Monday of the Eighth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 347

In this you rejoice, although now for a little while you may have to suffer through various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold that is perishable even though tested by fire, may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.

It doesn't help much to complain that our present troubles should not be happening. As human beings, we form attitudes, make decisions, and unleash forces which often grow beyond our abilities and strength to control. Nor do we find an awakened sorcerer to settle the mess and scold the shamefaced apprentice. We just find someone (other than me) to blame.

Saint Peter assured his flock, Christians in a world run amok, "may have to suffer through various trials." Realizing this we wonder, "How long, O Lord?" How long will these pandemics continue? How much will drug abuse, alcoholism, gun violence, and suicide take from me and my loved ones? What will I be forced to surrender? Is this the Wrath of God we read of in the Bible but were assured that our God doesn't act like that? How deep must our suffering go? 

Saint Peter finds a purpose in this tribulation, which he calls "trials." They are necessary for our maturation, as we become adults in Christ. Children deny responsibility for their wrongs. They make excuses, they blame someone else. They deny they obvious like Russians denying their intention to invade the Ukraine, or alcoholics who drink despite the pain of pancreatitis. 

Adults find opportunities. They make lemonade from lemons. They recognize the paralysis of their fears, set them aside, and act. When necessary they act without certainty of the outcome. Any plan is better than no plan, even if the plan is, "We'll wait and see." 

Adults know that God has a plan, and that plan is being worked out. They ask how they might assist. They expect to see how this trouble proved "to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ."

Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 84

When this which is corruptible clothes itself with incorruptibility and this which is mortal clothes itself with immortality, then the word that is written shall come about:

Death is swallowed up in victory. Where, O death, is your victory?  Where, O death, is your sting?

On Wednesday we begin the joyful season of Lent. The word joyful in that context sounds ironic -- even sarcastic -- but it appears in some of the collects of the season. And I recall the very wise spiritual director who told me, "Joy is the sincerest form of penance." 

Sailing as we do through the moments when we ask the Lord to reveal our sins to us, and then seeing our sins. Suffering the enormity of our sins which feels like drinking the cup of sorrow to its dregs, we come to that glen in the dark forest where we realize Emmanuel. God is here! And we are here with God.

There is laughter there and great joy, as we mock the fears that gripped us: Where, O death, is your victory?  Where, O death, is your sting?

Lent is about freedom as, for the sake of obedience and in the spirit of gratitude, we undertake discomforts like fasting, almsgiving, and prayer. We don't have to eat until we're full; we can give more generously than anxiety allows; we can hang out in the Presence of the God who loiters with us. Six weeks of Lent seems like a lot of time on Ash Wednesday, but it unfolds rapidly as we stay with each day's prayers and penances. The consecrated time reminds us of our baptism and our consecrated lives. 

Lent reminds us that, 

It is good to give thanks to the LORD,

            to sing praise to your name, Most High,

To proclaim your kindness at dawn

            and your faithfulness throughout the night.

I was struck recently by a cheerful thought, and it continues to amuse me: Nobody asks to be born. In fact, a lot happens between birth and death over which we have no control. At best, we deal with them and try to make the best of them. We often fail; sometimes we succeed. But, for the most part, the successes and failures made little difference in the outcome. I'm not persuaded by the theory of self-made men. I think the odds dictate some will succeed and many will fail. Most people try pretty hard and some of them are lucky. Do they succeed by hard work? Probably not. They just miss the catastrophes that happen willy-nilly to the rest -- until they don't. As my friend said from his wheelchair, "You're not yet disabled."  

And so we give thanks to God for our good fortune and our bad fortune for God is worthy of all praise and we were elected by God to know it. 

Saturday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 346

Amen, I say to you,
whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a child
will not enter it.”
Then he embraced the children and blessed them, placing his hands on them.

In 2003 John Katz showed America the darker side of its love for dogs with his book, The New Work of Dogs, tending to life, love, and family. With several tragic stories, he showed how the animals disappointed their owners who wanted unconditional love from them; a commodity which they could not find among their neighbors, family, and friends. Some dogs were supposed to be companions to the sick and elderly, until the sick or elderly died and the animal were turned out of doors. Some slept with their owners to replace lost lovers; others provided children with a way to terrorize their enemies. Sone were nuisance ornaments because "every family should have a dog."  After the initial excitement they were too large, too demanding, and always in the way. Since there is no such thing as unconditional love, the animals suffered neglect, maltreatment, or death when they failed to do the work they'd been assigned. 

The same author might have written a companion piece about America's children. We are entertained by images and stories of darling children laughing, dancing, sleeping, or crying, but a huge percentage of our children grow up in poverty, suffer undernourishment and poor health care, and will never be given equal opportunities to education and careers. The single largest determinant of a child's future is the presence or absence of a father. 

Like the poor, minorities, and the disabled, in the world we have created, children should be seen and not heard. 

Ready access to abortion sorts children into categories of wanted and unwanted. Unwanted children may be destroyed before they're born, preferred children may be afforded prenatal care and, if necessary, fetal surgery. However, when the preferred child disappoints their parents, they may suffer a loss of standing in their homes. Or the loss of their homes. If the child was supposed to be their mother's lover, a stand in for an absent adult male, the tragedy reads like yesterday's news. Children are no more capable of unconditional love than dogs, cats, fish, and birds.

We should read today's gospel in view of the phony romance we attach to children, the responsibility of caring for children, the harsh realities of the world we create for them, and the hope they still represent. Jesus blesses the children for they are the powerless victims; he hears their cry with the cry of the poor, and he demands that we sacrifice for them the gifts we would give ourselves. 

Friday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 345

Do not complain, brothers and sisters, about one another, that you may not be judged. Behold, the Judge is standing before the gates. Take as an example of hardship and patience, brothers and sisters, the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord. Indeed we call blessed those who have persevered. You have heard of the perseverance of Job, and you have seen the purpose of the Lord, because the Lord is compassionate and merciful.

The Epistle of James is not among the earliest documents of the New Testament, but it's been with us a very long time. And it proves that our perennial impatience with each other was there in the beginning.

It's almost comical that the author, urging us to be patient with our co-saints in the Church, invokes the patience of the prophets and martyrs; and finally of the paradigm of patience: Job. Who sat on a pile of dung while his enemies discussed whether he deserved it or not. 

"Give me strength!" we pray when we deal with one another. 

If working with regular people is challenging at best, it's often more difficult with our fellow Christians. That's because we think, upon entering such a fellowship, we have finally arrived among like-minded people. We are surely all Republicans here! Or Democrats! Or pacifists, vegetarians, prolifers, or feminists. We are surely eager to welcome into our fellowship people with disabilities, homosexuals, or goths. Tattoos, nose rings, and mangled earlobes are welcome!

Or, we are certainly not willing to welcome the above into our holy fellowship. 

People who are delighted when they land a job with the the Church are especially disappointed when they find their employers or colleagues are passive-aggressive, manipulative, ambitious, gossipy, or prejudiced against certain classes of people.

Our baptism seems to make no difference at all! And welcome to the Church! 

To add to the comedy of it all, people who make no claim to be Christian, Catholic, or religious blame us for not being better than we are. They say we're hypocrites. (I always assure them. "There's room for more!") 

Indeed our unworthiness is so apparent, it must have some purpose. And that is to display for the whole world to see the Goodness  and Mercy of our God. Anyone who expected to make a prettier display of God's trophies has obviously not read the Bible. There we find God's beloved people repeatedly and sometime violently ignoring the Lord and the Covenant. Even when the Covenant was their only reason for being, and the only explanation for their surviving repeated military, political, and environmental catastrophes that God leveled against them. 

We still have no apparent reason for surviving. The Church is not a national, ethnic, tribal, or political bloc. Catholics by definition have nothing in common with each other except our faith. And faith would be no more than a word if the Spirit of God did not gather us into the fold. 

Saint James urges us, "Do not complain, brothers and sisters, about one another!" Can there be anything more absurd than complaints against one another. (My mother's expression used to be, "...the pot calling the kettle black!")

Whether I consider my own sins first or those of my fellow Christian. they should only inspire me with awe. For God is so good! 

Thursday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 344

Jesus said to his disciples: “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.

The story is told of the preacher in the Baptist Mission who challenged his congregation, "Now if a fellow has two yachts, don't you think he should sell one and give to the poor?" 

"Yes, Preacher!" they all shouted.

"And if he had two billion dollars, shouldn't he give one billion to the poor?" 

"Amen, Preacher!" they shouted again.

And if someone has two jackets shouldn't he give one to someone who needs it?"

(Silence)

"Well?" 

"Preacher, some of us have two jackets." 

I wonder if there were any wealthy individuals in the  congregation when the harangue of James 5 was first read in public.  

It is easy to blame our problems on other people, be they super-rich or welfare queens. But anthropologists tell us the gap between wealth and poverty first appeared when cities appeared. And cities are not going away because they make survival so much easier. For that reason they have been called Humankind's Greatest Invention. Individuals specializing in particular skills provide their services to others and receive help from others, and everyone enjoys a degree of leisure that rural folks can only dream of. Odd persons who can't relate to their own families find similar oddballs in a large population and everyone's tastes are met, from the edifying to the immoral. 

Disabled and indigent persons also find opportunities to beg in the city as they provide a feel-good-about-yourself moment to more fortunate people. Wealthy persons offer rich gossip to the populace; their tragedies and comedies have provided fodder for high culture to countless generations of urbanites. Some also prove themselves useful as philanthropists.

God's people -- both Jews and Christians -- turn to the scriptures as we seek the good life. (Keep in mind that our scriptures were also written, redacted, edited, translated, and published in the cities where specialists had the leisure to do that kind of work.) 

Saint Augustine observed that, "We often love the things we should use and use the things we should love." What should we love? What should we use? Today's scripture passages remind us to value the people around us and grab opportunities to care for them. The simple act of giving someone a drink of water may be rewarded with eternal bliss. But "your gold and silver have corroded, and that corrosion will be a testimony against you..."

Despite James 5 we do better to leave the intractable problem of the ever-widening wealth gap to the cyclic forces of the economy as we find ways to care for the least among us. As Saint Julianne of Norwich said, "All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well" when the Lord returns. 

Memorial of Saint Polycarp, Bishop and Martyr

Lectionary: 343 

"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.”

In his Little Office of the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ, Saint Francis of Assisi intoned, "All you works of the Lord, Bless the Lord!" I read that phrase daily for a long time before it clicked with me. Francis was referring to the Mighty Works we hear of so often in the Bible. Initially the phrase refers to Exodus and the plagues of Egypt, the passage through the Red Sea, the destruction of the Egyptian army, God's providence and guidance of the Hebrews through the Sinai Peninsula, and finally their conquest of the Promised Land. Faithful Jews never forget that God did these Mighty Works to save them. No one else and no other god might have. 

There are other wonderful events recounted in the Old Testament but the New Testament authors substantially revived the expression when they spoke of Jesus's Death, Resurrection, and Pentecost. The Last Supper became the new paschal meal to celebrate these powerful deeds. The Mass means nothing without them; nor would they be remembered without the Mass. The Lord was referring to all the mighty deeds of the Old and New Testaments when he said, "Do this in memory of me." 

In today's gospel we hear of people doing mighty deeds in the name of Jesus, and his personal assurance to his disciples that -- whoever these strangers might be -- they cannot oppose him. I'm sure there are many interpretations but what strikes me is the assurance that when I administer the sacraments -- i.e., the mysteries of God -- the Lord is blessing those who receive the blessing despite my unworthiness.

In his Testament, Saint Francis addressed the perennial scandal of priests who live in a manner unworthy of their calling: 

After that the Lord gave me, and gives me, so much faith in priests who live according to the form of the holy Roman Church, on account of their order, that if they should persecute me, I would have recourse to them. And if I had as much wisdom as Solomon had, and if I should find poor priests of this world, I would not preach against their will in the parishes in which they live. And I desire to fear, love, and honor them and all others as my masters; and I do not wish to consider sin in them, for in them I see the Son of God and they are my masters. And I do this because in this world, I see nothing corporeally of the most high Son of God Himself except His most holy Body and Blood, which they receive and they alone administer to others. And I will that these most holy mysteries be honored and revered above all things and that they be placed in precious places. 

We need priests. While every adult Christian should trust their instincts in dealing with religious authorities, we have to respect ordained leaders if our mission as God's people is to succeed. Being Christian is not a quest to save oneself; nor are we a company of Lone Rangers on a mission to save the villagers. 

Our first responsibility is gather in prayer and praise God for God's goodness. For that we need leaders who not only call us together but remind us what we're about. Our Catholic faith tells us they're neither self-elected nor democratically chosen; they are called by the Lord, and ordained by the Church. And they remain always under the authority of the Church. 

When we bow our head at the end of Mass we acknowledge the authority of ordained ministers to teach, heal, reconcile, and govern us. We thank God for their authority for they are alter christi to us. 

Feast of the Chair of Saint Peter, Apostle

 Lectionary: 535

I exhort the presbyters among you, as a fellow presbyter and witness to the  sufferings of Christ and one who has a share in the glory to be revealed. Tend the flock of God in your midst, overseeing not by constraint but willingly, as God would have it, not for shameful profit but eagerly.

As it happens, we celebrate the Papacy the day after my harangue about a parent's hesitant faith in Jesus. The unfortunate father begged Jesus to heal his son "if you can." I insisted there is no healing, forgiving, or governing from God without the authority of the Church. That authority, I should add, was given by the Lord and belongs to the entire church. Ordained leaders simply represent and administer the mysteries. It does little good for returning sinners to have their sins absolved in the confessional if the congregation still shuns them. This can happen when their sins are publicly, widely known but their reconciliation is not; or the sacred sign is not respected. An inspired Church welcomes repentant sinners back into the fold and God's mercy.

But we should further explore this mystery of the Church's authority to heal, forgive, and govern. I have personally experienced its positive and negative sides as the Catholic chaplain in a secular hospital. I visit many patients who are very happy to see a priest -- any priest --  for they have learned to trust ordained persons and to greet them as "other Christs." Often I am drawn to revisit these patients even when they suffer highly contagious Covid 19. 

But there are some patients, listed as Catholics, who do not welcome me. Rarely are they rude, but I can see their disinterest, and it's not because they are preoccupied with their illness. The sacrament of the priest means nothing to them. Perhaps it never did. It seems it never will. Some show greater interest on my second visit, and I think perhaps the spark of faith is kindling. Others show the same cool indifference. I don't return unless I have time to kill and nothing else to do. 

It might appear to some that I have pronounced a judgement of doom. Saint Augustine shocked the Church when he said, "Love God and do what you want." If I don't want to see the patient again, I hope it's the Spirit that sends me elsewhere. That is the authority of the Church. That is how we should administer the sacraments of the Gospel. 

It must be obvious that this process of discerning the will of God is seriously flawed by our human sinfulness. We've all heard thousands of stories of unkind priests and rude congregations. We often do what we think should be done -- either to please the consumer or to enforce church rules -- without really asking, "What does God want me to do in this particular moment?"  

But that is precisely the scandal of the cross, as Saint Paul described it. The Lord God of Heaven and Earth humbled himself to become a member of our human race. He was subject not only to the wise and saintly Mary and Joseph, he was also subject to Annas and Caiphas, Herod Antipas and Pontius Pilate. 

Or, to use an anathema word in the American lexicon, God works within politics, and many inspired decisions are transparently political. One fellow challenged me about Jesus's birthday. He argued that since scripture does not say when Jesus was born and the choice of December 25 suited Rome's political purposes, we should not celebrate Christmas at all. I replied that the choice was precisely right because it was political. You can no more take politics out of the Church than you can take the bones out of the human body. Anyone who supposes that our religion should have no politics has not read the Bible. 

And why is that? Because Jesus insists we must love the Lord with everything we've got: heart, soul, mind, and strength. That everything includes our relationships with all their intractable, tangled, historical complexity.  

The Chair of Peter, which is an ancient relic and almost certainly never supported the seated apostle, reminds us of the antiquity of the Church, its Code of Canon Law, its byzantine politics, and the favor God has shown it. The Spirit of Jesus gathers and keeps us in communion with the pope and with one another. Our beloved Sacraments unite us today and assure us that his final prayer -- "that all may be one" -- will someday be fulfilled.

Monday of the Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 341

"...if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.”
Jesus said to him, “‘If you can!’ Everything is possible to one who has faith.”
Then the boy’s father cried out, “I do believe, help my unbelief!”

As the Catholic priest-chaplain, I often meet former Catholics in the VA hospital who attend no church and believe they know their religion. Many received basic religious instruction in grade school, some attended Louisville's excellent Catholic secondary schools. Rarely have they attended Church since then; their sign of the cross is lame and their verbal responses to our prayers are feeble; but they're nonetheless confident of their standing in the Church. 

But the surest giveaway of their loss of faith is their willingness to question God. Like the distressed parent in today's gospel, they don't respect any religious authority that teaches, heals, or leads. Some claim to have known priests personally; I suspect their pastors were too familiar with the young men. Boundaries were violated and the disillusioned boys lost respect for God and the Church. (Those violations were not necessarily sexual; in some cases they were just men being men, which is to say, acting like boys.) 

Their skepticism of the Church's authority has been encouraged by the dominant Protestant ethos and by our secular culture. They believe that no one speaks for God, and the Bible is too ancient, controverted, and confusing to be taken seriously. Scripture may offer some useful proverbs; its mythical stories entertain children; but it has nothing to say to our time. They usually conclude with, "There is only one god and he doesn't care whether you go to church or not. Just so you're a good person." 

On my better days I simply leave the room. There is no point in arguing with a patient in the hospital, especially over the question of faith. Persuasive reasons speak only to the persuaded faithful; winning an argument wins no one for God since God receives only the willing. 

But I feel such sadness when I leave because, arguing themselves out of the Church, they remove themselves from her authority. We've all heard Jesus declare, "Whose sins you shall forgive they are forgiven; whose sins you shall retain, they are retained." Outside the Church there is neither authority nor sacraments to forgive, heal, or lead. 

Some will argue that God's saving work surely goes beyond the Church. Doesn't Jesus save everyone? I wouldn't know; that's above my pay grade. But that minimalist model of "being saved" dismisses the Lord's commands to be salt for the earth, and light for the nations. They will not strive to enter through the narrow gate. 

That attitude fails to inspire because it has no Spirit. When the young man asked what he had to do to be saved he was told, "Sell everything you have and give the proceeds to the poor. And then come follow me." He was not told to pay the taxes you can't avoid and stay out of trouble. 

In today's Gospel the Lord challenged the parent's querulous hesitation. "If you can?" And the man responded, "I do believe! Help my unbelief." He buckled before the authority of Jesus, as we all must. Anyone can pray before an imaginary Jesus, an idol to suit their tastes. We kneel before the Lord of our Church. 

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 81

Jesus said to his disciples:
“To you who hear I say,
love your enemies, do good to those who hate you,
bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.
To the person who strikes you on one cheek, offer the other one as well,
and from the person who takes your cloak, do not withhold even your tunic.

Anyone who is not challenged by Jesus's command to "love your enemies" must be dead. They're either lying in the grave and unable to hear the word, or truly have died and risen in the Lord. The rest of us must pause, stand accused and guilty, and listen once again.

Anyone familiar with the stories of Christmas and Easter recognizes the truth of Jesus's words. When Joseph and Mary arrived in Bethlehem they were turned away from the inn because, we're told, there was "no room for them." That may be because all the rooms were taken, or because the innkeeper could not risk the noise, confusion, and mess of childbirth within their facility.

Joseph, a native of Bethlehem, might have called on family and friends to raise hell about the turndown and demanded a room. He and his people might have deceived the innkeepers to spirit the woman into a room. But the Blessed Couple found a more acceptable accommodation, a birthing place which was perfectly fine for lambs and calves, and good enough for humans. 

The story of Easter is even more pointed as we remember the Lord's innocence before the crowd, his accusers, judges, tormentors, and executioners. In the presence of his enemies, he was silent like a lamb led to slaughter. In neither story did anyone raise their hand against the enemy.  

In contrast, we can remember the violence of the American revolution. Didn't the first American flag display a coiled serpent and a motto, "Don't tread on me?" How might the displacement of Native Americans and the war against the British been won without guns? In that inconceivable scenario, would the French, Spanish, Russians, Portuguese, and Dutch also have respected this frail experiment in self-governance? As G.K. Chesterton said, "Christianity has not failed; it's never been tried."

As we face the hatred so deeply embedded in American society, there is no need to suppose the United States ever was, could be, or might have been a Christian nation. The hysterical response to Critical Race Theory reveals like a withdrawing tide the violence that supports our civility. If we're ever to hear the Gospel we can begin by discarding childish fantasies of a Christian United States. It never was and never pretended to be. 

Returning to the Gospel we remember Jesus's decision to wait on the LORD. He had followed the guiding Holy Spirit from the Jordan River, into the the wilderness, and back to Nazareth, Capernaum, Jericho, and Jerusalem even as friends and enemies warned him not to go to the capital city. It didn't take a weather man to see where God's Spirit was blowing. His final dying cry -- "Why have you forsaken me?" -- only accentuated his constant faith in the Father and the Spirit. For the LORD raised him up. 

As we practice love for our enemies -- be they terrorists, communists, or new neighbors across the street -- we discard our weapons, dismiss our fears, and welcome the strangers. 

I am convinced that God's name is Emmanuel, and since Easter it might be translated, "I am still here." 

And we who believe in Jesus are also still here. God and our enemies know we're not innocent, sinless, or perfect. But we are still here and the Holy Spirit abides with us, and we're willing to absorb some animosity without reprisal. 

We don't know how much we can absorb but neither should we say, "Thus far and no farther." We can let the Spirit mark the point when we get there, if we get there. And we might be reconciled with our enemies long  before that. It happens more often than the military/industrial complex is willing to admit. (They stand to lose big in times of peace.) 

War has been called negotiation by other means, and negotiations are war by other means. No one wins either. It's not too yet late to study the ways of peace.

Saturday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

Image: the Virgin drives away the devil
with a stick. 

 Lectionary: 340

For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature,
can be tamed and has been tamed by the human species,
but no man can tame the tongue.
It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.
With it we bless the Lord and Father,
and with it we curse men
who are made in the likeness of God.
From the same mouth come blessing and cursing.
My brothers and sisters, this need not be so. 

I suppose the Apostle James was exaggerating a bit when he included the sea creatures among those tamed by the human species, but we can call it a prophesy for there are trained orca and beluga whales swimming in the enormous tanks of some zoos. I don't know that anyone has taught a giant squid to follow instructions but the day might come. 

In any case, James says a mouthful when he complains that "no one can tame the tongue, it is a restless evil, full of deadly poison." How often do we say things we regret immediately and for years to come? I have never been among those habitually silent ones. But they probably suffer a similar regret over things not said, when the untamed tongue refused to do justice, speak mercifully, or humbly serve the Lord. 

In the silent chapel I can entertain myself with thoughts of how much I love the Lord. My piety and devotion are touching. But the illusion vanishes like this morning's dream the moment I greet anyone outside the chapel. Rejoining human society, I take up where we left off, adding to the morass of gossip and malediction. 

There is nonetheless blessing in the silence of the chapel; there we can learn to practice not speaking and non-judgment. The blessing comes through the processes of penance and prayer. As I practice penitence , I look at myself and realize I have done wrong, again. If I am surprised by that I am the bigger fool, but I am usually not surprised. 

Turning to the Lord I beg forgiveness. And then I must be silent for I have no claim upon God's mercy other than the assurance of Baptism. I want to but I dare not point to the sins of others and crow about how much worse theirs are than mine. I am silent. I wait. I trust. I believe. 

I praise God for God is good, merciful, beautiful, gracious.... (I recall Saint Francis's Praises of God  and the phrases which shoot upward like an endless geyser.)  

I say nothing about myself for there is nothing there to talk about. 

Through it all, I learn a form of silence which not only stills the tongue, but also quells the judgement. If God is so patient with me, surely the same Lord regards others with the same affection. Who am I to judge? 

Besides, it's better to praise God; to let the praises continue to gush as I go about my business, and never mind presumptuous thoughts about things beyond my ken. I've seen people do that though only a few observers noticed it. With practice I too can be silent, nonjudgmental, and willing to receive people with the same equanimity of the sun and the rain. The rudder of a disciplined tongue can lead one to praise God. 

Friday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 339

What good is it, my brothers and sisters,
if someone says he has faith but does not have works?   
Can that faith save him?
If a brother or sister has nothing to wear
and has no food for the day,
and one of you says to them,
“Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well,”
but you do not give them the necessities of the body,
what good is it?
So also faith of itself,
if it does not have works, is dead.

The sequel to Cervantes' Don Quixote opened new territory in fiction that has remained largely unexplored. The first novel, appearing in 1605, described the misadventures of a silly old man and his squire, Sancho Panza. Quixote, having read too many romances of dragons, wizards, and fairy princesses, finally went over the edge and decided to be a knight errant, in quest of adventure, fame, and glory. Mounted on a broken old nag with a shaving bowl for a helmet, he attacked shepherds in defense of their sheep, and prison guards to free convicted criminals. 

The second volume, published ten years later, introduced characters who had read the first book, laughed at its foolishness, and wanted to meet Quixote and his sidekick. In this sequel the two are mystified to learn their story has been publicized, but they don't mind the fame. They had set out to  attain glory and had somehow attained it!

To this day, many people like Quixote and his credulous companion don't get the difference between fiction and reality. They are entertained by Star Wars, Star Trek, Harry Potter, Frodo, and others without quite realizing these adventures don't happen in the real world. Recently a mob of Sancho Panzas, cheered on by a latter day Don Quixote, attacked the nation's Capitol. They bought into romantic fiction without understanding there never was and never will be a Superman, Batman, or Harry Potter. They want to believe that you can be all that you can be, if you build it they will come, and that wishing on a star can make all the difference. Some of the adults dressed in fairy tale clothes and marched like a children's crusade against the "Evil Empire." 

As absurd as it was, the debacle of January 6, 2021 is not untypical of Americans. Many buy into determinism, the belief that the future must follow a predictable path to Manifest Destiny. According to Star Trek, for instance, the 25th century universe will have no poverty. This miraculous future will not be attained by grace because Trekkies know nothing of Original Sin or Grace. Rather, it's predetermined by a historical, dialectic process, a Marxist notion endorsed by communists and capitalists. What must happen will happen. We need not worry about today's poor; they'll soon disappear.

Despite its sources in our very real and historically verifiable world, they read the Bible as if it were also fictitious stories. Mordor, Hogwarts, the Last Frontier, Jerusalem: all are found on their map of Never Never Land. Safely removed from the real world, they admire Jesus's teachings as clever and memorable teachings, like the magical incantations of Gandalf. 

But turn the other cheek? Sell everything and give to the poor? Forgive seventy times seven times? You shall be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect? Not in the real world. And certainly not in my world. As Saint James says, they believe but their faith has no works. 

They cannot imagine that Jesus lived, died, and was raised from the dead in our world. It's only a fiction for them, an endearing story about somewhere over the rainbow. They do not believe life or God demands real sacrifices of time, effort, money, or life. Or that giving anything less is sinful. 

Thomas Merton taught that God does not hear the prayers of those who do not exist. When we stop pretending that everything will be okay if you just believe, when we pray from our abject helplessness, and trust God to direct our lives in this world, we will know the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of the Christ. 

Optional Memorial of the Seven Founders of the Order of Servites, religious

Lectionary: 338

He began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and rise after three days. He spoke this openly. Then Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. At this he turned around and, looking at his disciples, rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.”

There's that word again, rebuke. It's a strong word which implies anger. 

Modern congregations, accustomed to the professional readers of television news, might not pick up Jesus's smack down of Peter. Nor will they, for that matter, suppose that Jesus has told them about the coming ordeal with intense emotion. 

He doesn't seem to be saying, "Oh, by the way, when we get to Jerusalem? They're going to crucify me!" And the fellows would laugh at his apparent hyperbole. 

Modern congregations suppose that adults repress their emotions all the time. They should not struggle to gasp out news to an impatient audience. Newscasters shouldn't scream as Herbert Morrison did when he saw the Hindenburg crash to the ground: 

Oh, the humanity, and all the passengers screaming around here! I told you; it – I can't even talk to people, their friends are on there! Ah! It's... it... it's a... ah! I... I can't talk, ladies and gentlemen. Honest: it's just laying there, a mass of smoking wreckage. Ah! And everybody can hardly breathe and talk and the screaming. I... I... I'm sorry. Honest: I... I can hardly breathe. I... I'm going to step inside, where I cannot see it. Charlie, that's terrible. Ah, ah... I can't. Listen, folks; I... I'm gonna have to stop for a minute because I've lost my voice. This is the worst thing I've ever witnessed.

But did Jesus tell his disciples about the coming ordeal dispassionately, as if, "It's no big deal!" and, "Don't worry about it?" 

I believe he struggled like the newscaster Morrison as he felt an imperative to reveal what will happen soon. He had to speak but he could barely get the words out. 

And Saint Peter, shocked by the Master's discomposure, impulsively rebuked him, "Get a hold of yourself, Man! Don't talk like that. Nothings going to happen in Jerusalem that you can't handle! And we'll be right there with you!" 

And then the Lord angrily rebuked Peter even as the moment of terror passed. "Get behind me, Satan!" 

He would not be ashamed of his anguish nor would he adapt his pronouncement to make it more palatable, "You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.” 

When we arrive in Jerusalem and Gethsemane, Saint Mark will describe Jesus's anguish:

Then he said to them, “My soul is sorrowful even to death. Remain here and keep watch.” He advanced a little and fell to the ground and prayed that if it were possible the hour might pass by him; he said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible to you. Take this cup away from me, but not what I will but what you will.”

"He fell to the ground" doesn't mean he slowly, carefully knelt down and rested his arms on a convenient boulder. It means his composure collapsed, his knees buckled, and he fell prostrate with his face in the dirt. The man was staring death in the face; what would we expect of him? 

Nor did Jesus, as Saint Mark tells the story, use the proper expression of resignation in the religious language of Hebrew. Rather he groaned in his native Aramaic: 

“Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which is translated, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

If we deny Jesus's humanity -- or our own -- we sabotage his mission to save us. There is no pretending to be strong, composed, or in control before the approach of death. Surrender means letting go of all that as we collapse and finally let God be God. "For I am God and there is no other!"

Wednesday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 337

Then he laid hands on the man’s eyes a second time and he saw clearly; his sight was restored and he could see everything distinctly.

Saint John tells us a similar story of Jesus's cure of a blind man by smearing his eyes with mud but there is no other two-step healing in the gospels. Why did it happen like that?  

Scholars explain the enigma by its placement in Saint Mark's gospel. It follows immediately after the Lord's discussion with his disciples as they crossed the sea of Galilee: 

They had forgotten to bring bread, and they had only one loaf with them in the boat. He enjoined them, “Watch out, guard against the leaven of the Pharisees and the leaven of Herod.”

They concluded among themselves that it was because they had no bread. When he became aware of this he said to them, “Why do you conclude that it is because you have no bread? Do you not yet understand or comprehend? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes and not see, ears and not hear?”

And then Saint Mark follows this two-step healing with two questions for the disciples, "Who do people say I am?" and "Who do you say I am?" 

Jesus is opening the eyes of his disciples step-by-step because enlightenment does not come immediately. We have heard the word immediately many times in this gospel, but our understanding of Jesus and his mission does not come immediately. It takes time, patience, and maturity. It's one thing to answer the catechism question about the Christ, it's quite another to say why it matters to me. 

Peter will represent our unwillingness to learn in the following story when, after he has declared, "You are the Christ!"  and Jesus has prophesied what must come when they arrive in Jerusalem, Peter

"...took (Jesus) aside and began to rebuke him. At this he turned around and, looking at his disciples, rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan. You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.”

And what does "You are the Christ!" mean to me? 

Jesus answers for I have no clue: “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me."

Does anyone think believing in Jesus should make life easier? 

Yes, the following of Jesus is certainly easier, more pleasant, and more satisfying than going my own way. "I did it my way" has to be the most ignorant song I've ever heard. But the gospel road is no easy street. It entails sacrifice and uncertainty. It's failures may be success; its achievements may be debacles. We walk by faith and not by sight. 

Hopefully, but not certainly, initiates find guidance, support, and encouragement in the Church. If that is wanting as we turn to the Lord, we're probably still stumbling in darkness. The saints assure us the true satisfaction of the gospel is its goodness. 

Isaiah, the prophet who is sometimes called the proto-evangelist, assures us:

The Lord will give you bread in adversity
and water in affliction.
No longer will your Teacher hide himself,
but with your own eyes you shall see your Teacher,
And your ears shall hear a word behind you:
“This is the way; walk in it,”
when you would turn to the right or the left.

Tuesday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 336

No one experiencing temptation should say, “I am being tempted by God”; for God is not subject to temptation to evil, and he himself tempts no one. Rather, each person is tempted when lured and enticed by his desire. Then desire conceives and brings forth sin, and when sin reaches maturity it gives birth to death.

Six centuries before Christ, the Buddha had taught that all suffering is born of desire. Because we want things different than as they are we suffer physical, psychological, and spiritual pain. When we stop resisting we find peace. The ultimate peace will be the annihilation of will, when my personal consciousness dissolves into the consciousness of the universe as it is. My  pain along with my memories and experience will be forgotten because they were never real. It makes sense to a lot of people. 

A Christian variant on the same principle might say of suffering and death, "It's God's will." Be it the death of a young mother or the loss of one's life savings to a scammer, "God willed it." 

Job's passivity before the loss of family and fortune speaks to that: "We accept good things from the Lord. And should we not accept the bad as well. The Lord gives; the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." (Job 1:21 and 2:10) 

Accepting this doctrine and integrating it fully into one's consciousness should make suffering go away. That's the theory. When I wish for nothing I'll not be disappointed; when I strive for nothing I'll not be frustrated. 

Sometimes it does help to quit trying and see what happens. 

This eastern philosophy is nothing new, nor is it newly discovered. It was known in the Mediterranean cities of the Roman empire as much as it is known in the western world today. Jesus certainly heard the teaching and disagreed. It didn't fit his experience of God his Father, nor did it belong in his Jewish tradition. 

Our Christian faith, born of our Jewish ancestors and their long history with the LORD, takes a different tack. We recognize the reality of suffering; it doesn't go away by wishing it would go away, nor by wishing for nothing. It comes with being human, and we share it with non-human creatures. They too suffer pain, physical soreness, and emotional sorrow. 

We recognize the sorrow of God as described in the Old and New Testaments. The LORD who is Father, and the LORD who is Jesus and the Holy Spirit, complains about the sins of Old Testament Jerusalem and New Testament Christians. God knows we can do better and expects more of us. 

We see our God, the Son of God, suffering real agony as he is betrayed, beaten, scourged, mocked, and crucified. Gnostic doctrine, influenced by that eastern philosophy, said that Jesus only appeared to suffer as he gave a good example of how we should not resist cruelty and pain.

No. We were there. We saw his pain; it was very real. The Holy Spirit will not let us forget. Nor will the Spirit let us forget his present suffering amid his beloved people. Saint Matthew insists, "When you did this to the least of my people you did it to me." Saint Paul was horrified when he heard the Lord speak to him, "Why are you persecuting me?" His training as a Pharisee had not supposed God would personally suffer from his violence. 

Saint Paul finally taught us another way to experience suffering in his letter to the Colossians (1:24). 

Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of his body, which is the church...

Accepting the reality of pain and suffering, we accept them as gifts received and returned to the Lord with our heart and soul. Suffering with prayer becomes an oblation, a sacrifice worthy of God. 

Ordinary human life shows us how this world's sorrows often become blessings. The discipline of a stern teacher becomes mastery as the disciple becomes proficient. The sacrifices of parents are rewarded with their children's affectionate fidelity. The psalmist observed of farming: they go out to sow weeping; they return with the harvest rejoicing. 

As we trust in God we accept the sacrifices we must make even when there seems no point to them. Their reward is beyond the horizon and yet we continue on the same road. The Resurrection of the Lord might find us weeping, but it will find us. 

Memorial of Saints Cyril, Monk, and Methodius, Bishop

 Lectionary: 335

Consider it all joy, my brothers and sisters, when you encounter various trials, for you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.
And let perseverance be perfect,
so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.
But if any of you lacks wisdom,
he should ask God who gives to all generously and ungrudgingly,
and he will be given it.

Often, as I go about the VA hospital in search of someone who will talk to me, I hear people laughing. Hospitals are thought of as grim ordinarily, and have been more grim since Covid 19 arrived in America. Many thousands of people have died, including many who would not have had they gotten the vaccine. Hospital staff from nurses, doctors, social workers, physical therapists to chaplains have grown weary. Many are counting the days to retirement. 

And yet I hear laughter. Humans find ways to amuse ourselves and others with quips, jokes, and surprises. It's how we cope with stress. 

Saint James, the author of today's first reading, would appreciate the sounds of hilarity, His letter is mostly sobering as he points to our habitual gossip, the hypocrisy of those who only talk the talk, our too-eager welcome to the wealthy, and our unenthusiastic greeting to the poor. "C'mon people, we can do better." But he also describes a persevering joy that lacks nothing and a wisdom that sees as God sees. 

The Gospels give us an unexpected glimpse of God, especially in the story of Jesus's baptism. We heard a voice from heaven declare, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” 

I may be parsing words but I think pleased is more than satisfaction. One can be satisfied with a job that's done; but pleasure surpasses satisfaction. There's an element of surprise and delight in it. And well pleased is certainly happier than satisfied. Those who say they're satisfied when they're actually pleased or delighted might be restraining their expression. 

God is pleased, delighted, and even surprised at Jesus's human and divine love for him. He had tested Abraham when he demanded the holocaust of his beloved Son Isaac. And now the Gospels describe a greater sacrifice as the new Isaac voluntarily approaches Jerusalem and Calvary. He will be more than satisfied; he will be well pleased.

Finally, because our God is pleased with Jesus, we find humor, relief, and laughter amid wars, droughts, floods, fires, famines, and pandemics. Emmanuel. God is with us.