuse and are enchanted with guns and white supremacy. The marriage of heaven and earth which is Jesus and his Church means nothing to them. 
I can only pray that the the Sacrament of the Sick, which I offer as if the VA were a field hospital, might inspire them to turn back to the Church and her teachings. Perhaps the Sign of the Cross, the laying of my hand on their heads, the anointing with oil on their foreheads and hands, and the Our Father will remind them of their sacred human bodies with its mysteries. 
Pope Paul VI had seen two world wars and several minor ones. He knew what "technological progress" could do to human bodies. He envisioned a world where human progress includes spiritual wellbeing, education and opportunity for the poor, and honor for the integrity of every person. Technological progress is nothing more than window dressing if it does not promote human dignity, prosperity and security for everyone, and peaceful ways to reconcile differences. 

Thursday of the Seventh Week of Easter

A tree swallow works
the lake at Mount Saint Francis

Lectionary: 300

The dispute was so serious that the commander, afraid that Paul would be torn to pieces by them, ordered his troops to go down and rescue Paul from their midst and take him into the compound. The following night the Lord stood by him and said, “Take courage. For just as you have borne witness to my cause in Jerusalem, so you must also bear witness in Rome.”


In today's gospel, from John 17, we hear the Lord pray for us: 

Father, they are your gift to me.I wish that where I am they also may be with me,that they may see my glory that you gave me,because you loved me before the foundation of the world.

His prayer is apparently answered as we find Saint Paul in the thick of trouble. That's where Jesus was on that night before he died; so that's where Paul should be on his way to Rome. That's where we should be in the controversies of our time. 
The problem for many of us when we get into an argument, we'd like to be dead certain we are right! But controversies don't work that way. The skies almost never open up to allow a dove to drop down and assure us and everyone else, "This is the Truth! Listen to this argument!"  
We may be inspired to speak but that inspiration may feel like anger or assurance. It may sound like arrogance or humility. Employers might describe whistle-blowers as "disgruntled." Much depends upon who hears it, a friend or a foe. 
The earliest martyrs, it seems, died for testifying to the resurrection of Jesus or his Holy Name. Later martyrs die for other reasons: Saint Thomas Becket died for defending the Church's political power; Saint Thomas Moore, for refusing to countenance Henry VIII's divorce and remarriage; Saint Charles Lwanga, for protecting boys against a pedophile king; and Saint Maximilian Kolbe, for being a priest. Each died for speaking the truth to power. All witnessed to the Word made Flesh in a complicated world. 
As Christians address the epidemics of Covid-19, alcoholism, drug abuse, poverty, violence, climate change, income gap, illiteracy, and suicide we will meet people who deny there is any problem! "It's a liberal thing!" they sneer, as if their sneering can disprove the truth. Certainly their sneering will draw many away from the Lord. 
But those who speak the truth are gifts from the Father to the Son. They will be with him to see his glory, because they were loved before the foundation of the world.

Wednesday of the Seventh Week of Easter

Lectionary: 299

I gave them your word, and the world hated them, because they do not belong to the world any more than I belong to the world.
I do not ask that you take them out of the world but that you keep them from the Evil One. They do not belong to the world
any more than I belong to the world.
Consecrate them in the truth.

Christians live in the world but are not of the world. Our home is elsewhere. Spiritual descendants of the Jews, we have inherited the blessing of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, which is for the nations. We have also received their displacement. Scattered by the invading armies of Assyria and Babylon in the eighth and six centuries BCE, Jews may look to Jerusalem as their ancestral city and Israel as their nation, but they belong to the whole world. As do Christians.

If any Christians suppose they should be exempt from suffering, this prayer disabuses them. Jesus has not asked that we be taken out of the world. Oppressed by disease, famine, bankruptcy, inflation, racism, or war, we pray for relief like anyone else. We might enjoy Eddy Arnold’s sentimental “Make the World Go away,” but that is not our prayer.

As Jesus was driven with Mary and Joseph out of Bethlehem and into the Egypt so are God’s elect sometimes deprived of statehood and surrendered to the mercy of strangers. It’s not their fault. Blame will be aimed in every direction and especially at God. But we live in the Anthropocene Age now, and God did not create this world.

Jesus prays that we be consecrated in the truth. The Spirit of God is neither pessimistic nor optimistic; it shows reality clearly and directly. Learning obedience through suffering, we don't ask the Internet to show us the world we want to see. We ask for Truth. 

If God's Spirit finds a silver lining on every cloud it does not minimize the dark enormity of the cloud. Those who ponder the crucifixion of Jesus and survive the hopelessness of Holy Saturday, learn to expect blessings. But they cannot describe their form. They are as surprised as Adam when he first gazed upon Eve, or Mary Magdalene when she saw the gardener. 

"All things will be well, and all manner of things will be well!" said Julian of Norwich. We have her confidence God. 

Memorial of Saint Philip Neri, priest

Lectionary: 298

“Father, the hour has come. 
Give glory to your son, so that your son may glorify you, 
just as you gave him authority over all people, so that your son may give eternal life to all you gave him.

“When, in the course of human events, it becomes necessary…” So begins one of the most important documents in human history. There are points in time of such moment they can be ignored only at one’s peril. As Ecclesiastes teaches us,

There is an appointed time for everything,

and a time for every affair under the heavens.

The Gospel of Saint John has signaled the coming of this hour several times. Twice, Jesus might have been arrested but his hour had not yet come. (John 7:20 & 8:30) As he reclined at table with his disciples during the Last Supper, “Jesus knew that his hour had come to pass from this world to the Father.”

The Gospel of Saint John is heavy with a sense of this opportune time within the cosmic awareness of eternity. It begins with, “In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God, and the word was God.” The end of time appears also in that first verse of John 13: “He loved his own in the world and he loved them to the end.”

Sinful as we are, we sometimes wish there were no time. The fictional Stephen Daedalus, in James Joyce’s Ulysses, famously declares, “History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake,” When things are just right, we might wish time could stop right here, right now. “Don’t change anything!” we say to one another. We cannot escape time, neither its necessity nor its destruction. 

Human beings, unlike other animals, situate ourselves within time. We want to remember our personal experience. We research our family genealogies; study the history of tribes, races, and nations; and ponder geologic and astronomical history.

We also plan the future. We warn our children, “While you’re rapping and napping, someone else is mapping your future.” There are few anxieties worse than not knowing what will happen next. Some people commit suicide when their future seems to disappear.

Our faith proves its worth as we embrace the hard wood of time's passing. It assures us the future is bright; our destiny is bliss in God’s presence.

Jesus begins his prayer with an enormous awareness of This Moment: “Father, the hour has come.”

The Catholic Church annually celebrates That Hour with the Triduum, a four-day rite that begins on Holy Thursday and concludes on Easter Sunday. We begin with the Sign of the Cross on Thursday evening, and do not sign again until we receive the presider’s blessing at the end of Sunday Mass.

Finally, we must wonder, “What happens in that singular hour?” Our anticipation began with Jesus' words to his mother, "...my hour has not yet come." John 19:27 answers, “Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.” In this long-awaited moment of our salvation, the Church is born. We live within that hour as we embrace our Mother Mary and one another in a community of prayer.

Monday of the Seventh Week of Easter

Lectionary: 297

…I am not alone, because the Father is with me.

I have told you this so that you might have peace in me. In the world you will have trouble, but take courage, I have conquered the world.”

Today’s gospel reading concludes the Last Supper discourse as Jesus turns his eyes upward and his attention to the Father. His “priestly prayer” will follow in John 17. In these last verses we hear his mysterious words, “I am not alone because the Father is with me.”

I have often heard desperately lonely people make that remark about "God." Isolated by poor socialization skills; hurt and troubled by rejection; sometimes protecting crippling habits of alcoholism or drug abuse; they hide behind that false assurance. Their claim to faith gives them little confidence when they need to accept the friendship and support of others.

Jesus is also isolated as he advances toward Calvary. His faith is an attitude, a habit, a posture that directs all his being toward the Father. It Is not an emotion; it is not necessarily accompanied by a feeling of confidence. Even as he resolutely carries his cross, his human mind can ask, “Why have you abandoned me?” 

We should understand this about the Holy Trinity: the Son is not the Father; the Father is not the Son. Although they are of one mind and heart and will, there is nonetheless an Otherness in God, a darkness which is filled by the light of faith and hope and love. We see that mystery revealed as Jesus is lifted up, a sacrificial offering to the Father. He is held aloft by love. Artists have always known that as they fixed the corpus to the cross. Iron nails in flesh and sinew could not hold such a weight.

“I have told you this so that you might have peace in me.”

In our search for God we turn to Jesus. He alone leads us to the Father. As Saint Peter said, “There is no salvation through anyone else, nor is there any other name under heaven given to the human race by which we are to be saved.” As he is about to step out into the darkness of Gethsemane, we also rise to follow him.

“In the world you will have trouble,
but take courage, I have conquered the world.”

We too walk in the dark by faith and not by sight, with our confidence in Jesus who has  gone ahead of us. He has conquered the world, sin, and death – and won our hearts.

The Ascension of the Lord

Lectionary: 58

Then Jesus approached and said to them,

“All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations,

In conversation with a psych patient in the hospital, I was reminded of the loneliness of Americans. Believing as we do, that by some mysterious process every individual will know what is best for themself, and will consistently choose that best; and that, in any case, no one can decide for someone else; we leave a lot of people isolated, alone, and desperate. Many cannot handle the distress and suffer mental illness. Some kill themselves.

As the patient explained his plan to be happy in solitude, I said, “But we’re still here!” There was no room for us in his plan -- but we’re still here. And he – like it or not -- has to deal with us.

Our faith tells us, when Jesus rose from the dead, “He conquered death. Death has no more power over him.”  (Romans 6:9)

But we like death; we use it frequently to take care of troublesome persons. Criminals, the unwanted unborn, enemies, and ourselves. We have developed elaborate ways to destroy one another, ranging from nuclear weapons to medically assisted suicide. Here in the United States, for a small sum, you can buy a handgun and kill obnoxious people. (They’re most often used by white men on themselves.) We also have an intellectual infrastructure to justify our use of death, from just war theory to equal rights for women.

When Jesus conquered death, he dismantled the entire operation;

We know that Christ, raised from the dead, dies no more; death no longer has power over him. As to his death, he died to sin once and for all; as to his life, he lives for God.

The power Jesus claims in today’s gospel is that power to remain in our lives despite death. He doesn’t go away even when we crucify him. It is a simple power, like gravity, which controls so much of our lives although we usually forget about it. Jesus has authority to remain with us in good times and bad, whether we want him or not. He has promised, “I will be with you,” and he intends to keep that promise.

Filled with his Spirit, we do as the Lord does. And so, the Apostle adds, “...you too must think of yourselves as [being] dead to sin and living for God in Christ Jesus.”

Dead to sin, we remain here for one another. “Making disciples of all nations” begins with presenting ourselves to people wherever they might be. We come as evangelists and preachers, as nurses and doctors, as teachers and counselors. We come as friends, family, neighbors, and coworkers to honor the dignity of every person. We are powerful because we are present, clear-eyed, attentive, alert and alive. Living stones held in place by the gravity of God's love, we remain where God has sent us, a blessing to the nations. 

Saturday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Lectionary: 296

“Amen, amen, I say to you, whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you. Until now you have not asked anything in my name; ask and you will receive, so that your joy may be complete."


Concerning biblical passages about petitions, I suppose, most of us think immediately  of Matthew 7:7 --
Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.
This and the passage from Saint John are very similar and, perhaps, amount to the same thing. Jesus assures us we may and should ask for whatever we need. 
In his book about the killing of Osama Bin Laden, No Easy Day, Matt Bissonnette describes his training, experience, and preparation for that mission. Throughout his career as a Navy SEAL, he had only to ask for whatever equipment he wanted; it would be given to him. Although he and his comrades had the same training, each had his own style and they preferred different weapons. Their superiors trusted the warriors to know what they should have and to ask for it. No one needed to supervise and approve their every choice because they clearly understood the mission and its difficulty. 
I hear the Lord trusting his disciples in the same way. Whatever you need as you announce the Gospel, just ask. Individual Christians have their own genius, talent, style, sensitivities, and sensibilities. There are no two alike and the more you know of them they less they resemble each other. Even when they come from the same household and take up the same work, each one's expression will be particular to themself. 
The Christian lives within a community of prayer. This is what we do. It is liturgical and devotional, communal and personal. Prayer forms and informs our imagination; we see and experience our inner life and the world around us through the lens of God's inspiration. 

Great Blue Heron in flight at Lake Mt. St. Francis

Adventuring out of our prayer into contact and conversation with "the world," we bring the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit with us. God accompanies us. 
Unlike a SEAL mission, we cannot fail although we might be surprised and frustrated with the consequences of our efforts. Disappointment will remind us that "Man proposes and God disposes." If the inspiration is from God the result will be more than satisfactory, though we might not see it clearly at the time. 
If our motives were tainted by selfish ambitions, we can be grateful to discover that. Penance and a sense of humor will follow. 
From the day the Lord called Abram and Sarai we have known that the Lord goes with us. We are sent to be a blessing to the nations. He went down into Egypt and brought us out again. He travelled with us to Babylon, Asia, Africa and Europe. We are not sent to be successful, but to be faithful with the assurance, "...whatever you ask the Father in my name he will give you."

Friday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Lectionary: 295


One night while Paul was in Corinth, the Lord said to him in a vision, “Do not be afraid. Go on speaking, and do not be silent, for I am with you. No one will attack and harm you, for I have many people in this city.”
He settled there for a year and a half and taught the word of God among them.


In my part of the world -- which is rather small -- most people go out of their way to be agreeable. I am "conflict averse" and so are most of my friends, neighbors, colleagues, and family. We don't relish arguments; and when they occur we either try to resolved them or head for the door. If they're too serious we think, "I must be doing something wrong. This surely is not God's plan for me or them or us!"
Saint Paul doesn't seem "conflict averse" but he described his style in 2 Corinthians 6:

We cause no one to stumble in anything, in order that no fault may be found with our ministry;

And, in 1 Corinthians 10:31 he wrote:

...avoid giving offense, whether to Jews or Greeks or the church of God, just as I try to please everyone in every way, not seeking my own benefit but that of the many, that they may be saved.

That being said, some people are going to take offense when we speak the truth, and sometimes we just have to persist. That conviction came to Saint Paul in Corinth as we heard in today's firsts reading. The Lord reassured him in a vision, "Do not be afraid. Go on speaking!

The Apostle demonstrates that prayerful approach that we must practice and demonstrate in every walk of life. Whether we're counselors seeking to gently help the grieving, or police who oppose wrongdoing, we ask the Holy Spirit to guide us. Should I assert myself now, or honor this person and their need to overspeak what I would say. Which battle should I fight, and which one should I avoid? 

If there is a time for everything under heaven, I want the Lord to tell me what time is it now, and how should I respond to this moment. If I let my ego get in the way, I know it will end in disaster. 

The day came, as Saint Luke tells us, when Saint Paul set sail for Syria, leaving Corinth. He did so willingly. He was driven neither by fear nor ambition but by the Lord -- for the time had come. 

Thursday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Lectionary: 294

“What does this mean that he is saying to us, ‘A little while and you will not see me,
and again a little while and you will see me,’ and ‘Because I am going to the Father’?”


A few years ago I reflected in this blog on the peculiar genius of the riddle. It's worth a read if you happen not to remember it. Riddles are still fun and can be enlightening. 
Today I think of Jesus' remark about a little while. Sometimes things that seem to take for-ev-er, as a teen might say, in retrospect didn't take that long. Even periods of many years can be forgotten overnight. 
"We lived in (that place) for most of our lives, but now we live here and this is good. We left a lot of troubles behind when we moved here." 
Old people are sometimes astonished at their age. "How did I get to be so old so quickly? It was just a little while."
Will heaven be like that? Will we think of our earthly passage as only a little while? Will the crisis of this pandemic which must evolve into the new normal seem like a little while? 
During the good times, the saints tell us, remember the hard times. And during the hard times, remember the good. There's a light at the end of the tunnel, and a tunnel at the end of the light. 
My great-grandfather used to say, according to family lore, "You can get used to anything except hanging." But I suppose even that too, is only a little while.

In this meanwhile we keep the faith. We act with fidelity to our roots, beliefs, and traditions. We maintain our duties, obligations, and precious relationships. 
We remember far worse times and we survived. We'll see better times though they might be hard to imagine right now. 
God is always good. And sometimes he's better. 

Wednesday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Lectionary: 293

You Athenians, I see that in every respect

you are very religious. For as I walked around looking carefully at your shrines, I even discovered an altar inscribed, ‘To an Unknown God.’ What therefore you unknowingly worship, I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and all that is in it….

We might read Saint Paul’s opening remarks to the Athenians as tongue-in-cheek. He knows they do not worship “an unknown god.” If they worship any god it’s little more than a formality, for the sake of convention. But they are a curious lot; and, like many Americans, they are eager to entertain weird religious notions, so long as they don't ask much of believers. Perhaps they’ll listen to Paul's story about Jesus.

As I have learned to practice our Catholic faith, I’ve been impressed by the writings, legends, and teachings of Saint Francis of Assisi. He had little formal education; he learned mostly from hearing preachers and teachers, rather than from reading. He was not a critical person; he didn't stand outside the Church criticizing its beliefs and structures. 

Like any adult, he saw hypocrisy and the ways powerful people use to manipulate symbols. But he never lost faith in symbols. When a priest used his position to satisfy his greed, avarice, or lust the Little Poor Man recognized the sin but loved the priesthood, nonetheless. He urged his disciples, both men and women, to honor the Most Blessed Sacrament, even in the hands of a corrupt cleric.

Francis listened to the Old and New Testaments with a willing thirst; he wanted to know, “What will God say to me today?” If he heard the same thing three days in a row, he received it with the same enthusiasm each day, for the Word of God is an inexhaustible well. No one can drink it dry.

In our postmodern consciousness we often distance ourselves from our faith with irony. Irony might say, “The Catholic Church said we should not eat meat on Friday but that was only to support the fish merchants of Rome." Irreligious, they cannot imagine the religious traditions of penance and personal sacrifice.

This critical attitude usually accompanies cynicism. In reply to a teaching of the Church, it suspects an ulterior motive. “It’s the priests' craving for power!” Cynicism sees no sincerity or piety. It cannot imagine the Holy Spirit moving people to give without counting the cost. 

The Athenians scoffed at the Good News that a crucified man had been raised from the dead. They knew better than to accept such nonsense. They regarded the apostle as a fool or a conman and laughed as they walked away.

As we hear the Gospel we ask the Lord to open wide our hearts and help us set aside all suspicion, irony, and cynicism. We want to drink the Word of God. If the message also contains the dregs of unpleasant human interference, we ask the Spirit to help us filter it without judgment or recriminations. As we drink the Blood of Jesus, we ignore whatever impurities may have been in the wine.

Tuesday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Lectionary: 292

But because I told you this, grief has filled your hearts. But I tell you the truth, it is better for you that I go. For if I do not go, the Advocate will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you.



I knew a fellow who, at age forty, could speak with all four grandparents, all his aunts and uncles, all his cousins, brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews. He had never attended a family funeral. He knew of no deceased friend, teacher, or acquaintance. Nor did he scan the obituaries expecting to find a familiar name. With modern medical care, and humane practices of safety, people live a long time. Death is forestalled and many people have little experience of grief. Beyond the loss of dogs, cats, and goldfish they have never faced the finality of death.
And then they are suddenly clobbered with grief as several close relatives die within a short span of time. Suddenly their world has fallen apart. Although accidents, disease and death are normal parts of human life, their normal and predictable have disappeared.
Unschooled in grief, we might think of it as evil; or at least, undesirable. We may have heard that it comes with certain dark blessings; we may have heard the commencement speaker at our graduations wish for us disappointment, failure, and sorrow. "They are the best teachers!" they might have said. But, given our druthers we’d druther not.
If they were more familiar with death than we are, the disciples still expected the blessed presence of Jesus to remain for always. The Kingdom of God seemed wrapped around him. It was, to paraphrase Saint Patrick, on his right and left, before and behind, above and below, deep within him and emanating from out of him. There were no more tears so long as he was with them. As he said to his disciples:As long as they have the bridegroom with them they cannot fast.
In today’s gospel, taken from the Last Supper Discourse of Saint John, Jesus teaches his disciples the unwanted lesson, “It is better for you that I go.” It was impossible that the Lord should remain alive and healthy as his disciples received his Spirit and ventured to the ends of the Earth with his Gospel. They could not fully appreciate the value of the Gospel nor their own high esteem in God’s eyes unless they witnessed his death and resurrection.
Jesus had added to his remark about the bridegroom, "But the days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast on that day."
Next Sunday most Catholic Churches in the United States will celebrate the feast of the Ascension although they won't be open to the prayerful public. The Ascension is rich with sacred meaning, but we might honor with grief the hit we have taken by the necessary closure of our churches. We have missed our worship of God. Watching live streaming just doesn't do it.
And many people are mourning the death of loved ones, especially those whom we have not been able to honor with a proper funeral.
Our grief is real; it is sacred. In absence we find the presence of God.