Memorial of Saint Jerome, Priest and Doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 458 

Ezra read plainly from the book of the law of God,
interpreting it so that all could understand what was read.
Then Nehemiah, that is, His Excellency, and Ezra the priest-scribe and the Levites who were instructing the people said to all the people:
“Today is holy to the LORD your God.
Do not be sad, and do not weep”–
for all the people were weeping as they heard the words of the law.

 

It is good to hear this passage about the reading of scripture on this feast day. Saint Jerome, one of the “Fathers of the Church,” translated the Hebrew and Greek texts into Latin. Known as the Vulgate, this translation was The Bible of the western church for many centuries. English Protestants finally went back to the original versions to create the King James Version, but the Catholic Church retained the Vulgate until the Second Vatican Council. (Of course, there are reactionary Catholics who still insist it’s the only real bible.)

Today’s passage from the Book of Ezra recalls the great gathering in Jerusalem when the returning exiles had finally rebuilt enough of their city that they could pause and celebrate their accomplishments. It was time to reestablish their liturgical customs: the sacrificial offerings of sheep, heifers, and grain. The Levitical priests could occupy their quarters in the temple and resume their religious service. The city and nation would worship God publicly and properly; their religion would no longer be restricted to haphazard personal devotions. 

The renewed rites began with hearing God’s word to Moses and the Hebrews in the wilderness. The city wept for joy as the ancient Law of Moses sounded in Jerusalem again.

Ezra, Nehemiah, and Saint Jerome remind us of the privilege and pleasure we have in hearing the Word of God. This is nothing to be taken for granted; it is an honor to be received in humility and gratitude and the very serious resolve to pay attention!

The Church treasures the Scriptures first by our liturgy. At every weekday mass, two passages are offered, including a selection from the gospels. Every Sunday we hear three passages. Invariably this is more material than we can contemplate in a week. The Liturgy of the Hours offers more and deeper opportunities, especially as we hear useful extra-biblical readings and learn of the many saints.

Each day we should go to the Spring of Scripture to drink and be refreshed. We don’t expect to exhaust that spring; no one can drink it dry. But we are sustained in our faith by the practice. Through the scriptures we enjoy the companionship of the Church from its prehistoric origins, its New Testament foundations, its perseverance through persecutions and martyrdom, and its deep contemplations of every age. The Scriptures provide the confidence and tools to survive this trying age when we are assailed by skepticism, doubt, and occasional heckling.

 

Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, archangels

 Lectionary: 647

I will give thanks to you, O LORD, with all my heart,
    for you have heard the words of my mouth;
    in the presence of the angels I will sing your praise;
I will worship at your holy temple
    and give thanks to your name.

 

Those who dispute the existence of angels, or their place within our Christian religion, have to contend with every book of the Old and New Testaments. They’re everywhere, they have their role, and they’re not going away. They're also heard as we join our voices to theirs during every Mass, "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God of Hosts!" 

And why shouldn’t the LORD who created “billions and billions” of galaxies not populate the same universe with as many angels and more? Who are we to say him naught?

You may wonder, as I have, why these three archangels share one feastday: In the article about Saint Raphael, Wikipedia says of today's archangels: 

According to the Babylonian Talmud, Raphael was one of the three angels who appeared to Abraham in the oak grove of Mamre in the region of Hebron. Michael, as the greatest, walked in the middle, with Gabriel to his right and Raphael to his left. Each was commanded to carry out a specific mission, Gabriel to destroy Sodom, Michael to inform Sarah that she would give birth to Isaac, Raphael to heal Abraham from his recent circumcision and save Lot. 

Each had his own feastday in the Catholic Church at one time, (Raphael, October 24; and Gabriel, March 18). But there was no violence to the tradition when the Church reorganized the calendar and set September 29 as their one feastday. There was a Jewish precedent!  

Gabriel and Michael are described as protectors of Israel and imaged as warriors. Christians more often remember Gabriel from Luke 1 as the evangelical messenger to Zechariah and Mary. Michael is the warrior of Revelation 12. And Raphael appears only in the Book of Tobit; he is remembered as a delightful travelling companion, protector, and healer.

If the Jewish/Old Testament foundations are not enough to persuade the reader that we should observe this feastday, let me suggest this: The Catholic religion is very materialistic. We insist upon the physical resurrection of Jesus on that first Easter Sunday. He ate with his disciples and insisted that they touch him and see that he was not a ghost. And we recognize his physical presence in the Eucharist. 

We also cherish thousands of materialistic religious articles from the first class relics (bones) of the saints to the cheap baubles distributed by Catholic fundraisers. We keep rosaries in our cars and pockets; our homes are decorated with sacred pictures and statues; we wear medals and scapulars; we treasure sacred objects that belonged to our parents and grandparents. These are tangible reminders of God's presence. 

Angels represent that other dimension of God, the intangible, invisible, elusive, but nonetheless real Presence which never abandons or forgets His people. Should we happen to land in a sterile environment like a hospital room or jail cell where there are no sacred objects, we know the angels are here to guard, protect, direct, and comfort us -- just as they did Abraham, Sarah, Lot, Zechariah, and Mary. So long as there are angels, we are never alone. 

Tuesday of the Twenty-sixth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 456

Philippine Martyrs

When the days for Jesus to be taken up were fulfilled,

he resolutely determined to journey to Jerusalem….

 

Although our weekday first readings and gospels have different cycles, it happens that, on this Tuesday, both concern pilgrimages to Jerusalem. The Prophet Zechariah predicted that foreign gentiles with no knowledge of the Lord would come to the Holy City to worship. And Jesus, as Saint Luke tells us, “resolutely determined” to travel to Jerusalem.  (A more literal interpretation: “he set his face for….”)

It so happens – also – that I am presently on vacation in Carey, Ohio, at the shrine of Our Lady of Consolation. I was ordained here in 1975, and served as assistant pastor for several more months. The basilica is dear to my heart, as is the town and its people – though not many remember my brief sojourn. My being here is as much pilgrimage as vacation; I’ve needed to get away for a while.

I have to suspect that the history of pilgrimages is longer than that of exotic vacations and tourism. The planet is dotted with holy cities representing every major and minor religion. Archaeologists tell us of prehistoric holy cities and try to describe their mysterious cults. Individual pilgrims have their own reasons for making the trip. Some are atoning for sin, others seek guidance and direction, many beg for healing and reconciliation, and still others want to feel a closer companionship with the deity. The trips are necessarily long and often difficult. They should feel like sacrifice! The effort will prove the worthiness of the supplicant.

The Prophet Zechariah promised the discouraged exiles as they rebuilt their destroyed city that someday many nations and peoples will come to honor the LORD in Jerusalem. They would admire the residents for their wisdom, piety, and integrity; they would celebrate the wisdom and justice of their God-given laws.

With its Christian traditions the United States inherited the prophet’s expectation. We have hoped our nation would be “a city on a hill,” admired for gathering people of different races, languages, and religions into a citizenry which abides by just laws. We have also hoped the whole world would emulate our democratic principles which recognize everyone as created equal with liberty and justice for all.

Today’s gospel, however, throws a different light on the pilgrimage story. Jesus has set his face for Jerusalem to be arrested, convicted, brutally tortured, and crucified. God’s holy city must become the city of death for God. What could be more ironic? 

It would make no sense if it didn't make perfect sense in the plan of God. Unlike the gods who dwelt in innumerable meccas and were supposed to be powerful, resourceful, and partial to their devotees, Jesus travels with us, a supplicant. Like all pilgrims he will offer a sacrifice, but his will be his own life. 

Our faith, rooted in and drawing inspiration from the Bible, is practiced en route to the Holy City.  It is long and arduous and, if the destination is certain, the route is not. We do not know what challenges we will meet. If we expected an easy road to assurance, the Bible gives us only stories with uncertain outcomes. The Jews did return to the Holy City but it was a ruin. They did reclaim their sovereignty against the Greeks only to hand it over to the Romans -- who razed it when the Jews proved ungovernable. The Lord was raised from the dead but recognized only by a few. 

No one can say they'll be faithful to the end, but we are assured the LORD will never leave us without the guiding light of the Spirit. 

Memorial of Saint Vincent de Paul, Priest

 Lectionary: 455

Thus says the LORD of hosts:

I am intensely jealous for Zion,

        stirred to jealous wrath for her.

Thus says the LORD:

I will return to Zion,

    and I will dwell within Jerusalem;

Jerusalem shall be called the faithful city,

    and the mountain of the LORD of hosts,

    the holy mountain.

After the Emperor Cyrus allowed the exiles in Babylon to return to the ruins of Jerusalem, their holy city, the prophets Haggai urged them to rebuild the temple and Zechariah assured them that God's favor still rested upon them.

We know the favor of God neither by our wealth, security, and good health, nor by our virtue, but by the fact that we're still here. Even yet we have not given up the faith. The Holy Spirit still rouses us like your mother on Monday morning, "Get up, get going, people are counting on you, you've got to show up!" 

We might wish it were one of the latter. There are millions of people who believe in the gospel of success as they wait for God to pay their bills; and others who trust the gospel of good health as they eat right, abstain from tobacco, exercise daily, talk to their counselors, and avoid excess work for fear of burnout. Those are good things, aren't they?

And then there are those who suppose they are virtuous because they vote for virtuous politicians, say their morning and evening prayers, and wouldn't say (a naughty word) if they had a mouthful of it. 

But none of that really counts because the Gospel is not about us; it's about the Lord our God who is our savior, champion, and friend, as well as our accuser, judge, tormentor, vindicator and healer. 

As disciples of the Lord we are assured of God's love as we go about the business of doing God's will. Our freedom is obedience to that life-giving spirit who tells us what to say, when to say it, and when to say nothing; as well as what to do, when to do it, and when to sit back and let God be God.  

Like the Lord on Easter Sunday, we're still here after the tragedies, pandemics, catastrophes, debacles, scandals, and defeats. We're still believing and still hopeful. 

That is the surest sign of God's blessing. 

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 137

There is no one who performs a mighty deed in my name who can at the same time speak ill of me.
For whoever is not against us is for us.
Anyone who gives you a cup of water to drink because you belong to Christ, amen, I say to you, will surely not lose his reward.

In the VA hospital I often meet Veterans who say they "disagree" with the Catholic Church on various issues. It's probably not helpful but sometimes I disagree with their assumption that agreeing with the Church is important. The Church is neither a political party nor an ideological faction; it is a congregation gathered by the Holy Spirit to praise and worship God. "If the Lord is calling you to Church, then you should be there regardless of your opinions. And in that sacred space the Lord might address your attitudes and assumptions." 

Saint John Henry Newman recalled with wonder his entering the Catholic Church and his sudden, unexpected acceptance of the Real Presence in the Blessed Sacrament. The Anglican Church had never abandoned the teaching, nor did they regard it as important; and, in all the anxious years that led to his conversion, he had not given it much thought. But afterward, as he toured Italy he found such sweet delight in the Presence of the Eucharist he could only laugh at his former reluctance. 

The disciples in today's gospel, like the "young man" in the first reading, are too eager to separate the wheat from the chaff by their own immature standards. Feeling like they own the Truth, rather than being owned by it, they are ready to wield the two-edged sword which belongs only to God. 

Many years ago, a couple named Joseph and Lois Bird wrote a book about marriage. One of the chapters was entitled, "All marriages are mixed." (This was when "mixed marriage" meant a couple who attend different Christian churches.) They pointed out that even two individuals of the same denomination come from different families with very different practices of their common religion. Their parents had revered different symbols and saints; they had differing taboos about certain words and gestures; they might be separated by ethnic tradition although both were Catholic. Every devout couple have to work out their own religious practices in the privacy of their home, and with their own children. 

I'm sure there were some couples who never quite got there. I've met men who felt they were not very religious because their wives were more engaged in the parish while all they did was usher and count the collection each Sunday morning. It fell to me to thank them for their service. And there are those who are so persuaded of their fundamentalist beliefs -- which are essentially ideological -- they browbeat their spouses into divorce. 

True faith is marked by a sense of humor about oneself and one's beliefs. I dare not judge others since I am under judgement. Faith recognizes the otherness of God and of people. It says, "I do not own the faith; I hope that I am owned by it." 

The Holy Spirit gives us that faith as we listen to and watch the Lord Jesus. He knew God the Father and rested in the Assurance of the Father's love; but he also knew the terrible otherness of the Father, especially as he died on the cross. 

Everyone who practices faith must encounter that uncrossable divide which is marked by neither barriers nor boundaries. Standing at its edge we meet ourselves in isolation. Sometimes disability, illness, or addiction forces us to that lonely place. But intense love and passionate desire for another's well being may also leave us stranded and weeping with disappointment and frustration. "Why don't they see what I see so clearly?" 

"Love is not loved!" Saint Francis cried as he contemplated the searing fire of God's approach. He could do nothing but stand there and let himself be incinerated while the rest of his disciples cheered him on, "You got it, Brother!" They had no idea of what it cost. 

As the Lord makes clear in today's gospel, no disciple is called to judge another. We should only study the gospel, pray for guidance, and preach mostly by our silence. And, when necessary, use words.

Saturday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 454 

Sing and rejoice, O daughter Zion!
See, I am coming to dwell among you, says the LORD.
Many nations shall join themselves to the LORD on that day, and they shall be his people and he will dwell among you.

I read a book several years ago entitled something like, "It's what's happening." A dreadful title, but it had some interesting remarks about religion in the United States. The most successful churches -- another dreadful idea -- offered the best preaching and the best music. (This was probably in the late 1970's.) In the competitive market for Christians, the churches with the best products succeeded; and products were rated by the entertainment value of the Sunday presentation, rather than by the miracles performed or souls saved. (One being prone to chicanery, and the other suspect of hypocrisy.) 

But, it's probably true that you must choose your church. I don't say that in the sense that Catholics should search around town and find the priest who tells them what they want to hear, or the church that never asks for money. 

Rather, we must choose the Church which we see with the eyes of faith, and that could be any Catholic congregation anywhere. Two people might attend the same Mass at the same time in the same parish and come away with two very different stories. One found what they were looking for: nourishment in the Blessed Sacrament, quiet in the heart, contentment in the Real Presence of God. The other heard crying babies. They saw overdressed and under-dressed people, and images which "turned me off." 

I meet lots of the latter in the secular environment of the VA hospital. And I meet many who believe that the Lord dwells among you in the Church. 

Choose your church wisely. 

Friday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 453

One moment yet, a little while,
and I will shake the heavens and the earth,
the sea and the dry land.
I will shake all the nations,
and the treasures of all the nations will come in,
And I will fill this house with glory,
says the LORD of hosts.

These words are familiar to music lovers. Rather late in Handel's Messiah the baritone rises to sing the prophetic words of Haggai, "I will shake..." The short, quick notes suggest the tremors of an earthquake. They foretell the day when the Church will be recognized as the House of God and the whole Earth will honor the Trinity who makes their home in us.

The passage might also remind us of the Jesuit motto, "ad majorem dei gloriam." (... to the greater glory of God") 

In context of the Prophet's book, they are words of reassurance. The returning exiles have sacrificed much to build a temple for the Lord but this new structure cannot hold a candle to the edifice built when Solomon reigned and Jerusalem deferred to neither Egyptian, Assyrian, nor Babylonian empires. "Never mind," says the Prophet, "the LORD will make up the rest." 

And that must be continual assurance for us. "The effort is ours; the results are God's." Or, as Saint Paul put it to his struggling disciples in Corinth: 

Therefore, my beloved brothers, be firm, steadfast, always fully devoted to the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.

Our justification comes from the Lord, as do the results of our labor. We plant and others reap. We build and others live in the home. Even Solomon's marvelous temple was built mostly upon his father David's amassing the timber, stone, silver, gold, and money to erect the edifice. King David had not even laid the foundation before he died. 

If we're working to suit ourselves, for the satisfaction of doing good work and being both thanked and appreciated for it, we're squandering the wealth the LORD gave us. We should do what we can and then stand back to watch the Glory of God appear. 

I should not be the protagonist in the story of my life.  

Memorial of Saint Pius of Pietrelcina, Priest

"Padre Pio"

Lectionary: 452

Consider your ways! You have sown much, but have brought in little; you have eaten, but have not been satisfied; You have drunk, but have not been exhilarated; have clothed yourselves, but not been warmed; And whoever earned wages earned them for a bag with holes in it.

Thus says the LORD of hosts: Consider your ways! Go up into the hill country; bring timber, and build the house That I may take pleasure in it and receive my glory, says the LORD.

Periodically, I introduce the subject of "Recovering the Sacred" to Veterans who are seeking freedom from addictions and attend a spirituality discussion. I begin with the thesis that violence destroys the sense of the sacred. Millions of Catholic boys attended excellent Catholic elementary and high schools, but were drawn into the Vietnam conflict. Many never returned to the practice of faith. Despite the traditional support of the military branches for America's religions, they could not reconcile their experience of war with their faith in a loving God. 

Other people lose their faith as children of alcoholic parents. If they recover any sense of security within themselves they do so by avoiding the religious trappings and manifest hypocrisy of their early experience. Divorce, abortion, and encroaching poverty have also taken their toll. 

Finally, a nation firmly committed to overwhelming power and the fiction of its innate goodness will not hear a chastening word of God. They want to hear only how blessed and favored they are.

In today's first reading, the prophet Haggai urged the returning exiles to rebuild God's temple first and then embellish their barren homes with the nicer things of a settled existence. They had recouped enough to provide the basics of food and shelter, but could not seem to build a nest egg, a cushion against catastrophe.  

Through his prophet, God insisted their efforts would always be futile until they offered the traditional sacrifices in a proper place of worship. The new temple might never resemble Solomon's spectacular edifice but the effort would please the LORD who provides for all our needs. 

As the world with the United States at its head, continues to widen the gap between wealth and poverty, we would do well to Recover the Sacred. 

The sense of the sacred is like learning to taste a new flavor. When I went to Louisiana in 1988, I was immediately treated to a meal of crawfish. I certainly tasted the spices but could not detect the crawfish. It simply eluded me. But after several crawfish feasts and a few years I learned to recognize and love the distinctive flavor. It's no wonder Louisianan expats trek so often back to Cajun country! The food is like nowhere else!  

The holy is like that. We have to learn and relearn the flavor of God, especially when we're assailed by violent images day and night in every possible medium. It takes time and patience; and we must gently, firmly set aside all temptations to cynicism. We learn patience with people who seem to be a bit fanatical in their reverence for God for we would join their company. We learn from them and choose carefully what gestures we'll practice, rituals we'll attend, and prayers we'll recite. We learn to gentle our language and carefully choose our entertainment. There is value in every form of art but some art is trash. 

We especially learn reverence for people. Jesus insists that we must love our enemies and that certainly means we speak only the truth about them. We do no need to debase ourselves as we wait on the Lord to judge the Earth and all its people. 

Cultivating the sense of the Sacred prepares us for that Immortal Banquet when we gather with people of every race and nation at the Lord's table. Could there be anything worse than sitting down at such a board and discovering God has served us tasteless food? 

Rather, we will taste and see the goodness of the Lord, and delight in juicy, rich foods and pure, choice wines on that holy mountain.  

Wednesday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 451

He said to them, “Take nothing for the journey, neither walking stick, nor sack, nor food, nor money, and let no one take a second tunic.

Those who would create an artificial distinction between the "Old Testament God" and the "New Testament God" should stumble on these rather explicit directives from Jesus. Turning to Saint Paul, they will realize his teaching about faith is equally demanding. 

Deuteronomy spells out the kind of freedom God's people will enjoy, a liberty based upon  covenant and trust. When the Hebrews were helplessly at the mercy of the uncaring Egyptians they readily obeyed Moses, and followed the column of smoke and pillar of fire into the wilderness. But given a bit of assurance, their attention wandered into their own schemes. They suffered setbacks at Massah and Meribah which persuaded them of their own foolishness. The unexpected banquets of pigeon and manna accompanied by sweet water from a rock taught them again to believe that the God of Providence is faithful. 

Eventually they would practice their religion especially with the three major feasts each year. Their annual economic and agrarian cycles were divided between the seasons of sowing, harvesting, and feasting with enough for everyone -- rich and poor, native and alien -- to share the Lord's bounty. If they were faithful to the covenant, hoarding nothing and sharing equally, the LORD guaranteed abundance. 

Jesus laid down the same principle for his missionaries. "Take nothing with you!" The worker deserves his pay and the missionary will be welcomed and provided for by those who hear the Gospel. There is no need to take everything you might need just in case it doesn't work out. And if you do take it with you, it won't work out! 

When Saint Paul spoke of faith that's what he meant. He didn't preach a vague assurance of going to heaven if you think you're a "Christian" and haven't committed any egregious crimes. He urged his people to share with one another as if there were neither rich nor poor in their community. Likewise, they should send food and money to Christians in distant lands who were suffering famine because the favor would be returned one day. You can bank on that! 

Deuteronomy describes both the strict obedience the elect must practice because they belong to God, and it guarantees their freedom from want, their security and reasonable prosperity. Our Christian tradition teaches us the same lessons even as we struggle to practice our faith in a world committed to ever-increasing disparity between the haves and have-nots. 

Feast of Saint Matthew, Apostle and evangelist

 Lectionary: 643

He heard this and said,

“Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do.

Go and learn the meaning of the words,

    I desire mercy, not sacrifice.

I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

Wounded healer, damaged goods, rehab junkie, user in recovery: all titles familiar to today's Christian. Eventually each one must find themselves somewhere in that fellowship. 

There are some who are quite sure they need neither community, fellowship, friendship, nor penance. They're fine as they are. More power to you, pal. 

But as for me and my house, we will follow the condemned, wasted, and crucified savior. Do you remember how the disciples recognized Jesus after the crucifixion in Saint Luke's Gospel? 

"Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself."

And the Gospel of Saint John: 

Put your finger here and see my hands, and bring your hand and put it into my side, and do not be unbelieving, but believe.”

They knew the Lord by his nail marks in his hands and feet. They were still fresh and startlingly beautiful.  

Nor did Saint Paul hesitate to show off his human frailty as he boasted of his many wounds, beatings, and imprisonments. They were his certificates of authenticity. 

If the high and mighty like to show off their wealth, prestige, and accomplishments -- if they have any accomplishments to show, and some are pretty pathetic -- disciples of Jesus reveal our wounds. 

I speak here especially of the spiritual wounds we carry, the regret, guilt, and shame that does not go away unless we live with them. Nor do we boast of them like victims. We should bear no resentments if they came by way of someone's indifference, foolishness, or cruelty. We show them because we have found mercy through them, as we turned to the Lord for comfort, reassurance, healing, forgiveness, and direction. As the Cloud of Unknowing says, "The Lord cannot resist the cry of those who turn to him in their utter failure."  

In that moment we knew we were not the heroes of our own lives. We didn't even have the starring role! 

That belongs always to the Lord who did not come to call the righteous but sinners. 

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

 Lectionary: 449

The Lord has done marvels for us. When the LORD brought back the captives of Zion, we were like men dreaming. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with rejoicing.

Today's first reading from the Book of Ezra recounts the Persian Emperor Cyrus's decision to allow Jewish exiles to return from Babylon to Judea, their homeland. They should rebuild Jerusalem, their former capital, and the temple where they might properly worship God. 

The author highlights the similarities to the Exodus from Egypt as 

"All their neighbors gave them help in every way, with silver, gold, goods, and cattle, and with many precious gifts besides all their free-will offerings." Ezra 1:6

And the Israelites did as Moses had commanded: they asked the Egyptians for articles of silver and gold and for clothing. Indeed the LORD had made the Egyptians so well-disposed toward the people that they let them have whatever they asked for. And so they despoiled the Egyptians. Exodus 12:35-36

There were probably political and economic reasons for Cyrus's odd ruling. Rulers don't often act without reasons of self-interests; even their most benevolent impulses will be supported by the prospect of political, military, or economic gain. 

But the Divine Authors can ignore that dimension for they see the hand of God in the new policy. The return from exile is a Mighty Work of God, like the escape from Egypt and the settlement of Canaan -- and the Resurrection of Jesus. 

Our Salvation comes to us through a long series of historical events. Some might not be accessible to the historians who look for corroborating evidence. They have found, for instance, no secondary accounts of the catastrophic loss of a pharaoh and his army in ancient Egypt. And, although we know of such biblical characters as Herod the Great, Pontius Pilate, and Gamaliel, no secular source can verify the Resurrection of Jesus. If Cyrus sent the Jews back to Jerusalem, we can doubt that he did it out of reverence for the God of the Jews. 

But our faith, a tradition with prehistoric origins, remembers these incidents and celebrates the Mighty Works of God. Our eyes see what others cannot recognize. 

We also see God's mighty work in the Church and her sacraments. We're still here because God wills it. It's not because of our clever adaptability, our readiness to adapt our beliefs, customs, and prayers to the current market, or pigheaded clinging to an ancient human tradition. People half my age have already seen traditions appear and disappear.  

The forgiveness of sins and reconciliation of sinners to the Church is a mighty work. The reconciliation of husband and wives is a great display of God's mercy. The Baptism of infants surpasses the wonder of their birth for those who see with the eyes of faith. 

Faith is also the practice of seeing God's works. It's a habit to be cultivated in our daily prayer and conversation. Reeling from the daily impact of shocking news -- and here I invoke the hypocrisy of Captain Renault -- we look for reassurance in the continuous history of our Church. If we are deeply saddened by news from within the United States or abroad, we find reassurance in God's mighty works. 

On this twentieth day of September we also remember the spectacular faith of the martyrs Andrew Kim Tae-gŏn, Priest, and Paul Chŏng Ha-sang, and their Companions. We pray that we are keeping the faith in this nation and at this time as they did in Korea in the 19th century. 

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 134 

Where do the wars
and where do the conflicts among you come from? 
Is it not from your passions
that make war within your members? 

Twenty years ago, the United States decided that we must fight the "War on Terror." Having suffered the insult of Nine Eleven we should lead civilized nations in the struggle or, if necessary, go it alone. Al Qaeda's attack could not be addressed as a crime; the processes of justice are too cumbersome.  International police and international court are too slow and unreliable; they would not satisfy an outraged nation calling for revenge. 

Many people believed that we must fight terrorists abroad or they'll assail our nation, and even with that persuasive argument the nation conducted a frantic emergency inventory of our security forces and organized a new department with the chilling name of "Homeland Security." 

Nine-eleven was the worst terrorist attack in American history, but the bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma City was the second worse. It was carried out by homegrown nativists. And yet, despite that recent incident, we did not expect those forces to metastasize.

Saint James saw it clearly: 

Where do the wars and where do the conflicts among you come from? Is it not from your passions that make war within your members? 

Only a post-Christian America could forget that fairly standard doctrine of the Old and New Testaments. We call it Original Sin and we remember that no one is born innocent. All have inherited both the guilt of our race and concupiscence -- the predisposition to prefer sin to grace. Our Catholic faith practices that awareness with our Sacrament of Reconciliation and the penitential seasons of Advent and Lent. Our daily prayers include an examination of conscience to help us repent daily and turn back to the Gospel. 

There is still time to avoid a full blown civil war. We have seen its harbingers in the terrorist attacks on our schools, churches, shopping malls, military bases, and concert parks. We have seen its flagrant attack on the Capitol Building and the legislators, many of them complicit in the incident.   

We have only to turn back the Lord as our liturgy, tradition, and scriptures urge. 

We have sinned like our ancestors;
we have done wrong and are guilty. Psalm 106:6

Saturday of the Twenty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 448

I charge you before God... to keep the commandment without stain or reproach until the appearance of our Lord Jesus Christ.

When I was a high school seminarian, the friars who taught us -- who were young men -- told us the story of the old man whom they often heard praying for "perseverance in my vocation." The friars were edified by the legend, the students were mystified. 

Almost sixty years later, I have begun to understand it on all three levels of young, middle, and senior adulthood. 

In today's first reading we hear Saint Paul "charging" his disciple to "keep the commandment... until the appearance...," and in the gospel we hear a parable about perseverance. As I approach seventy-three I wonder when it might get easier.

The challenge is made acute by the realization that, like the generals who fight this war with the tactics and stratagems of the last war, I quarrel with people who have already left the building. I see more clearly how past developments led to present realities, but have little idea where the present is leading.  

And so I keep the faith with more insight and with less. As the United States recently retreated from Afghanistan, I remember very clearly that, on September 12, 2001, I told a small congregation that the United States must not go to war over the insult and tragedy of "what happened yesterday." (It was not yet called "nine eleven.") But they knew and I knew we would go to war; we only had to decide which nation to invade. Saudi Arabia, Iran, Iraq, or Afghanistan? I knew then that the incursion would be no more successful than the debacle of Vietnam. The wisdom of my fifty-two years was no more persuasive then than that of my seventy-two years is today. 

I cling to a faith which is not described by American fantasies but by Catholic doctrine. As a chaplain in a VA hospital, I hope that Veterans will remember the faith of their childhood, abandoned in Vietnam and scorned in Afghanistan but, as I tell them, "We're still here." As a chaplain for the Knights of Columbus, I draw on our Catholic heritage to honor what President Lincoln called in his first inaugural address, "the better angels of our nature:"

"The mystic chords of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature." 

Catholics bring the true history of God to this nation. We remember that he was born among us, crucified, buried, and raised up. With that foundational memory we also remember that the Revolutionary War was supported by less than half of Americans, that the west was won by smallpox, and the Civil War was fought over slavery. We remember the jingoism of manifest destiny, a city on the hill, and making the world safe for democracy. We remember that God is still in charge and is leading us through these dark times despite the lies we tell ourselves. We pray that our children will recognize our lies for what they are and forgive us for having told them. 

Catholics should speak the truth as Americans reassemble our broken identity. That takes courage for many will only want to recreate a past that was neither great for the majority nor good for the least among us. As Catholics, we invite our neighbors to journey with us toward justice in a world we cannot even imagine. 

Franciscan Feast: Stigmata of Saint Francis of Assisi

Reading for Stigmata of Saint Francis

Peace and mercy be to all who follow this rule and to the Israel of God.

Franciscan friars and sisters read the "rules" of Saint Francis with as much intensity as we read the gospels. The friars look to the rules of 1221 and 1223; sisters, to the Rule of Saint Clare; and the Third Order, to the Rule of the Secular Franciscan Order. None of these documents are very long, and their guidance is more inspiring than specific about what we should or should not do. 

We also read them as we read the Bible, in the context of their time, specifically of thirteenth century Italy. We comb the legends of Saints Francis, Clare, and other significant Franciscan documents of that time. Much of the latter literature has become widely available only in the last fifty years. 

Should anyone suppose that our rules take precedence over the Bible, they have only to read their opening statements: "the form of life is... to observe the Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, by living in obedience, without anything of one's own, and in chastity." So when we hear Saint Paul blessing all "who follow this rule," we bless ourselves! 

Always we hold the cross of Jesus Christ before our eyes, contemplating its beauty and asking for its treasured graces. We remember that Saint Francis was inspired to rebuild the ruin of a chapel, and then to rebuild the Church, as he knelt before a crucifix. We remember how he wept copious tears when he thought of or spoke of the Crucified Lord. He said our habit is a cloth cross which we don each day. We remember also that Saint Clare had only one image in her entire convent, and that was the painted image which we call the San Damiano Crucifix, the very icon which had spoken to Saint Francis. 

Finally, we remember the stigmata of Saint Francis, the actual wounds that appeared on his hands, feet, and side. He received that extraordinary gift a few days after the feast of the Exaltation of the Cross (September 14) two years before he died, in 1224. Although Saint Paul had boasted of the wounds he received in service of the Gospel -- scars of beatings, stoning, and scourging -- the stigmata of Saint Francis were a first. Other saints (and some charlatans) would claim the gift later, but his were the first. 

We should understand two things about Saint Francis and these wounds: they were very painful, and he showed them to no one. Only a friar who personally nursed the dying man knew of them. They were shown to the world after he died and before he was buried. 

We understand them as heaven's sign that this man truly imitated Jesus Christ like no other saint before or since. He had wanted to be a martyr and set out in quest of that prize by stowing away on a ship to Egypt and then walking into the Muslim camp. But the inspired sultan had only been charmed by the Poor Man's obvious holiness and returned him to the Christian camp. Francis returned to Italy disappointed.

Not long after that, as he was praying in solitude, he had a vision of the Crucified born aloft like a seraphic angel. (Francis had drawn much inspiration from the Prophet Isaiah and his vision of seraphs hovering around the Majesty of God.) He could hardly know what the startling, silent apparition meant before the wounds appeared on his body. 

To his disciples and the Church, they mean we should bear the crosses the Lord gives us, without complaint and with a grateful spirit. Some of us are invited to select the cross by way of marriage and  parenthood, the priesthood, or religious life. All are expected to bear the crosses we did not choose until they were laid upon us. 

At that point, with divine insight and inspiration, we do choose the crosses. We learn to be grateful for them for they are severe, relentless teachers. Crosses like alcoholism, depression, sexless marriage, diabetes, cancer, disabilities and so forth are doorways leading to deeper experience of God's compassion and substantial communion with fellow sufferers. 

My depression, for instance, will not suffer self-pity, resentment, or idleness. No sooner do I indulge in these guilty pleasures than the depression comes over me like a suffocating blanket. Fuggedaboutit! he says. Get back to where you belong -- in God's presence. 

From a psychiatric point of view, I might add, these crosses help us to individuate. Although I just wanted to be like everybody else, I learn that I am like no other person in the history of the universe. And I enjoy a singular relationship before God.

The most Catholic of saints also impels his disciples to revere our Catholic tradition. We might study the ways of other religions and appreciate their insights but we only bring them back to be rediscovered within our Catholic heritage. 

Finally -- (a second finale) -- the cross and Saint Francis command us to "Look at the Humility of God," both as the Crucified and as the Eucharist. No experience of God can be more immediate than the Precious Body and Blood of the Lord. 

Amen. 

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

 

Lectionary: 446

He said to her, “Your sins are forgiven.”
The others at table said to themselves, “Who is this who even forgives sins?”
But he said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you; go in peace.”

We have seen on more than one occasion people getting upset about Jesus's forgiveness of sins. 

It's just wrong somehow that he should do that! It upsets people and they don't know what to make of it. "This is not the way we do things here in this country, or among these people. Jesus, if you're going to introduce yourself into our society you're going have to learn our ways. And waltzing into town and forgiving notorious sinners -- that's not gonna fly. "

Human beings have to build customs, expectations, and all kinds of systems in order to survive. Where animals know what to do because they have instincts, we have none. (And when they're instincts fail they die, while human adapt and thrive through change.) 

So we survive by habits and customs; that is, by doing things the same way all the time, and one of those ways is to categorize people. Some are desirable; some are not. Some should be flattered and others driven out of town. Some we can trust and others, we're sure, will never be trustworthy. It's not a perfect system but any system is better than none. 

And then Grace arrives. Grace, in the person of Jesus or in gusts of the Holy Spirit, changes things. Jesus forgives sinners; he heals the sick; he teaches and preaches to the poor; he raises the dead. And the Spirit is worse! It proposes new ideas when the old ones were good enough. It welcomes people who clearly don't belong here. It admires people whose virtues don't stand out immediately. It's all very disturbing. 

And we might resent the work of Grace until one day we realize, "I need it too." That's a hard thought and ordinarily we'd rather not think it. But it just keeps coming because we're suffering and we need some help. 

I can't forgive myself, will someone forgive me, please? I can't cure my affliction; will someone take me to the hospital, diagnose my pain, prescribe a treatment, and help me recover? I am dying; will someone be so kind as to see that my grave is kept clean?

Without forgiveness, kindness, charity, courage, a sense of humor, and a thousand other graces God gives us through Jesus and the Spirit, we cannot survive this world, although we thought we'd survive better without them! 

In the end the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom. 

Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows

Lectionary: 445

At the cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.

The prophet Jeremiah, a young man who witnessed but did not survive the fall of Jerusalem in the sixth century before Christ, spoke bitter words in his anguish:

Cursed be the day 

on which I was born!

May the day my mother gave me birth never be blessed!

Cursed be the one who brought the news to my father,

“A child, a son, has been born to you!”

filling him with great joy.

Let that man be like the cities

which the LORD relentlessly overthrew;

Let him hear war cries in the morning,

battle alarms at noonday,

because he did not kill me in the womb!

Then my mother would have been my grave,

her womb confining me forever.

Why did I come forth from the womb,

to see sorrow and pain,

to end my days in shame?

This unfortunate prophet has been called the most Christlike of all the prophets, because he heard the call to prophecy before he was born, because he never married, and because he died a martyr's death in his youth. He represents the Christ especially in his anguish and suffering. But I wonder what his mother might have said of his awful lament. 

In that respect the story of Jesus is different. Jesus certainly suffered like Jeremiah, and felt the same anguish. But we remember that his "Sorrowful Mother" stood by him on Calvary as he died. He surely could not curse the day of his birth within her hearing. 

Catholics have always remembered Mary's presence on Calvary, and we imagine an additional meeting at the fourth station on the Via Dolorosa, the Way of the Cross. It was not a happy occasion, but it was certainly blessed. The Immaculate Virgin remained open to God's grace throughout her life. Although she could sin she did not; although she might hate the killers of her son, she would not. 

Rather, the Mother believed in her Son although neither she nor anyone could comprehend the full horror of his crucifixion. She supported him like the Maccabean widow who did not flinch when her seven sons were murdered. Mary might have said something similar to the widow's plea with her son,

I do not know how you came to be in my womb; it was not I who gave you breath and life, nor was it I who arranged the elements you are made of.... Do not be afraid of this executioner, but be worthy of your brothers and accept death, so that in the time of mercy I may receive you again with your brothers.” 

With her Immaculate Heart ready to receive her Son even in the terror of that moment, Mary comforted her son. He found in her faith a bottomless well of reassurance. And because he was totally available to the grace of his mother, he received her comfort, even as he also comforted her. Theirs was a mutual bond of faith in each other, cemented by the anointing of the Holy Spirit, that could not be shaken by the physical and emotional abuse of the world around them. 

This is why we turn to God and to his precious Mother for reassurance and comfort even in our guilt, remorse, and shame. As we gaze upon their communion on that dreary day in the shadow of Jerusalem, we know they do not abandon us anymore than they might betray one another. It cannot happen. We are like the children who, seeing their parents' embrace, push in between them to be absorbed in their love. We know where we belong. 

Our Lady of Sorrows is Our Lady of Consolation. Because she knew such sorrow, we know her love for us. 

Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

Lectionary: 638

 

Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God something to be grasped.
Rather, he emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
coming in human likeness;
and found human in appearance,
he humbled himself,
becoming obedient to death,
        even death on a cross.

 

I am not sure when the song of Philippians 2 first invaded my spirituality. When did it become the key and cornerstone of my understanding of Jesus?

The Liturgy of the Hours invites us to recite the song – or sing, if we like – every Saturday evening. As I became more assiduous in daily attention to the Hours, I found myself looking up from the page and reciting Philippians 2 from memory.

And then one day I added my own twist to the prayer; I changed the person from third to second; that is, from he and him to you:

…though you were in the form of God,
        you did not regard equality with God something to be grasped.
    Rather, you emptied yourself,
    taking the form of a slave,
    coming in human likeness;
    and found human in appearance,
    you humbled yourself,
    becoming obedient to death,
        even death on a cross.
Because of this, God greatly exalted you
    and bestowed on you the name
    that is above every name,
    that at your name
    every knee should bend,
    of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth,
    and every tongue confess that
    “Jesus Christ is Lord,”
    to the glory of God the Father.

I often recite this paean along with the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Glory Be. It’s about the same length. I can’t imagine that I am the only one in two thousand years who thought of this, but I leave it at that.

I understand that this song reappeared among twentieth century theologians as kenotic theology. (“Kenosis” is the Greek word translated as emptied.) As secular governments have become more powerful, the “Economy” invades our consciousness, and religion recedes into a disembodied, disenfranchised spirituality without organization or institution, theologians and the post-Vatican Church urge us to reflect on the powerless Jesus of Nazareth. As Saint Francis of Assisi -- way ahead of his time -- said, "Look at the Humility of God!"

Where medieval spirituality honored Jesus as a king and his disciples as knights, we remember Jesus as a layman. He was not born to the priesthood though his mother might have descended from Levi; nor did he have a government or military post. We know of no academic degrees although he certainly demonstrated a deep understanding of Jewish laws, prophets, and wisdom literature. By this world’s standards, he was nobody in particular.

And, because he was regarded as, or might have become, a nuisance to religious and secular authorities, he was disposable. 

Saint John described the conversation among the Sanhedrin days before Jesus was crucified;

"...If we leave him alone, all will believe in him, and the Romans will come and take away both our land and our nation.”

But one of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them, “You know nothing, nor do you consider that it is better for you that one man should die instead of the people, so that the whole nation may not perish.”

 

There's certainly nothing unusual about the an occupying military force like the Romans, or a government by and for the people like the Sanhedrin, deciding that certain individuals are expendable. Human sacrifice has been around for a long time and doesn't appear to be going away. 

When we honor the Cross of Jesus Christ we remember his words, that we must take up the cross and follow in his steps daily. We need not aspire to honors, power, gratification, or achievement. These things will be given as needed, when and if they're needed, according to God's uses for them. "We are unprofitable servants; we have done what we were obliged to do.."

The Gospels never said our way of life should be simple, fun, or easy. But it is good, and we welcome it for that reason.