The Seventh Day in the Octave of Christmas

 Lectionary: 204

In the beginning, was the Word,
    and the Word was with God,
    and the Word was God.
He was in the beginning with God. 
All things came to be through him,
    and without him, nothing came to be.

In the middle of this past year, as I pondered my life and meaning in retirement, I returned to T.S. Eliot and Burnt Norton, the first of his Four Quartets:

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

As creatures of time we know we have a future but we do not know the future. We know only the past and if we predict the future we only suppose what has happened must happen again. The sun will rise, the sun will set. 

On the last day of the year, we sing, "Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind...." And then we realize we have, despite our best efforts, little knowledge of the past. Sadly we forget most of it as we plunge onward toward an uncertain future. 

We cling to words and traditions like children walking between their parents, holding hands with both, and confident that so long as we hold on we shall not be lost. 

If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.

We are redeemed in time by an incident in the past whose meaning is still unfolding. We are redeemed by remembering that incident and persistently telling our children and loved ones about it. It is more important than the day I was born; and I remember it more clearly than anything else I've ever suffered or enjoyed. It is the most important story I can tell because my particular story means nothing without it. 

Those who forget this story lose their way in this world. They have no road that leads beyond the horizon, and can see nothing more than the threat of annihilation or the possibility of survival. For many their best hope is that their children might remember them for a while. Does anyone remember their ancestors born two hundred years ago? 

We know the Lord will remember us into eternity. In him all time is redeemable. 

Feast of The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph

 Lectionary: 17

When a Sunday does not occur between December 25 and January 1, this feast is celebrated on December 30 with only one reading before the Gospel.

...And let the peace of Christ control your hearts, the peace into which you were also called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, as in all wisdom you teach and admonish one another, singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God.

Our annual celebration of the Holy Family begins with an appreciation of God's humility. Our Lord came to Mary and Joseph in utterly naive innocence, with neither ability nor power to save himself from cold, hunger, or enemies. Saint Luke describes God's helplessness as he is bundled in swaddling clothes; Saint Matthew recalls his rescue from Herod's rampaging soldiers. Parents of every sort, whether human or alligator, defend their children fiercely. And, despite his authority over heaven and earth, the Lord needed the instinctive help parents give their children.

Today's alternate first reading, taken from Saint Paul's Letter to the Colossians, concerns the Church, and only secondarily the biological family. 

It is worth remembering that the peace of Christ begins in our knowledge of Christ. A group of people, whether biological or ecclesial, that does not know Christ might not enjoy much peace. Afflicted as we are, we often bring to our gatherings a history of misunderstandings, misgivings, and distrust. Even lost sailors and confused hikers, upon being rescued, might discover they're not half as safe among strangers as they had hoped and expected. Only the blessed can keep in the forepart of their minds the mystical awareness of God's gracious mercy.  

Within the Church, we often call one another brother and sister; our priests and elders might be called father or mother. The words are familial and suggest the characteristic affection of a biological family of parents and children. But they might also work in the opposite direction, encouraging biological kin to regard one another with the kindness that is typical of the Blessed.

My mother recalled a moment when I was apparently old enough to do some mischief while, perhaps, innocent enough not to know its consequences. As she was about to apply a bit of salutary discipline to my physical self, I pointed at the crucifix and said, "Jesus!" Charmed by my discovery, she relented and forgave the grievance on that occasion. 

We learn to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus. That's why every altar in every church and the walls of our homes are marked with crosses. He is our privilege, our delight, and our peace. 

The Fifth Day in the Octave of Christmas

 Lectionary: 202

“Lord, now let your servant go in peace; your word has been fulfilled: my own eyes have seen the salvation which you prepared in the sight of every people, a light to reveal you to the nations and the glory of your people Israel.”

A few weeks ago, I celebrated a weekday Mass in the church of Saint Theresa Benedicta of the Cross, in Bright, Indiana. Born Edith Stein, this promising philosopher and student of the atheist Martin Heidegger converted from Judaism to Catholicism as a young woman. She entered a Carmelite monastery in Cologne but was transferred to Echt as the Nazis gained control of Germany. When they invaded the Netherlands they also violated her cloister and took the nun away to share the fate of God's chosen people. 

The Jewish nun was canonized by Pope Saint John Paul II amid some controversy. Did she die as a Christian martyr or a Jewish woman? This "daughter of Israel" died for the faith which entered human history in the person of Abraham. And she remains, like millions of Christian and Jewish martyrs, 

"a light to reveal you to the nations and the glory of your people Israel.”

Saint Luke, in particular, stressed Jesus's Jewish origins. The Roman Empire tolerated thousands of religions with their innumerable gods so long as they were willing to pay the Roman tax. But they suspected new religions because they always reshape social, economic, and political institutions. New religions are trouble and who needs trouble? 

With his stories of John the Baptist, Simeon, Anna, the circumcision and purification of Jesus, and the missing adolescent found in the temple, the Evangelist placed the Lord squarely within the Jewish religion. 

He and the other New Testament writers believed the Christian movement, which welcomed both Jews and Gentiles, was not a new religion. It was neither a protest nor reform of Judaism but a fulfillment of the ancient religion. With many citations from the Hebrew scriptures, they demonstrated how the LORD had guided Jewish history and inspired Jewish prophets, sages, and lawgivers to prepare the way of the Lord. 

Jesus did nothing that was not foreseen from long past, nor did his disciples, although no one could describe precisely how the Gospel would appear. If the crucifixion and the resurrection of the Messiah were shocking and unexpected, they nonetheless fulfilled the ancient prophecies. As Jesus himself explained to the disciples on the road to Emmaus:

Oh, how foolish you are! How slow of heart to believe all that the prophets spoke! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” 

Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them what referred to him in all the scriptures.

But Roman and Nazi authorities saw through the subterfuge. They knew that religion does make a difference, whether it's Jewish, Christian, or Catholic. We could not worship, or pretend to worship, the Roman emperor. We will not countenance slavery, abortion, racism, euthanasia, or eugenics. The children of Abraham and the disciples of Jesus must protest these assaults on human dignity; not to do so betrays the faith for which the martyrs died. If we ever forget this obligation, God's enemies do not. They know what we stand for even when we don't. 

As children, we learned the song of Simeon; and we wait with eager expectation for the Day when the new wine of fidelity will be extracted from the grapes of wrath: 

Mine eyes have seen the glory
Of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage
Where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning
Of His terrible swift sword;
His truth is marching on.
Chorus
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.

 

Feast of the Holy Innocents, martyrs

Kaleidoscopic Dawn

 Lectionary: 698

This is the message that we have heard from Jesus Christ and proclaim to you:
God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all. 
If we say, “We have fellowship with him,” while we continue to walk in darkness, we lie and do not act in truth.
But if we walk in the light as he is in the light, then we have fellowship with one another, and the Blood of his Son Jesus cleanses us from all sin.

The images of Christmas are often enhanced by a chiaroscuro effect; that is, by the contrast of brilliant light in deep darkness. Saint John suggested as much when he said, "The light shone in the darkness and the darkness could not overcome it." Often the light appears to shine from the Infant's face in the middle of the painting and the faces of the Virgin, Joseph, the Shepherds, and the Magi are illuminated by His light. The backs of their heads are darkened, as are the walls and other objects. As we reflect on these images the message is clear enough. He is the Light of the World. 

But an irony appears to me as we approach today's feast, which anticipates Calvary. The cross, is it darkness or light? Do we see the cross as an image of horror or grace? Certainly, the Lord is humiliated by crucifixion and I regard humiliation with dread. 

Even today, on the Feast of the Holy Innocents, we remember God's humiliation as Joseph spirited the helpless Infant and his Mother out of Bethlehem in the middle of the night. There could be no brilliant light around the trio; they needed the blessed cover of darkness. Is there some kind of glory in retreat?

 

And yet Saint John insists, "God is light, and in him there is no darkness at all." 

When I was a child, the black and white television programs still mimicked the old westerns, and the bad guys wore black hats. You could tell the good guys like Hopalong Cassidy and the Lone Ranger by their white hats. That polarized vision of life still dominates much of our thinking. Some politicians paint their opponents in the darkest possible hues; they insist that anyone who votes for their opponents is committing evil. Some Catholic priests and bishops have honored that foolishness, declaring that voting for Democrat or Republican candidates is sinful. Perhaps mortally sinful! Many Catholics feel acute embarrassment at such poor leadership while others suffer confusion and distress. 

We look to the Cross for wisdom, guidance, and light. We peer through shades of grief, disappointment, and despair. Often these overpowering emotions reflect, as in a mirror darkly, our passionate love for one another, our Church, and our God. 

Today's feast recalls many of the bleakest moments in human history, even as the news media reminds us that the killing of innocents is neither rare nor unusual. It is a common practice when soldiers invade a foreign land, when rebels foment a civil war, or when comfortable societies fear the inconvenience of newborn babies. Can we see light in these horrible stories? Is there reason to hope? 

Our religious faith calls this day the Feast of the Holy Innocents. The murdered boys of Bethlehem are martyred saints; they shed their blood in persona Christi. Their mothers grieved as the Virgin Mary would grieve her son not many years later. 

This feast dares us to hope in the face of innumerable horror stories. Most are remote to us; we hear of them only through the news of distant events. But many are close and personal as we suffer from plagues of drug abuse, mass shootings, and suicide. Like the people of Europe during the World Wars, few American families have not been staggered by the unexpected death of loved ones. Marriages have foundered on grief; suicides have triggered other fragile persons to take their own life. 

And yet we hope. The Spirit of God moves in our hearts; our faith in the death and resurrection of Jesus arouses our hope; our love reaches out to the suffering even as it accepts the consoling companionship of others. 

But this I will call to mind;

therefore I will hope:

The LORD’s acts of mercy are not exhausted,

his compassion is not spent;

They are renewed each morning—

great is your faithfulness!

The LORD is my portion, I tell myself,

therefore I will hope in him.

The LORD is good to those who trust in him,

to the one that seeks him;

It is good to hope in silence

for the LORD’s deliverance. Lamentations 3: 21-26

 

Feast of Saint John, Apostle and evangelist

  Lectionary: 697

...what we have seen and heard
we proclaim now to you,
so that you too may have fellowship with us;
for our fellowship is with the Father
and with his Son, Jesus Christ.
We are writing this so that our joy may be complete.

In my post of Christmas Day I reflected upon the mystery of God's becoming a human being; that is to say, a system of systems amid the systems of human life; a story amid the innumerable histories of humankind; and a name by which they are identified. 

I know it sounded arcane and perhaps out of tune with the dazzling glory of the occasion, but it's an approach to the mystery of the Incarnation; and, I like to think, may lead us to a deeper wonder before the doctrine. 

Saint John might have appreciated the attempt for in today's first reading he speaks of Christians finding a dual fellowship with one another and with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ. 

In the Lord, and especially through our sacraments, we are wrapped in the Holy Trinity. In Baptism we become new creatures; in the Eucharist, we consume and become his Body and Blood; in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, we share with Jesus the guilt of the world and the redeeming grace of rebirth. Confirmation accentuates our life in the Spirit of God; we breathe God's life. Our presence to neighbors and friends is a breath of fresh air in a very stale environment.  

And so on! There is no end to this mysterious reflection! 

On Christmas, I added the sly remark that each individual has only half of a reproductive system. It is complete when it meets a person of the opposite sex and when their union is able to conceive and gestate a third human. The Church honors that mystery of conception, gestation, birth, and ongoing nurture with the Sacrament of Marriage. 

Marriage, then, is one way -- a most wonderful way -- for the individual to escape isolation and connect to others. This "system of systems" is integrated with other systems in a perfectly natural, familiar, and fruitful union. For marriage binds one person to another person and their family. Their married love engages in-laws with nieces, nephews, aunts, and uncles. They have children with the expectation of grandchildren and great-grandchildren. They become acquainted with the ancestors of both families, and often see those ancient stories reenacted in their children and grandchildren. Without the knowledge of their ancestors their children might seem alien; and they will wonder, "Where does that come from?" 

Saint John's gospel alludes to all these sacraments, from Baptism to the Anointing of the Sick. And always within the context of fellowship. The disciples with Jesus, and Jesus with the Father. And the disciples with those who will not see the Risen Lord but believe through their word. 

"We are writing this so that our joy may be complete." Even the Sacrament of Confession is a joyful sacrament as we consider the saving, healing, and reconciling grace of our fellowship. Seeing myself through the eyes of the Church, which is friendly, understanding, and compassionate, I become all the more available to God's forgiving glance. 

I hope this same joyful Spirit impels this homily blog. May your life also be filled with the complete joy of Christmas. 

Feast of Saint Stephen, first martyr

 Lectionary: 696

Beware of men, for they will hand you over to courts and scourge you in their synagogues, and you will be led before governors and kings for my sake as a witness before them and the pagans.

Two years ago, on the feast of Saint Stephen, as the United States pondered what to do about an incumbent president who refused to concede defeat in his bid for reelection, I speculated about the possibility of violence in this blog. Eleven days later, rioters stormed the Capitol in Washington, DC. The insurrection has not gone away since then, nor has the threat of further violence. 

Robert Taylor, in his book, A Secular Age, describes our culture today, 

The shift to secularity consists of a move from a society where belief in God is unchallenged and unproblematic, to one in which it is understood to be one option among others, and frequently not the easiest to embrace.

The feast of Saint Stephen, following hard upon Christmas Day, reminds us that the option to be Catholic in America is "not the easiest to embrace." A Church that honors a man as the Savior of the World and a woman as the Mother of God, that regards sexuality as both unitive and procreative, cannot countenance divorce, abortion, homosexual marriage, or transgenderism. Nor will it encourage capital punishment, euthanasia, and eugenics. A society that today remembers religion, angels, and the Baby Jesus with fond nostalgia and little faith might turn hostile tomorrow as the Church fails to adapt to its enlightened ways.

Saint Stephen saw the Risen Lord as the mob closed in on him, and he was delighted by what he saw. We too must keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, the Crucified and the Risen. We must turn continually to his Mother for reassurance and encouragement. We hope we are worthy to share the faith of the martyrs, and pray that we do not share their fate. 

The Nativity of the Lord (Christmas) Mass during the Day

 Lectionary: 16

In times past, God spoke in partial and various ways to our ancestors through the prophets; in these last days, he has spoken to us through the Son, whom he made heir of all things and through whom he created the universe, who is the refulgence of his glory, the very imprint of his being, and who sustains all things by his mighty word.

As we celebrate the Birth of the Lord, a human being through whom all things were created from the greatest galaxies in the sky to the smallest microbes on earth, my readers might indulge me for a moment and let me wonder, "What is a human being?" 

The question is worthy of the occasion as we remember that the Lord was born among us and resides among us still as a human being. This is a most astonishing mystery, both unexpected and undeserved; and, by some people's reckoning, inappropriate. 

Any answer to the question, of course, must be inadequate for a human being is an incomprehensible mystery, far deeper than the subtlest words might express and the deepest minds might grasp. But periodically we should attempt an answer -- if for no other reason -- to appreciate the glory of Christmas Day. I offer three words: a human being is a system, a story, and a name. 

The human being is a system of systems. They include the cardiac system with its blood and blood vessels, plus the digestive, respiratory, excretive, glandular, skeletal, dermal, and nervous systems. All of these systems are comprised of many parts and each has its own structure and purpose, while all depend upon each other to make the human body a living being. The reproductive system is unique for it is only half a system; the complete system is formed when male and female persons come together. All of these amazing systems must work together to become and maintain the one system which I know as myself, and yourself.

But this system of systems, the human being, cannot can exist apart from other systems. At birth we are utterly helpless, depending on the care and nurture of mature parents; and even in maturity, we rely on other persons in a macrosystem of family, society, neighbors, cities, and nations -- with all their increasingly complex infrastructures. And in old age, we continue to rely on other people as we are less able to contribute to the projects of survival, security, and flourishing. 

Nor can we ignore the macro and microsystems of the universe around us and within us, from the solar system and oceanic tidal systems to the chemical, atomic, and subatomic. Somewhere in the middle of all that the individual person finds themself. I am a part of all that, and yet mysteriously apart from all that. 

So when we celebrate Christmas we are remembering how the Lord God of heaven and earth took his place among us, a system of systems within increasingly complex and interdependent systems. Jesus was never the Lone Ranger, and his energies were never entirely his own. And though his boundaries may have been clear enough, they were never barriers against others people. He relied on others and was reliably there for others. 

Secondly, the human being is a history or a story. In his case, a Gospel! But the Lord's story didn't begin with his birth or his conception. It began when time began; with the formation of galaxies and stars. The chemicals that went into his body -- carbon, oxygen, iron, and so forth -- were created as stars formed, collapsed, exploded, and coalesced again and again. It continued with the call of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph. It continued through the history of Israel with stories of Moses and David, Esther and Judith, Mary and Joseph. And it stretches into the infinite future. 

Each of us has a story and. like our systems, they're enmeshed and entangled with one another. A family of four will have at least four different versions of an incident, and yet they all agree on its importance. Everyone has a story to tell and we hope each one becomes a gospel as the grace of God gathers us to the Lord. We speak of disappointment and sadness, of healing, reconciliation, and atonement. A good story always includes some form of death and resurrection.

And, thirdly, a human being is a name. We give each other names: formal names, nicknames, official names, insulting names, and so forth. But each of us has one name which we know but cannot speak, a word known only to God. And on that great getting-up morning the Lord will call those who belong to him by their names and they will leap from their graves and go with him into Paradise. 

Amid all the systems within the enormous machinery of the universe, Jesus is the Key that makes them work, without which they can neither exist, nor succeed, nor flourish. 

And the Lord Jesus belongs in every story for without him our lives, as beautiful and remarkable as they might be, have no end, no purpose. Our suffering would only be tragic, our disappointments, only heartbreak. But because each of us bears the imprint of his being who sustains all things by his mighty word we hope for and expect a resurrection.

And the Lord Jesus has a name above every other name so that every knee must bow and every tongue proclaim that "Jesus Christ is Lord."

"In times past, God spoke in partial and various ways to our ancestors through the prophets:" and they struggled to make sense of it all. Christmas explains it. In the fullness of time, the Lord was born. He lived, died, and was raised up so that we might find our joy in singing the Glory of God.  

Saturday of the Fourth Week of Advent Mass in the Morning

Lectionary: 200

This was the oath he swore to our father Abraham: to set us free from the hand of our enemies, free to worship him without fear, holy and righteous in his sight all the days of our life.
You, my child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way, to give his people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins.

From ancient times the Church has recited Zechariah's canticle daily during Lauds; that is, our Morning Prayer. Just as... 

the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death,

so the Church sings the Benedictus as the dawn breaks upon us and the day begins. It is a song of anticipatory joy. Here is the light! Here is our knowledge of salvation and the forgiveness of our sins. Here is our worthiness to worship God without fear, holy and righteous in his sight. 

We know just as surely as Zechariah knew that we have not earned this worthiness. It's not for our hard work or careful observance of all the statutes, commandments, ordinances, decrees, and laws of the LORD. As the psalmist said, "...no one is just in your sight!" The old priest knew Jerusalem's wretchedness as well as anyone, and he knew the sad history of Israel. Unlike historians of other nations who must flatter their readership, Jewish scholars recorded their history of sin. That honest penance and the gift of the Savior are their greatest gifts to Christianity. 

Zechariah rejoiced as the sun rose on a new day in human history. He sang of the gift, unearned and undeserved, which the LORD gives to his elect. 

This realization, this awareness, is there for anyone to see. Even the iconic Santa Claus, whose name reminds many of Saint Nicholas, represents God's prodigal liberality. Rarely does he give a lump of coal to the undeserving. Rather, he bestows upon children, who are guilty of their own and their ancestors' sins, free and wonderful gifts. Like the jolly old elf, the LORD blesses us for his own purpose, perhaps because he enjoys our delight as much as parents enjoy the happy faces of children on Christmas morning. He does it to show his goodness and merciful kindness. 

In the quiet of this expectant Saturday, we do well to ponder and appreciate the freedom to worship him without fear, holy and righteous in his sight. This also is God's gift to a people inclined to violence, whose readiest solutions and first impulses are often destructive and counterproductive. That insight alone may be the dawn of our salvation. 

Friday of the Fourth Week of Advent

 Lectionary: 199

Lo, I will send you
    Elijah, the prophet,
Before the day of the LORD comes,
    the great and terrible day,
To turn the hearts of the fathers to their children,
    and the hearts of the children to their fathers,
Lest I come and strike
    the land with doom.

There is irony in Malachi's prophecy. Elijah was the greatest of the Hebrew prophets, second only to Moses, and a terrifying figure. If any prophet describes the "Old Testament God" of fire and brimstone, wrath and vengeance, it is Elijah. But, Malachi says, Elijah's mission should be most pleasant! He will restore parents to children and children to parents.

As we consider the deplorable state of families in the United States, with innumerable orphans in foster homes, or being raised by grandparents and great-grandparents; as many children will never know their fathers except as anonymous donors to sperm banks; we cannot imagine the potential violence of enforced reunions. How many will refuse to recognize their children or parents? How many will cling to Orson Welles' bizarre meme that they were "born alone and will die alone?" 

The mission of John the Baptist is to prepare the way for Jesus. And Jesus will restore all creation to its original, Edenic beauty; and that restoration will be only a step in the direction of endless perfecting and eternal perfection as heaven and earth mirror the infinite beauty of God. 

As Julian of Norwich said, "All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well." 

We know in our bones she is right, that we can never be completely satisfied with partial progress. Good enough might be good enough for today, but only for today. So long as there are children who should know, love, and honor their parents; so long as there are parents who should love, esteem, and be proud of their children, the prophet's work is unfinished. 

Neither human beings nor God can be satisfied with a whitewash of grace that would cover over a rot within our tombs. 

We have two days left to prepare for Christmas. It's not enough time. But there will be time for those who use it well. 

Thursday of the Fourth Week of Advent

 Lectionary: 198

I prayed for this child, and the LORD granted my request. 
Now I, in turn, give him to the LORD;
as long as he lives, he shall be dedicated to the LORD.”
She left Samuel there.

Today the Church offers the story of Hannah and her son Samuel as a companion to Mary's Magnificat. After the boy had been weaned, she brought him to Shiloh and the Ark of the Covenant where she gave him to the Lord. She made a sacrifice comparable to that of Abraham, who offered his "only beloved son" on Mount Moriah. In that tradition, Mary also gave her only Son to the Lord. 

As the American way of life meanders like a shallow river on a flat plain, without direction or purpose, guided only by impulses, opinions and obsessions, American Catholics find themselves inevitably separating from their neighbors. 

I believe each adult now attending Sunday or daily Mass has decided to live sacrificially. They no longer expect their neighbors or families to support their religious choices. Few are impelled by the fear of missing Mass and incurring mortal sin; nor do they come to please their parents, siblings, or anyone else. Rather, they practice their Catholic faith because they want to, because they love the Lord and his Church. Their faith costs them much. Many in the congregation feel deep disappointment about their children's or parents' lifestyles. They cannot support or admire serial marriages, abortions, or "sexual preference."  

Like Abraham, Hannah, and Mary they have turned their faces to the LORD, and they hear their hearts singing Mary's word, 

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;
my spirit rejoices in God my savior.
for he has looked upon his lowly servant.

But what is sacrifice? We hear the word often enough. How does one live sacrificially? Two things: intentionality and for the Love of God.

Lots of people live purposely and intentionally. They know what they want and work toward it. They organize their time, relationships, energies, and commitments according to their goals. They discipline their bodies and their minds. 

Living sacrificially is 1) living intentionally, and 2) for the Love of God. Whether they exercise the body, regulate their diet, engage in conversation, study useful topics, relax with entertainment, or sleep: they do it with an awareness of God's guiding will and their obedient service. They know there are many things they should not do, amusements they should not have, ideas they dare not entertain; and they resolutely turn away from these things. 

American Catholics do not pick and choose what they want to believe. They do not fashion a religion to support their preconceptions. Rather, they listen to the hard truths about the love of enemies, sexuality, and death. They practice the faith of the martyrs intentionally and gratefully -- for the Love of God.

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

 Lectionary: 197

“Most blessed are you among women,
and blessed is the fruit of your womb. 
And how does this happen to me,
that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 
For at the moment the sound of your greeting reached my ears,
the infant in my womb leaped for joy. 
Blessed are you who believed
that what was spoken to you by the Lord
would be fulfilled.

To create an interesting novel with enough stories to make it worth reading, a novelist must amass a lot of stories and then tie them together with a common theme so that each remains integral to itself while illuminating the others. The Evangelists Mark, Luke, Matthew, and John collected many stories of John the Baptist and Jesus of Nazareth, preserving the authentic and reliable, and discarding nonsense. Then they tied them together with a gospel message of great joy. 

Throughout the Roman empire, we may suppose that first century Jews knew of John the Baptist and were also hearing stories of Jesus of Nazareth. But in a world without newspapers or electronic media, how did the word get about, and what would people make of such stories? Like today's social media cacophony, everyone had an opinion but few opinions deserved a hearing.  The Evangelists stepped into the vacuum and spoke with divine authority and a plausible, joyful narrative.  

John and Jesus were both prophets with a large following, and both had been executed. Were they colleagues, partners, or rivals? Had God sent both prophets, and could both be trusted? What did their simultaneous appearance mean? Saint Mark resolved the issue by describing John as the forerunner of Jesus, the one who prepares the way. "Behold, I am sending my messenger ahead of you." Matthew, Mark, and John followed Mark's pattern and scholars find only faint traces of a potential rivalry between the camps in the New Testament. 

The storyteller Saint Luke went further by describing a meeting of their mothers, and their overwhelming joy at their sons' births. Mary and Elizabeth knew God's plan! Distantly related by kin, there could be nothing but admiration and respect between the prophets, and the Baptist would dance for joy like the best man at Jesus's -- the groom's -- appearance. In fact, he had danced in his mother's womb during their first encounter! 

With all due respect to Luke's story of Jesus's birth in Bethlehem with its manger, swaddling clothes, shepherds and angels singing, Glory to God in the Highest, today's story of Mary's Visitation seems as grand, or perhaps more grand, an occasion. The angelic hymn is bested by Mary's Magnificat. And Elizabeth's exclamation set the pattern for centuries: "But who am I that the Mother of my Lord should come to me?" Juan Diego, Bernadette Soubirous, and the children at Fatima might have said the same thing. 

The occasion is pure joy, even with the discomfort of pregnancy, the danger of giving birth, and the boys' violent destiny. And, despite our graphic memories of John's beheading and Jesus's crucifixion, we share their gladness. 

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

 Lectionary: 196

In the sixth month,

the angel Gabriel was sent from God

to a town of Galilee called Nazareth,

to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph,

of the house of David,

and the virgin’s name was Mary.

Of course, we hear this story about the Virgin Mary many times a year; but this time, we hear it in the context of Saint Luke's set of five stories. Two concern the birth of John the Baptist; two concern the birth of Jesus; and the narratives converge in the central story as the expectant mothers meet and celebrate the marvelous works of God.

 

Each story can stand alone, and they are presented separately each day this week, but we should know the context of a Bible passage. A precious gem shines more brightly when it's set with other gems. Like these stories, they sparkle with one another. 

Notice the particularity of the individuals. Zechariah, Elizabeth, and Mary are named and each is given a specific part in the drama. They were not chosen at random. They are both worthy and ready. Each character might not know everything there is to know about the infants to be born, but they know they must not fail. They are glad to play their parts, which they do with enthusiasm and gratitude. (Joseph, of course, will also play his part but his story is told in Matthew's gospel.) 

And yet the elderly couple and the young virgin also face daunting challenges. They know things that cannot be explained. Zechariah cannot speak of the angel's unexpected message but manages to convey the word to his wife. The couple must deal with the boy's unusual name, and they do it with neither explanation nor apology. "His name is John -- period.) 

Mary's story is credible only to the credulous and the faithful. Apparently, Elizabeth is sufficiently overwhelmed by her own pregnancy to intuit immediately the Virgin's conception. And, according to Matthew, the first believer requires the reassurance of an angelic dream. 

Turning more directly to today's story, I appreciate the angel's careful explanation to Mary. She deserves to know much about the child she will bear. And she is told the boy's name since it describes his mission. 

As we reflect on our own vocations, it's good to notice Gabriel's particular instructions -- actually, they are commands -- to the couple and Mary. These things cannot be left to their hunches, whims, or creativity. 

We do well to suppose the LORD has very particular assignments for each of us. Who is so clever, or has sufficient wisdom, to know what our precise roles might be in God's plan? Only God can see beyond the horizon what will come next. Saint Paul gave us the right question to ask of God, as did Saint Francis, "What would you have me do? 

And finally, our Father Abraham set the example for every saint of every age. Hearing the LORD call their name they said, "Here I am! Amen! So be it! Fiat! Be it done to me according to your word." 

Monday of the Fourth Week of Advent

Bear Tooth Mountain, Montana

Lectionary: 195

Then, when the whole assembly of the people was praying outside
at the hour of the incense offering,
the angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right of the altar of incense. 
Zechariah was troubled by what he saw, and fear came upon him. 

The appearance of the Archangel Gabriel to Zechariah marked the end of a very long silence. The last of the Hebrew prophets had died centuries before, and the Jews courageously carried on without their guidance. Rabbis in the synagogues of Asia, Africa, and Europe reflected on the Hebrew Torah, and other histories, psalms, sages, and prophets; and began writing the Talmud. But few expected divine apparitions in the synagogue or temple. 

So Zechariah was more than surprised at the appearance of Gabriel. He probably supposed he was going daft in his old age. And then the Apparition's promise of a son to be born? I don't think so. Who could believe what we have heard? 

Saint Luke has described the setting. It sounds pretty routine: 

Once when he was serving as priest in his division’s turn before God, according to the practice of the priestly service, he was chosen by lot to enter the sanctuary of the Lord to burn incense. 

That he was "chosen by lot" tells us he had not won the privilege by his leadership, talents, or clever manipulations of the system. His colleagues believed God's will was revealed by lots -- which were something like our dice or a roulette wheel -- but many other Levites had won the same privilege. It might be God's will, or it might be luck; if priests used lots to discern God's will, soldiers used them for gambling. Zechariah knew that as well as anyone. 

Nevertheless, there was the Angel standing by the altar and speaking to him! 

The story of our Salvation begins inauspiciously. The Angel's appearance to Mary, his dream appearance to Joseph; the birth of the Lord in a manger, outside of insignificant Bethlehem, even the appearance of angels to the shepherds, and the child's presentation in the temple: none of these cause an uproar. Only the madness of King Herod could suspect something major is afoot, and he completely missed their importance.

Only the faithful can appreciate Gabriel's appearance to Zechariah. If the world gets a little hysterical around Christmas, it's not like they see what's happening. They have no more insight than Herod. 

But we come quietly to Bethlehem with the shepherds and the magi, to see a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger. And like the Beloved Disciple, we see and believe. 

Fourth Sunday of Advent

 Lectionary: 10

All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet:
Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means "God is with us."

As we recite the Rosary and the Liturgy of the Hours we often pray the Glory Be prayer, which concludes with, "...as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, Amen." 

With that prayer Catholics wrap the past present, and future around themselves like a warm, reassuring blanket. Particularly today, when the past seems more glorious, and the future promises little more than its fated inevitability, we remember Our God is the God of all time. 

His authority, power, and benevolence are not only assured; they're also revealed in time. God has spoken in our past; God remains with us today; God will reveal his Kingdom in the future. There may be little else we can say about the future, but of that much we are sure. 

The United States is blessed to have many Catholic citizens because Americans typically despise history. Whenever they meet opposition or even hear of a conflict, they are eager to believe one side is good and the other bad; as if life is an old-fashioned western. But history introduces shades of grey, darkening the bright side and lightening the dark side, and they would ignore all that. Only in retrospect, when a favored candidate wins, for instance, do they show some interest in discovering how that happened. Inevitably, the story is retold as if, "We knew it all along. That candidate was always a loser!" 

So we need Catholics because the Catholic reading of history is relentlessly hopeful. During the darkest times, when violence is rampant, we cheerfully declare, "The blood of martyrs is the seed of faith." We only have to wait and expect the oppressors to collapse under the weight of their idiocy. 

Many of our contemporaries have little hope for the future; their freedom seems pointless. In the recent novel The Hours -- a meditation on Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway -- we hear the leaden sound of London's Big Ben clock. The hours weigh heavily on the burdened characters as they struggle to find meaning or purpose in their unremarkable lives. There are occasional glimpses of the numinous -- a royal person who may be in a closed carriage in London; a nameless-but-perhaps-famous movie star in a sealed trailer in New York City. But these sitings are dismissed as the characters try to make something meaningful out of flowers and canapes. 

Advent reminds us that time is short, judgment is real, and there is vindication for those who live sacrificially. We enjoy much freedom from oppression; but more importantly, we enjoy much freedom to serve the Lord Our God. 

Saturday of the Third Week of Advent

 Lectionary: 193

The book of the genealogy of Jesus Christ,
the son of David, the son of Abraham.
Abraham became the father of Isaac,
Isaac the father of Jacob,
Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers....

I'm sure someone would tell me it's not important but I am distressed by this NABRE translation of Matthew 1: 1-17, and I suspect there is some political correctness in its preference for "became the father of" over the Douay-Rheims "begot." 

Is begot too direct or blunt? Does it diminish the vital role, the receptivity, fertility, and gestation which a woman provides? I think "became the father of" diminishes the roles of both men and women. 

How does one "become the father of" someone? If I become the owner of something, that something already exists. I didn't create it or cause it to be. The expression became the father of suggests the sons of these fathers had already been born of their mothers. Perhaps their fathers adopted the boys? 

This phrase sounds apologetic and pusillanimous. 

Begot is a direct verb, whereas "became the father of," though not technically passive, sounds like it. Writing coaches from time immemorial encourage us to avoid the passive voice as much as possible. So why do the translators prefer this weaker voice? If they hoped that became the father of is less aggressive and more polite than begot, the effort failed. The act of fathering/begetting/siring is deliberate and assertive. It takes courage on the part of men and women to close the distance -- the separation -- between them and breed children.

The editors of the NABRE intended to improve upon the NAB translation but they missed an opportunity in the first verses of Matthew 1. 

Is it important? The word monogene appears in the original Greek of John 3:16. and is rendered as begotten in most English translation including the Douay-Rheims. Saint John uses the word to evoke the test of Abraham (Genesis 22) when the LORD demanded the sacrifice of Isaac, who was "your first begotten son" and the first of the begotten sons of Abraham's descendants. The word in Matthew 1 connects to Genesis 22 and John 3; and flows into the Church's teaching about Jesus, "the only begotten Son of God the Father." 

And on that relationship of the Son to the Father, and the Father to the Son, the doctrine of the Holy Trinity is built, and there is neither Christianity nor salvation without the Trinity. 

We should not minimize the Father's begetting the Son from all eternity. We were created through the Son by the Father. Sinning, we forfeited and forgot our relationship to God. And we were restored to grace by God's active and intentional mercy. As Gerard Manley Hopkins said, "He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change. Praise him!" 

Friday of the Third Week in Advent

 Lectionary: 191

Blessed is the man who does this,
the son of man who holds to it;
Who keeps the sabbath free from profanation,
and his hand from any evildoing.
Let not the foreigner say,
when he would join himself to the LORD,
“The LORD will surely exclude me from his people.”

Moments before we receive the Most Blessed Sacraments, Catholics recite, "Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed." With that formula we echo the words of the gentile centurion who asked Jesus to heal his servant. 

The prayer obviously reminds us of our unworthiness; and more subtly, that we are gentiles. The centurion's Roman religion and military code had not prepared him to understand the Messiah's mission. He may have had friendly relations with the Jews -- and we can suppose that was quite unusual for the commander of an occupying army -- but he might not have paid attention to their peculiar beliefs, much less listened to their endless quarreling. He knew only that Jesus healed people and was known for his willingness to do so even for gentiles. 

If his fellow officers despised the unruly Jews, this army man could set aside all that to beg the Lord for a favor. He would do so despite his apparent unworthiness in the presence of a holy man of God. 

But the Lord was more than willing to come to the man's home and heal the servant. He had read Isaiah and discovered that the Kingdom which he announced had to include the gentiles -- people like you and me. His Sacred Heart was moved with compassion for them, especially after hearing Isaiah's proclamation:

Let not the foreigner say,

when he would join himself to the LORD,

“The LORD will surely exclude me from his people.”

Jesus read on as the Prophet continued:

The foreigners who join themselves to the LORD,
ministering to him,
Loving the name of the LORD,
and becoming his servants–
All who keep the sabbath free from profanation
and hold to my covenant,
Them I will bring to my holy mountain
and make joyful in my house of prayer;

Like the centurion, we don't belong and don't feel worthy to be in the house of Mary and Joseph. But clearly the Lord has intended that the faith of Abraham and the saving work of Jesus should embrace us, the world, and all its people.  We exclude no one since we have been included.