Wednesday of Holy Week

Lectionary: 259

He said,
“Go into the city to a certain man and tell him,
‘The teacher says, My appointed time draws near; in your house I shall celebrate the Passover with my disciples.”
The disciples then did as Jesus had ordered,
and prepared the Passover.

 

Comedians tells us the key to great humor is timing; the words, gestures, expressions, and especially the pauses must be timed just right. Comic masters can make you laugh at a telephone book. Stan Laurel studied movie audiences as they reacted to his short films. A century later, he slays me, and I don’t even know why I am laughing.

From its first phrase – “In the beginning” -- Saint John’s gospel is acutely aware of God’s timing. John the Baptist precedes and announces the appearance of the Lord, which is made on the first of seven days. On the seventh day, Jesus changes water to wine, an inaugural event of his ministry, after telling his mother, “…my hour has not yet come.”

In today’s reading from Saint Matthew’s gospel, we hear the Lord announce, “My appointed time draws near.” Despite the three predictions he has made on the way to Jerusalem, his disciples are aware only of the Passover and its season. It falls every year during the first full moon after the vernal equinox. They would eventually realize the meaning, weight, and dimensions of his word after the shock of that weekend passed.

The Holy Spirit gives us a sense of what to say, when to say it, to whom, and whether it should be said at all. Regardless of its truthfulness, a mistimed word may do more harm than good. But a right-timed word might save a soul, a family, or the entire universe.

Disciples of Jesus accept his discipline as they learn to live in, and abide by, the Spirit's timing. The discipline begins in the silence of prayer. We close our mouths and seal our lips and let the noises within our minds -- the opinions and emotions and impulses -- settle into quiet. If vague thoughts traipse through the mind they go, as my mother used to say, in one ear and out the other. We pay no attention to thoughts because we're paying attention to the silence. Let it be; let it govern us. 

In that silence we learn to restrain our lips and to let impulses to speak pass without expression. Often, when listening to someone we have to let them finish their sentence and their stories. Interrupting them only aborts what may be an important revelation. More importantly, during difficult conversations and arguments, as one furious thought after another rushes into the head and heads for the mouth, we prefer to listen to what others are saying. If something must be said, we can be silent and wait for the right words appear and the right expressions to form. 

We wait for the moment when the Holy Spirit commands us what to say and what to do, and when to be silent again. 

In this way we find ourselves swept into that moment in which Jesus says, "My appointed time draws near." Then, it is he who speaks through us. 

Tuesday of Holy Week

Lectionary: 258

When Judas Iscariot had left, Jesus said, “Now is the Son of Man glorified, and God is glorified in him. If God is glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself, and he will glorify him at once.

 

The same prophet who gave us the Servant of the Lord poems also heard God say, “Go and say to this people:

Listen carefully, but do not understand!

Look intently, but do not perceive!

Make the heart of this people sluggish,

dull their ears and close their eyes;

Lest they see with their eyes, and hear with their ears,

and their heart understand,

and they turn and be healed.”

 

In the Gospel of Saint John – this morning’s gospel – the crucifixion of Jesus is his glorification. Or, to put it another way, one four-fold event comprises his Last Supper, his crucifixion, his Resurrection, and his Ascension. In this singularity, many mysteries with different names reflect and refract the glory of God like the facets of a diamond.

Those who participate in the Mass are caught up in this supremely mysterious event. In the horror of his crucifixion we see a Glory which the world cannot see. They might listen carefully and look intently but they will neither understand nor perceive, because their hearts are sluggish, the ears are dull, and their eyes are closed. 

 

Nor should we boast in our privilege for we have neither earned nor deserved it. It is simply God's gift to us for reasons known only to God. Rather than some swollen-ego-foolishness -- or worse, a denial of the rightness of God's choice -- our response must be gratitude with a ready willingness to go with the Lord to Calvary. During Holy Week, especially, we excuse ourselves from other responsibilities, duties, and expectations to attend our Lord and Savior. 

Regardless of their previous experience, those given the Spirit of Jesus know they cannot turn back. The Way of Truth, as difficult as it is, and impossible to explain, insistently beckons them onward. Our crosses are never so heavy as His; our blessings are more than sufficient for the struggles to come. 

Monday of Holy Week

Lectionary: 257

Here is my servant whom I uphold,

    my chosen one with whom I am pleased,
Upon whom I have put my Spirit;
    he shall bring forth justice to the nations…

 

The four first readings of Holy Week, Monday through Wednesday plus Friday, are called “Servant of the Lord poems” or “suffering servant songs.” Taken from the Book of Isaiah, they are treasured by Christians as prophecies about the Lord.

Today’s reading begins with an exciting introduction, “Here is my servant whom I uphold.” These words of a prophet five centuries before Christ anticipated his baptism in the Jordan River when a Voice spoke to us from the Heavens, “This is my beloved son on whom my favor rests!” And again, when he was transfigured on Mount Tabor, “This is my Son; listen to him!”

God has our attention, and we’re looking directly at Jesus. His mission, according to this first Servant of the Lord poem, is to bring forth justice to the nations.

If we were aware of it before March 2020, the pandemic has sharpened our awareness of widespread injustice. American nursing homes are understaffed, underfunded, stressed, and exploited. Our health care system was struggling before the epidemic; it survives in 2021 largely due to heroic efforts by its workers. We realized that most of our essential workers – who make our systems work -- are underpaid and vulnerable to contagious diseases, while the wealthiest prosper in the worst of times. We saw that epidemics, too, disproportionately afflict the poor, under-served, and racial minorities. Finally, perhaps most unnerving, we saw that the American form of democracy had not provided competent leadership to address an existential crisis. We had appointed a child to do an adult’s job.

The pandemic reminded us that a democracy cannot succeed without the Spirit that is willing to sacrifice, work together, and plan a future for the common good. Every citizen must expect to go the extra mile, give more than they can afford, and turn the other cheek. A democracy of every man for himself breeds only violence against women, children, the elderly, the unborn, and despised minorities.

As we emerge from quarantine, we need a religion that teaches, expects, and demands sacrifice. It must be inspired by The Servant of God who comes not to be served, but to serve; and to give his life as a ransom for many.

Christians of every nation will celebrate Easter with renewed hope and expectation this year. We bring our willingness to the Altar of Sacrifice, and our desire to feast on his body and blood.

 

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion

Lectionary Readings

When he was in Bethany reclining at table in the house of Simon the leper, a woman came with an alabaster jar of perfumed oil,
costly genuine spikenard. She broke the alabaster jar and poured it on his head.

The Liturgies of Holy Week and Easter with their songs, symbols, rites, and readings intentionally overwhelm the mind that seeks answers. They're there, but they're beyond words. They humble, astound, and silence the mind. 

They're not simply enormous and loud. Fireworks are enormous and loud but they don't change us. We go home from such displays saying, "That was fun!" or "That was amazing!" We might wonder, "How do they do that?" but we won't ask, "What difference has it made in my head, heart, or life?" We're not likely to muse with W.B. Yeats about Easter, 1916, 

"All changed, changed utterly. A terrible beauty is born."  

We don't merely watch Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, or Good Friday. The rites invite us to act certain parts and read important words. Some people will hold out, of course: the young, uncertain, and skeptical. But we trust these gestures as we participate. If we don't know what they mean in so many words, they're important and they make a difference. We don't ask if we're worthy to be here. We've got more important things to ponder, like, "What wondrous love is this, O my soul?" 

One year ago, we found the Churches locked and barred by the Covid 19 pandemic. We saw the Holy Father, Pope Francis, presiding over an empty Saint Peter's Piazza. We had to watch the rites and ceremonies through a cold, indifferent camera; and often despite the inept blundering of those who tried to make these awkward technologies work. "It's not the same thing!" we said and hoped it would end soon.

This year, we pray that most of our people, those who survived the scourge, will return to worship. Beyond the fear and the deaths, it was a year of political upheaval, angry rioting, and senseless killings. These, too, are beyond our comprehension. We wonder if we too have failed in some way to represent God's mercy amid this tension, injustice, and violence. We must get back to our places in Church to worship with the Spirit who gathers us!

I have sometimes reminded people that, "We have never missed a Sunday Mass since the evening Jesus broke bread with his disciples in Emmaus!" But we came close to it this year as we were afraid to stand close together, to touch the same utensils, or breathe the same air. So this year we don our masks and head for the church, to escort the Lord into the Holy City, and to witness his love for us. 

 

Saturday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 256

...some of them went to the Pharisees and told them what Jesus had done. So the chief priests and the Pharisees convened the Sanhedrin and said, “What are we going to do?" 

Today's gospel is unusual in that Jesus does not appear in the story. The discussion in the Sanhedrin is all about him, of course. He is certainly present, but only in the sense that his enemies cannot ignore him. They must decide what to do about him, and their decision will be irreversible. 

Anyone remotely familiar with the scriptures must recognize the similarities with the Exodus accounts of Moses and the Pharaoh. The Egyptians, who regarded their king as a powerful god, watched helplessly as The LORD delivered his people from slavery. The powerful could make whatever choice they wanted but they could not change God's plan or frustrate his purpose. They attempted to bind the Hebrews more tightly to their chores, and then permitted them a few days vacation. They urged them to go away and offered gifts to speed their departure; and then changed their minds and sent an army to bring them back. It didn't matter, God would free his people! Everything the Egyptians did only made God's victory more spectacular. 

In today's gospel, the Sanhedrin decides what to do, thinking they can alter the course of events. But their creative solution fits God's plan precisely. They could not imagine then -- nor can the most powerful today -- that the Almighty God would consider his supreme status not worth grasping, that he would empty himself and suffer death, even death on a cross -- for the sake of the unrighteous. The powerful still believe in their guns, ballistic missiles, and nuclear weapons. They rely on money, credit, and stock portfolios. 

The Sanhedrin, ancient and modern, will sleep through Easter Sunday morning and never know that their strength was sapped by the man who bled to death on a cross. 

Friday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 255

If I do not perform my Father’s works, do not believe me; but if I perform them, even if you do not believe me, believe the works, so that you may realize and understand that the Father is in me and I am in the Father.”

 

In today’s gospel, Jesus challenges his opponents, “…if you do not believe me, believe the works!”

I am reminded of Hannah Hurnard’s popular Christian novel, Hinds Feet in High Places. The gist of the story, as I recall, was Saint Joseph’s dilemma. His betrothed was pregnant and yet she was transparently innocent. She said she had conceived through the power of the Holy Spirit. Should he believe her? Mary’s story was incredible and yet he knew in his heart she was incapable of lying. She had to be telling the truth.

The thesis of the novel: Joseph’s faith -- and thus, his salvation – depended on his decision about Mary.

There is only one faith. It is a simple act made in the mysterious, silent depths of one’s heart. It is a decision made in time, but the place and the path are uncertain. How did I come to faith? What do I believe, and what do I believe in?

One person might believe in Mary’s virginity; another, her Immaculate Conception. Someone else might know nothing of those doctrines but anchor their confidence in the Bible as God’s word, or the image of the Good Shepherd. For a third person it might be grounded in the parish church building and its ancient cemetery. For many it’s John Wesley’s “gentle warming of the heart,” an experience of reassurance at some critical moment in their life. For others it’s the Real Presence of the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. Or perhaps, another of the sacraments. As a priest in a VA hospital, I hope the Veteran’s encounter with the priest will be a sacramental, saving moment for them.

These many approaches to faith might be called spiritualities. Catholics are familiar with spiritualities; including Franciscan, Benedictine, Dominican, Carmelite, Jesuit and many others. It is no stretch to suppose Christian spiritualities include Lutheran, Calvinist, Methodist, Pentecostal, Evangelical, and Mormon, to name a few. 

An ideologue might complain that there can be only one way to know God. Some "hard shells" have told me that I must "accept Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior!" I don't disagree but wonder about the word personal. 

Faith is more about fidelity than a personal conviction about beliefs, tenets, or creeds. It is a habitual but intentional reliance on God. Fidelity, as the word in used among English speakers, concerns one's dependability and reliability especially toward friends and family. Fidelity does its duties generously, eagerly, willingly, and usually exceeds its requirements. Enough is never enough for the generous. 

The opponents in today's gospel wanted nothing to do with him or his disciples. Nor are they faithful to their own religious tradition. They believe in their opinions, which is the worse form of idolatry, and refuse the Lord's invitation to belief and salvation. 

As we approach Holy Week and Easter we beg the Lord to set us free from our opinions that we might worship him. 

 

Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

Lectionary: 545

It is impossible that the blood of bulls and goats take away sins. For this reason, when Christ came into the world, he said:

“Sacrifice and offering you did not desire,    but a body you prepared for me; in holocausts and sin offerings you took no delight. Then I said, ‘As is written of me in the scroll, behold, I come to do your will, O God.’”

 

An ancient Christian heresy, monophysitism, taught that Jesus was human and is now God, with the suggestion that his humanity was no longer necessary or important. If the Lord had been, at one time, enmeshed in our messy, unpleasant world he was now – Thank God! – free of all that. Unconstrained by human limits, Jesus could now be slave or free, Jew or gentile, male or female. He could be all things to all people and anything you like.

Divisions, boundaries, and barriers of humanity remain in place because they have nothing to do with him, or he with them. Likewise his gospel transcends space and time by Word and Spirit without the corporeality of human involvement or investment. Someone, happening across a Bible, might read it and be saved without ever meeting another Christian. Who knows, but beamed into outer space, the Scriptures might evangelize distant civilizations of far away galaxies and peoples of a potential polyverse. 

In monophysitism, there is no need for sacraments, the witness of the saints, the personal integrity of Christians, apostolic succession, or papal infallibility. If you like, you can commune with God (who is neither he nor she) on your patio, over your breakfast of coffee and a cigarette, in pristine solitude. The word of God is pure -- and purely -- without human impurity.

[Interestingly, in 451, when Pope Leo's delegates at the Council of Chalcedon persuaded the gathered bishops to renounce the heresy, they also recognized the supremacy of Rome among the dioceses of the Church. That decision would mature into the doctrine of papal infallibility fourteen centuries later, which is also a logical extension of today's solemn feast.] 

However, a good heresy doesn't just go away. It has too much to offer to gullible or self-willed people. It appears among us today as religions without tradition; spiritualities without religion; ethics without spirituality; and, frankly, atheism. 

The Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord, like every other Catholic feastday, reminds us that the Lord God of Heaven and Earth lives among us in the person of Jesus Christ. Risen from the dead, he is more human, not less, than we knew him before his crucifixion. The gospels show in considerable detail his rising as a man: he appeared to his disciples and they recognized him by his wounds; he ate with them; they touched him, and he walked with them on the road to Emmaus. If they thought they were seeing a ghost, he disabused them of that thought immediately. His resurrection was more than a spiritual event. 

He remains with us physically in the Church, which is his body, and especially in the Eucharist. His being with us is historical; there is a continuity of events, persons, and geographical places from the Cenacle in Jerusalem to your parish church . His presence is spiritual in the sense that he has inspired the Church from that Easter evening when he breathed on his disciples until this moment as you are led to study the scriptures -- and into the distant future. 

The Solemnity of the Annunciation recalls the beginning of his physical presence among us as he was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the Virgin Mary. Even before he was born, John the Baptist was dancing for joy in utero at his coming. But his history, like yours and mine, began long before he was born. We celebrate that too as we embrace our Jewish heritage and honor our Jewish associates. 

Jesus, born of Mary, anchors us in this world as his grace penetrates, heals, and glorifies every stratum of our being. Our bodies must be healed; our emotions, welcomed; our knowledge, edified; our finances, sanctified, our relationships, reconciled; our memories, clarified, our sexuality, purified, and our recreations, re-creative. Even the infrastructures of our world will be attuned to the Kingdom of God by the edifying (up-building) spirit. 

The Spirit of God seeks no shortcuts to salvation -- none like monophysitism would describe -- as we learn to live in the freedom of God's people. 

Wednesday of the Fifth Week of Easter

Lectionary: 253

They answered him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been enslaved to anyone. How can you say, ‘You will become free’?”
Jesus answered them, “Amen, amen, I say to you, everyone who commits sin is a slave of sin.

 

My favorite topic of conversation with the Veterans in substance abuse rehab concerns freedom. What is it? Why is it important? What does it demand of us?

I often begin with the dual question, “Freedom from…? and Freedom for…” Or I might ask more bluntly, “What do you want?” 

Invariably the Veterans can describe their aspiration of freedom from. That’s easy. But most have a very hard time describing positively why they want their freedom. “What will you do with your freedom?” I ask.

Freedom without purpose is a rudderless boat; it floats with the tide and drifts with the wind. It is subject to every external impulse, having none within itself. They have already experienced the freedom of doing what they want to do and found themselves in bondage. That’s a one way street.

The “Jews” in today’s gospel resent Jesus’s suggestion that they are not free, and that they will be free as his disciples. Oddly, they don’t ask, “Why should we believe you or follow you?” He clearly invites them to “remain in my word,” but they do not respond to that. Rather, they maintain a critical, academic distance. They would discuss the idea and definition of freedom rather than accept or decline his gracious invitation.

The Fourth Gospel demands a response today. There may be a time and place for everything, but now is not the time and this is not the place to discuss the meaning of freedom. Jesus demands a response. There is no tomorrow to put off to. As Saint Paul insisted.

Behold, now is a very acceptable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.

 

The American idea of freedom is best described by Cole Porter’s 1934 cowboy song, 

“O give me land, lots of land, with an open sky above. Don’t fence me in. Let me ride through the wide-open country that I love. Don't fence me in.”

Riding horseback through open country, or driving your Ford Ranger over a mountain ridge, is not freedom; it’s just a lovely vacation from freedom. That’s not a bad thing but neither is it the real thing.

Saint Paul, again, directs us:

For you were called for freedom, [sisters and] brothers. But do not use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh; rather, serve one another through love. For the whole law is fulfilled in one statement, namely, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Galatians 5:13-14

A freedom which takes liberties and gives nothing in return, which does not does not serve others, is born of fornication, as Jesus warned his opponents in today’s gospel:

They answered and said to him, “Our father is Abraham.” 
Jesus said to them, “If you were Abraham’s children,
you would be doing the works of Abraham. 
But now you are trying to kill me,
a man who has told you the truth that I heard from God;
Abraham did not do this.
You are doing the works of your father!”
So they said to him, “We were not born of fornication. 
We have one Father, God.” 
Jesus said to them, “If God were your Father, you would love me,
for I came from God and am here;
I did not come on my own, but he sent me.”

Tuesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 252

He said to them, “You belong to what is below,
I belong to what is above.
You belong to this world,
but I do not belong to this world.
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?”

 

Today’s reading follows immediately upon yesterday’s story about Jesus and the woman “caught in the very act of adultery.” Yesterday, the Lord seemed fully engaged and very active in this world; today we hear him insist, “I do not belong to this world.” Given yesterday’s incident, we might agree Jesus comes from a very different place.

It is a place where judgment is executed quite differently. If we expected to find the judge seated on his bench above the crowd, this one stooped to the ground. Where we expect the woman to be condemned for her behavior, we find the vindictive mob judged and retiring in sheepish confusion.

But even their judgment is odd. Do they withdraw because they know they have all sinned? Because no one will claim to be the most sinless in the crowd? Because they realize they have no standing in this courtroom? Where the mob was perfectly willing to stone the woman, no man will stand alone and condemn her. Nor, for that matter, will he declare his righteousness superior to hers. Jesus’s other-worldly action has shredded their collective will, and no one dares to act alone.

Judgment is an apocalyptic event, something that comes at the end of time, or at least at the end of a story. But the Gospel of Saint John is all about the coming of the judge in this middle time. In this story of Jesus, the mob is caught completely off guard for no one of them supposed he might be judged today. “It will come for me;” he said, “but not today. Today is when I judge this woman!” 

The story is a curious reversal of Genesis 3, in which the Man blamed God and the Woman for what he had done. Yesterday, God and Eve, crouched close to the ground and silently rebuked Adam’s self-righteousness. Today we hear the judgment: he will die in his sins for he does not believe that I am!

As we approach Palm Sunday and the events of Holy Week, the Gospel of John declares that our salvation depends upon our faith in the one who will be arrested, tried, condemned, and crucified. Many of his disciples will be traumatized and scattered by the violence and horror of his death. Only his mother and the disciple whom he loved will stay through that dark hour. As disciples we should expect to be tested, and Lent teaches us to pray urgently that we will be found faithful in the end.

Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 251

Then Jesus straightened up and said to her,

“Woman, where are they?

Has no one condemned you?”

She replied, “No one, sir.”

Then Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you.

Go, and from now on do not sin anymore.”

 

A recent article in the Washington Post described the “leering tone” used to describe the teenage pop idols of the oughts – Britney Spears. Lindsey Lohan, et al. Jessica M Goldstein reveled in our better appreciation of their youth and vulnerability. After quoting some of the more salacious remarks about these starlets, she concludes, “In 2021, these sentences are objectively disgusting. But they fit right in with the media of that moment.”

I can’t say I’ve paid much attention to the starlets of any decade since 1970 but it is interesting to watch the dominant culture reinvent old fashioned sexual morality. I am not a religious anthropologist but I’m pretty sure every religion and every traditional culture has very strong, very clear teachings about sexual morality. And they usually start with, “Thou shalt not….” Occasionally the entertainment world agrees with some of our moral doctrines -- before they're distracted by another erotic fantasy. Feminist have rightly complained that men were given too much license, but no major religion officially encouraged that abuse. Until recently, abortion was a crime, divorce was a shame, and adultery was a dirty secret.

Paradoxically, social media have contributed to both the coarsening of our discourse, and to refining our sensibilities. If seminarians of the 1960’s smirked when they heard the scripture readings of this fifth Monday of Lent, they now wonder why a mob would bother to stone either woman. Aren’t those days long past?

Today’s readings highlight the hypocrisy of judgement about adultery. In neither story does the male adulterer appear. There was none in the Book of Daniel; but we should notice that neither Daniel nor the mob asked who he might have been! In the gospel there clearly was a male adulterer who was discovered “in the very act of committing adultery.” He is missing -- but not missed. For all we know, he might be among the mob ready to kill the woman.

As the pastor of a church I was asked about the case of a pregnant eighth grade child, one of my parishioners. The principle wondered, “Shouldn’t she be put out of the Catholic school?” I asked, “Who was the boy, and will nothing be said to him or his parents?”

In today’s gospel, Jesus simply refrains from judgement. He offers no opinion for or against the woman and says nothing about adultery. He concludes the episode with a hopeless piece of advice, “Go, and from now on do not sin anymore.” He knows that people learn nothing from punishment, nor from the near escape from punishment. The trauma fades and disappears. If they change at all, they find a deeper, more appealing motive – something like Love of God and Fear of the Lord – to alter their attitudes and behavior.

Today’s gospel offers for our admiration and edification a fearless and just Messiah. He has foiled his enemies again and made no friends. His course is set toward Calvary. He laughs at his adversaries as a few words shred their alliances. He stands head and shoulder over their nonsense even as he stoops to the ground.

If we choose to follow him, we will show the same disregard for enemies and the same sense of humor about their fashionable righteousness and family values. And we will continue to demonstrate the Lord’s compassion for defenseless women, children, and aliens.

 

Fifth Sunday of Lent

Lectionary: 34

The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.
Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.

 

Scripture scholars recognize two major sections of Saint John’s gospel: the book of signs and the book of glory. Signs include the miracle at Cana, the discussion with and revelation to the woman at the well, several healings, and – the last and greatest -- the resuscitation of Lazarus. That incident led directly to Jesus’s arrest, prosecution, and death; and signals the transition to the Book of Glory, which opens with the Mary’s prophetic anointing of Jesus’s feet, and his spectacular entry into Jerusalem.

At that critical juncture, when some Greeks inquire about Jesus, he announces the long-awaited hour of glory. We first heard of that hour when Jesus replied to his mother, “My hour has not yet come.” When soldiers tried to arrest him, they could not touch him because “his hour had not yet come.” Now, at last, the hour has come and we, the chosen, must witness what will happen.

His glorification does not begin with Jesus’s resurrection. That, we might suppose, is the most obviously glorious event. After the ignominious horror of the crucifixion, his resurrection is certainly glorious.

But Saint John has a very different understanding of this mystery, and we do well to study it. To see his glory we must not avert our eyes from his crucifixion. Our Catholic tradition insists upon that as we often dwell upon the suffering of Jesus:

• the liturgical observation of Holy Week with the reading of two passion narratives,
• the weekly observance of Friday as a day of abstinence,
• the stations of the cross,
• the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary,
• the crucifix (rather than a cross) in our churches and homes, and
• reflections on, and imagery of his crown of thorns and
• reflections on, and imagery of the wounds on his hands, feet, and side which appear in Catholic imagery.

If we fail to contemplate his suffering and death, we risk knowing nothing of the Man. And we would fail to take up our crosses and follow. Nor would we recognize the crosses others carry. We might suppose there is something wrong when bad things happen to good people.

Speaking of his impending passion, Jesus assures us, ““The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified;” and “…unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.”

 

Today’s gospel includes Saint John’s version of “The Agony in the Garden.” We hear anxiety in Jesus’ voice, ““I am troubled now.  Yet what should I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’?”

And then two things happen. First, he says, “But it was for this purpose that I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name.” Immediately, we hear “a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it and will glorify it again.” 

First, the Lord resolves his difficulty as he remembers his purpose and turns his full attention to God his Father. And then “a voice came from heaven.” But he says the Voice was not for him, as he has already been consoled. This divine audition was “for your sake.” 

What have we heard? The Father’s name will be glorified.  

Throughout his brief life on Earth, Jesus never forgot his purpose, to give glory to God. Even as he was severely mocked, tortured, and crucified he kept his gaze on his Father. Neither the pain, shock, and insult of death nor the mockery of his enemies nor the stony silence of heaven could come between the Father and the Son. If he did not resist his torturers by an act of will, neither did he cease to wait on God's mercy. By his faithful, free, and confident waiting on the One who had sent him to Jerusalem, he gave glory to the Father. 

Many Christians and Catholics throughout the world, as we witness the ebb of democracy before resurgent racism and demagoguery, might say with Jesus, "We are troubled now." For some the situation might appear as hopeless as that of Jesus before the Sanhedrin, Herod Antipas, and Pontius Pilate. 

But his Holy Spirit assures us, the Father is glorified in our fidelity. And so we wait with him. 

Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 249

Some in the crowd who heard these words of Jesus said, “This is truly the Prophet.” 

Others said, “This is the Christ.” 

But others said, “The Christ will not come from Galilee, will he? Does not Scripture say that the Christ will be of David’s family and come from Bethlehem, the village where David lived?”

The situation in today's gospel should sound familiar to us. The Holy City of Jerusalem is coming apart. The religious authorities have always assured the populace: "We know the truth!" "We know right and wrong!" and "We know the Mind of God!" But they don't know what to make of Jesus and the people know it. 

In 2004, Peter Steinfels authored a book describing the Catholic Church in the United States; he called it, A People Adrift. If "The Changes" following the Second Vatican Council had not confused the laity enough, the priest pedophilia scandal shook the very foundations of our faith and identity.

In 2021 the distress continues as some American Catholic bishops pronounce anathemas on a Roman Catholic president of the United States, and on his Democratic coreligionists in the House, Senate, and Supreme Court. More recently, we have heard that fetal tissue was used in the development of some Covid 19 vaccines and wonder if that's okay. 

If anyone needs more distressing moral/ethical compromises, they can find plenty in entertainment, the market, and in local, state, and federal politics. Our money, still imprinted with "In God we trust," is tainted by arms manufacturing, the abortion industry, and ever-widening gap between the wealthy and the poor. This is the same economic system that enslaved Americans and bought the sacred ancestral land of Native Americans. But we have no choice; we must use it. 

Those familiar with the Bible know the practice of our faith was never simple; our moral principles were never crystal clear, and our leaders have often faked their assurance. 

They also know that we, like Jesus and his fellow prophets, must make our decisions and take our stands. Sometimes the right choice will be like that of the guards in today's gospel. Sent to arrest Jesus, they heard his teaching, witnessed his authority, and thought better of it. They returned to their superiors empty handed and were lambasted for their trouble. Those same guards knew of, and probably witnessed, the loud arguments among their superiors. The people were adrift as the leaders sounded an uncertain trumpet.

Jesus made himself perfectly at home in this troubled confusion. Had not his Father created this dynamic planet where the only thing that remains the same is change? Guided by the infallible Holy Spirit, directed by unerring obedience to the Father, he announced the Kingdom of God by word and deed as he proceeded to Jerusalem and Calvary. 

There was no doubt in his mind how his journey would end. He saw, as everyone saw, his opponents amassing their forces and plotting their violence. He remained faithful in the face of failure. 

As Covid 19 seems to abate, and we discover a new normal in this chastened world, we pray that God's spirit will show us the same narrow way that leads to salvation. 

Solemnity of Saint Joseph, husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Lectionary: 543

[Abraham] is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into being what does not exist. He believed, hoping against hope, that he would become the father of many nations, according to what was said, Thus shall your descendants be. That is why it was credited to him as righteousness.

In celebration of the 150th anniversary of Blessed Pope Pius IX’s declaration of St. Joseph as Patron of the Universal Church, Pope Francis has proclaimed a special “Year of St. Joseph.” It is a wonderful opportunity to increase our love for St. Joseph and knowledge, “to encourage us to implore his intercession and to imitate his virtues and his zeal. (USCCB)

Six days before the Annunciation and conception of Jesus, we celebrate Saint Joseph, the husband of Mary. Though he appears only in very brief sections of the gospels of Saint Matthew and Saint Luke, and although no word of his was recorded, the foster father of Jesus, inspires many rich and deep reflections. 

Saint Matthew offers him to us as a model of fidelity. The gospel insists that we must hear the Word of God and keep it, and that is precisely what Joseph does. He presents a strong contrast to the King of Jerusalem, Herod the Great, who is the epitome of hypocrisy. Where Herod's words chill our bones, Joseph's silence warms our hearts. Saint Matthew gives us few details about the visit of the Magi, but it's no stretch to suppose they spoke with Joseph of their experience in Jerusalem. While they found a way to avoid returning to the Holy City, he woke his wife in the middle of the night and hurried off to Egypt. 

Today's reading from Romans concerns the Patriarch Abraham but applies easily to Joseph. The faithful, silent man is the patriarch of the New Testament, as Mary is the matriarch. 

Neither the Evangelist nor the Church hesitates to accord him the title of father. The cavil that he was not the biological father of Jesus is a problem only to a sexually-obsessed generation; and, thank God, most generations of the Church were not. 

Mother Theresa of Calcutta has reminded Christians of the world that we are not called to be successful, but faithful. She might add, in the Spirit of Joseph, we don't have to understand why things happen as they do, or why God does what God does. Our obedience is more valuable than our ideas about why things happen or where this is all going. 

Certainly, faithful fathers and mothers cannot explain everything they decide for their children. Inevitably they must say to the child who rejects every plausible explanation, "Because I said so!" And even as they do so, they hope and pray they're right in doing so. We keep the faith with or without an understanding of how this will end, or where this is going. 

Certainly, in this third year of Covid, we do not yet know what we must learn from the experience. If our scientists have better a understanding of viral diseases, the rest of us have only a better understanding of entrenched obstinacy. Some of us, we pray, know that we should care better for one another, particularly our elderly. 

Finally, because there is no end of wonderful reflections about Saint Joseph, I'll direct my readers to the website of the American Catholic Bishops, and especially Bishop Tyson's reflections.

Thursday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 247

“If I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is not true. But there is another who testifies on my behalf, and I know that the testimony he gives on my behalf is true. You sent emissaries to John, and he testified to the truth.

 

I have heard that many of those who trashed the nation's Capitol on January 6, didn't vote on November 3. I wonder how many attend a church or synagogue. 

How do we explain to them that they have lost touch with the truth? Or perhaps, they never knew the truth. 

I have met some people -- and lived for a while with one individual -- who do not tell the truth because they do not know Him. We might call them liars but we should understand their deceptions are not entirely intentional. They tell falsehoods because they do not know there is such a thing as truth. 

"Truth," to them, is whatever they want to believe. Or what they want you to believe. Or what they wish were true. Or what important people tell them. Might makes right in their universe. 

Of course, storming the Capitol was ludicrous by any standards. They would have to believe in X-men, or the Tooth Fairy, or the Rapture to expect their action would unseat the government and reinstall Mr. Trump as the president. 

But that seems to be what happened! January 6, conspiracy theories, QAnon: this is what happens when you lose faith in the Truth. 

But how do we explain it to them? Education is not the answer. Nor will reasonable arguments. Don't waste your breath.

Our only hope is to witness the truth, ala Saint John's Gospel. Jesus invited some of the Baptist's disciples to "Come and see" where he lived. Living with him and witnessing the Man closely, they became witnesses. 

But they could not simply say, describe, or define what Jesus was about. They had to be new creatures, transformed by his Holy Spirit, so that their presence -- their essence or their being -- would invite others to come and see and be transformed. 

Their conversion to Christ, and the conversion Christians have known since that time, is more remarkable, wonderful, and blessed than the transmogrification of comic book superheroes. The latter is just inane; our reality is beautiful. 

And yet we are ordinary people. We eat, drink, breathe, and die just as women and men have lived and died for the past million years. 

We are different because we love the Truth. We know the Truth in a manner of speaking, though we have no claim upon it. Rather, we are claimed by the truth and know the truth as our pleasure and privilege. 

We're often humiliated by the truth. We admit we're wrong when it becomes obvious. We can be misled and mistaken and bamboozled like other humans. But discovering our mistake, error, or sin we turn back to the Lord. If we're embarrassed or ashamed by the incident, we learn to shake it off. 

Many good people voted for Mr. Trump and now realize their mistake. Narcissists do that to people. I've seen them divide families and churches; and now a nation. But those who love the Truth repent and turn back to the Lord. It's hard only for those who make it hard.

As Easter approaches we hear again Jesus's prayer for us:

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. Your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, so I sent them into the world. And I consecrate myself for them, so that they also may be consecrated in truth. 

We should pray for Mr. Trump and his followers. God in his mercy gives them time and ample opportunity to know, love, and worship the truth. Perhaps our seeing might heal their blindness.  

We should pray for our nation also. American Catholics have long prayed that the United States be consecrated to the Immaculate Conception. We'll add to that prayer a Consecration in Truth.

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 246

But Zion said, “The LORD has forsaken me;

    my Lord has forgotten me.”

Can a mother forget her infant,

    be without tenderness for the child of her womb?

Even should she forget,

    I will never forget you.

Isaiah 49 was written by a prophet known as "Second Isaiah." He captured the spirit of the first Isaiah but lived many years later and in a far distant place. Isaiah was a priest in Jerusalem's temple, in the eighth century before Christ. Second Isaiah wrote and prophesied in Babylon, after the siege of Jerusalem in 597 BCE. 

Second Isaiah sought to comfort and reassure the stricken exiles. When a people are driven from their homes by natural or human catastrophes they struggle to survive, usually by adapting the language, customs, law, religion, food, and expectations of their new country. Inevitably their children and grandchildren forget the old country and its old ways. 

Many Americans don't even know where their surnames came from; their ancestors might have been English, Irish, or Spanish but the Smiths, O'Brians, and Garcias give it little thought. Often their ancestors suffered the shame of exile and poverty and never told their children their stories. 

By an extraordinary and unprecedented grace, Jews in the diaspora following 597 clung to their religious customs, scriptures, history, and language. God went with them into exile, as Ezekiel realized when he saw the Lord in the sky riding on a fiery chariot. 

In today's passage from Isaiah 49, we hear encouraging words of Second Isaiah, 

Sing out, O heavens, and rejoice, O earth,

    break forth into song, you mountains.

For the LORD comforts his people

    and shows mercy to his afflicted.

But the exiles, (called by their city's alternate name Zion), are disconsolate: 

“The LORD has forsaken me;

    my Lord has forgotten me.”

God speaks again through the prophet, 

Can a mother forget her infant,

    be without tenderness for the child of her womb?

Even should she forget,

    I will never forget you.

The prophets had warned from ancient times that horror and destruction would fall on Israel and Judah if they were not faithful. They must rely on God for their economic and political well being; they must care for the poor, widowed, and aliens as God had cared for them from ancient times. 

The prophets did not alter that doctrine as the land and people were wasted by Assyrian and Babylonian armies, but they did insist, the Lord would never forget his people. In fact, the punishment guaranteed his presence. It didn't feel good but it was good news. 

The crucifixion, a most horrifying death, followed by the Easter Gospel of Resurrection, demonstrates again God's favor to Jesus (first of all) and to everyone who clings to Jesus. The Innocent One took our guilt, shame, grief, and suffering upon himself and died. Except for the Word of God, there was no reasonable hope for his suffering to be justified. His death seemed to prove God had abandoned his people finally and forever. 

Like the Jews in Babylon, we will experience the desolation of exile and crucifixion as we observe Holy Week. And we will wait with only a Word to reassure us: "I will never forget you." 

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 245

Wherever the river flows,
every sort of living creature that can multiply shall live,
and there shall be abundant fish,
for wherever this water comes the sea shall be made fresh.

 

Scientists have recently found amazing forms of life that thrive in the terrible saltiness of the Dead Sea. In some strange sense, Ezekiel’s prophecy has proven true, especially because these Archaea live where deep freshwater springs enter the basin.

But we should not allow that fascinating trivium to compromise God’s promise. The point is: What is hopelessly, remorselessly dead will live when God’s word is fulfilled. Human beings live by hope; without a future of opportunities we surrender the will to live.

We find ourselves in the present, between past promises and future fulfillment. This is where Jesus met the beggar at the Pool of Bethesda. The fellow had been stuck there for thirty-eight years. He seemed immobile, frozen in the present moment. If, as a young man, he had expected to be healed, his hopeful readiness had dissipated. He could no longer reply to Jesus’s simple question, “Do you want to be healed?” Instead he offered an excuse he’d used a thousand times over, often repeated to others and to himself. But it was a poor substitute for hope.

Saint John does not tell us precisely why this fellow came to the Pool in the first place. Was he blind, lame, weak, or mentally handicapped? He was clearly dispirited after thirty-eight years. John tells us nothing about his emotional response to the miracle. We hear only that, “Immediately the man became well, took up his mat, and walked.”

These are details we must fill out for ourselves. How will I respond to the Resurrection of Jesus with its implicit invitation to “Rise, take up your mat, and walk?” Will I shed my excuses and resentments and freely praise God with a grateful and joyous heart?

The Easter season is not coincidentally springtime. Those many forms of life that have been dormant are even now stirring with fresh vigor. The sacred celebration, extending from Ash Wednesday to Pentecost, should revive us. If we were content to hibernate in our grievances all winter, the sunshine, warm air, and gentle breezes call us to come out and live again. Excuses don’t cut it anymore.