Wednesday of the Twenty-second Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 433 

At daybreak, Jesus left and went to a deserted place. The crowds went looking for him, and when they came to him, they tried to prevent him from leaving them. But he said to them, “To the other towns also I must proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God,
because for this purpose I have been sent.”
And he was preaching in the synagogues of Judea.

Saint Luke often gentles the stories he received from Saint Mark, and I see that tendency in today's passage. Where Mark says Jesus's disciples "tracked him down" (the Greek word suggests hunting for a wild animal) Luke says "the crowd" -- not the disciples -- "looked for him." 

Where Mark repeats the disciples' guilt-inducing demand, "Everyone is looking for you!" Luke says the crowds "tried to prevent him from leaving." They did so, apparently, only with their urgent need for him. They were not hostile, and they accepted his explanation. 

Perhaps they understood his urgency, "I must proclaim the good news because for this purpose I was sent." As wonderful as were his healing, compassion, and presence, they were less important than his mission. And they understood, he had no choice. 

In our "land of the free and... home of the brave," we have a hard time with obedience. It seems the opposite of freedom. If we admire Jesus we suppose he was a man who could go where he wanted to go and do as he pleased. We admire his defiance of the scribes, lawyers, Levites, Pharisees, Sadduccees, and Herodians; and his refusal to cringe before Annas, Caiphas, Herod, and Pilate. He is like Isaiah's lion who comes up out of the Jordan wilderness "to wage war against Zion." There is nothing the religious shepherds can do to stop his taking their sheep. 

Though he had all the frailty of any man and felt the human instinct to just get along like everybody else, Jesus also had what every human being needs, a purpose. His freedom was his obedience, and his fearlessness was the fear of the LORD. 

We often chafe under God's prohibitions, "Thou shalt not...;" and suppose that God has no more to say to us. We find our freedom in all those places where the LORD appears to be silent. Broadly speaking, he hasn't said anything about our entertainment and recreations, our jobs, careers, and professions. 

But neither have we asked. 

Turning with more attention to the Bible and our traditions, we discover the LORD has a specific calling for each of us. And it entails more than a broad outline of what we should do; God's will for me is often quite specific. 

We learn to pray as we ask God to reveal his plan to us. What should I study and what school should I attend? Whom should I associate with and whom should I marry? (Is it possible God has nothing to say about the most important relationship I'll ever have?) How should I handle money and time? What interests should I pursue professionally, and what should I do with my free time? 

We can consult our feelings and desires as we ponder these decisions, after we have asked the LORD to conform our feelings and desires to God's divine plan. Obviously, something done which is out of sync with God's plan is not helpful; it might make matters worse. 

The great Italian poet Dante wrote, "In his will is our peace." Jesus could not stay in Capernaum. He had to preach in others towns and villages. The crowds understood that. He had to go to Jerusalem. To save us. 

Tuesday of the Twenty-second Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 432

“What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?
I know who you are–the Holy One of God!”

A Hollywood movie would certainly play up the drama of the demon's implied threat. We can imagine his horrible face, perhaps green and purple filling the movie screen. Add the screeching, spine-chilling background music, and the cringing terror of onlookers. 

But threats are everywhere in human interaction. They crop up in humor usually, as in "Don't make me come upstairs!" and, "Smile when you say that." They might be well defined and regulated like the clauses of a building contract or the fines for traffic violations. 

Or they might be more sinister, like those in today's gospel. Who wants to be denounced in public? Who wants his shortcomings, failures, and foibles exposed to ridicule by a loud-mouthed antagonist? Many politicians fell in line behind the Troll rather than risk his incoherent contempt, fictitious accusations, and insinuating, "I don't know; I'm just saying...." That he had neither experience nor political ability meant nothing to his admirers. There is always sufficient evil in a given population that some people find pleasure in the humiliation of others. The election in November 2016 proved its success as a strategy. 

In today's gospel Jesus appears unafraid. If the threat lacks substance, his reply is as real as an earthquake, "Be quiet!" We heard the same authority in Psalm 46, 

"Be still and know that I am God, supreme on the earth, supreme among the nations."  

There are no secrets in Jesus's human life, and his divine identity is known only to the faithful. He does more than ignore the threat; he dismisses the demon back to a room in hell, or his beach house in Florida. 

As Shakespeare put in the mouth of Julius Caesar:

Cowards die many times before their deaths;

The valiant never taste of death but once.

Of all the wonders that I yet have heard.

It seems to me most strange that men should fear;

Seeing that death, a necessary end,

Will come when it will come.

 

Memorial of the Passion of Saint John the Baptist

 Lectionary: 431/634

When his disciples heard about it, they came and took his body and laid it in a tomb.

Yesterday, I reflected upon the insult of death. Today we remember the grim pantomime of the Baptist's death. The forerunner of Christ readily accepted his secondary standing before the preeminence of Jesus. That humility gave him the freedom to criticize Herod's scandalous behavior. Could anyone suppose that Herod had not murdered his brother to get at his brother's wife and consummate their adultery? 

But if everyone knew it, only John said it. Recognizing Jesus and that his mission was complete, he was as good as dead anyway. Why not say it?

But he might have hoped for a less ignominious final scene. To be dispatched at the whim of a bratty little girl, a vindictive woman, and a besotted king -- he deserved better. 

His disciples took his body and laid it in a tomb. To await the day of resurrection. And the honors of a grateful church. 

Perhaps Saint John  caught the irony of his own epigraph: "He must increase; I must decrease." Did he know his height would be decreased by the loss of his head? Did he laugh when he said it, perhaps drawing his finger across his neck indicating decapitation? Did his disciples laugh with him? Or were they begging him not to criticize Herod's very public behavior? 

Oftentimes, we must speak up and risk whatever esteem or dignity we enjoy in this world. In the last two years we have seen many Republicans speak a word of protest and immediately lose their government positions. Ten senators voted to convict Mr. Trump in his impeachment trial; eight have lost their seats. We can admire their integrity even as some of their colleagues support the former president's treason. 

Fortunately, integrity in the United States does not usually entail decapitation, hanging, or firing squad. Most of those dumped from high office are well educated and well connected; they land on their feet. Some will be recognized and honored when Mr. Trump is finally disgraced. 

"It always takes courage to tell the truth." Saint Augustine declared. That statement alone proves the eternal quality of truth. Lies and liars disappear like shadows at sunrise; the Truth and those who stand with it endure. 

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 126

Rather, when you are invited, go and take the lowest place so that when the host comes to you he may say,
'My friend, move up to a higher position.'
Then you will enjoy the esteem of your companions at the table.
For every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted."

Everyone knows they will die, and everyone would rather not think about it. Death comes as an insult to my self-worth and value. I think I am needed; I am necessary. I should be here: I must be here. 

I think I am valuable as I have knowledge, experience, and memories unknown to anyone; but available to those who ask. Shouldn't that knowledge be preserved; there are no books or data banks as accessible or easily researched as me. Here I am; ask me!

And look at my accomplishments and the honors given me! Don't these deserve an everlasting memorial? And the valuable things I own, this home with all it priceless mementos! 

The unwillingness to die affects much of our life as we throw ourselves around, demanding more care and attention than we need, using a disproportionate share of resources, and taking up too much space. "I am somebody!" the denier of death declares. 

And death replies, "You are nothing."

Christians, by our baptism, accept the inevitability of death. By signing ourselves with the cross each day, attending Mass frequently and Easter annually, we embrace death as mysteriously beautiful despite its dark silence. 

They recognize the emptiness that will fill "my space" briefly before it disappears in the rush of other things. Nature abhors a vacuum; and worries, concerns, and preoccupations will occupy my space. My loved ones will set aside their grief to deal with them. 

Jesus, watching guests jockey for position at a social affair, was amused by their conceit. They each thought, "I am somebody!" Like a wise parent, he kindly suggested they might do better to let the host seat them according to whatever honors they deserve. Some might be pleasantly surprised; others might be disappointed -- but that would be better than humiliation. 

The One who accepted his death on the day he was baptized, who embraced its insult to his dignity as the Son of God, felt compassion for his fellow guests. They had not let death cast its shadow over their pretensions; each one still thought, "I am important!" Jesus would not humiliate anyone, but he could warn them about the wisdom of humility. 

As the host might call someone to come up higher, the Lord calls us out of nothing to appear briefly; to strut and fret for an hour upon the stage, and be heard no more. We soon disappear into dusty death. 

Death invites us to accept the gift of life -- that hour, that moment -- modestly. And cede it to others as their time comes. 

Memorial of Saint Monica

 Lectionary: 430

 Consider your own calling, brothers and sisters. Not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. Rather, God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise, and God chose the weak of the world to shame the strong,

Like Saint Paul, recent spiritual writers often urge their readers to consider their own calling. Rather than pretend they are like the heroes they admire, we should remember who we are and where we came from. A study of one's genogram -- a pictorial display of family relationships and medical history -- might remind me that the fruit doesn't fall very far from the tree. The problems I encounter today have a long history, often ones I preferred not to remember since they concern misadventures, family secrets, and closeted skeletons. 

Historians of the Bible assure us that the Apostle's congregation in Corinth was anything but promising. The word Corinthian still connotes dissolution. Washed out sailors, prostitutes, shifty-eyed merchants, common thieves: they were the world's riffraff who'd somehow washed up in that port city because they could drift no farther. Even their enthusiasm for the Lord with its raucous laughter, loud sobbing, and shouted outbursts discouraged inquiries about their faith. 

But Saint Paul knew their hearts and the Spirit that moved them. He'd begun the conversion of Europe by approaching washer women on a riverbank; and later, had failed miserably among his academic peers in Athens. It was obvious that the Gospel belonged to fishers and tax collectors, the foolish and weak of the world. Only the childlike could appreciate the Truth he preached. 

"Consider your own calling!" Entertainment and social media continually throw bizarre images of success and happiness at us. They suggest we should be happier, prettier, and freer. Who we are is never good enough. Where we began was not the right place. 

Consider means "Stop, remember and appreciate" how the Lord has been with you and your people for so long.

Recently, we pondered Ezekiel's shocking image of Israel as a newborn infant left to die in her own placenta on the desert floor. You were nobody, he seems to say, until the LORD adopted you. Do not forget that God chose you in the beginning and blessed you with every good gift. 

Sadly, stratification seems to come with every human culture. Habitually, if not instinctively, we seek our social peers in a crowd. But the Spirit of the Lord teaches us to flock with his disciples. Indeed it is a flocking spirit, like the instinct which impels birds, fish, and horses to fly, swim, and gallop together. It separates us from pretentious uppers as we recognize our own minority. It remembers where we came from and calls us into the Church, which is immaculate and sacred. 

Friday of the Twenty-First Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 429

“The Kingdom of heaven will be like ten virgins
who took their lamps and went out to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish and five were wise." 

The New Testament and both Catholic and Protestant spiritualities agree we are saved by faith. That is a key doctrine of Saint Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians: "For by grace you have been saved through faith...." (Eph 2:8)

This doctrine is so widely accepted that it's picked up and co-opted by a secular American culture. I think of the animated Christmas film Polar Express with its insistent banality, Just Believe in Santa Claus.

We are saved by our faith in Jesus Christ as the Son of God and second person of the Most Holy Trinity. We are saved by our faith in Baptism and the Eucharist, which he entrusted to the Church and its ordained priesthood. We are save by faith alone if our works and attitudes reflect that focused intent on the Lord. Our lives are animated and guided by the Holy Spirit. Our faith is a right faith in Jesus. 

But what if faith is misguided by an alien spirit, and someone doesn't actually know the Jesus who lived and died in Jerusalem? What if one seeks the face of God and mistakes the LORD for someone or something less than God? 

The human brain is an astonishing thing. A woman can scan billions of faces and recognize her husband as the one she loves. She might be momentarily confused by several immobile, impassive faces but when that familiar visage is animated, when it smiles at her, she has no doubt whatsoever about her beloved. 

The wise seek the face of God with that same intensity; they are infallibly guided and assured by God's Holy Spirit. 

In the last few years, some Americans have promoted alternate facts and alien truths. And millions of people have put their faith in these deceptions. They practice weird spiritualities like Wicca, Druidism, and Odinism. Some have refused Covid vaccinations because wackos on Fox News raised doubts about them. Families are divided and churches are split by faith in bizarre notions found on the Internet. 

I met one unfortunate woman who said she had researched the vaccine and didn't believe in its effectiveness. I asked which medical journal she had studied: the Journal of the American Medical Association? The New England Journal of Medicine? Lancet? 

She replied, "Google." She had never heard of medical journals. 

I had only recently conducted, and wept during, a memorial service for an equally foolish nurse, a woman who should have known better. I don't know if that patient, her daughter, and her unborn grandchild survived the epidemic; but her misguided faith has imperiled millions of people.

 

This unexpected credulity of literate Americans -- some with doctorates! -- is hard to fathom. Why do they dismiss uncomfortable truths and pursue their preferred opinions? Why do they drink Koolaid laced with cyanide when it's so transparently evil?  

Perhaps they believe they will be saved by faith regardless of its object. Any faith in any idea, no matter how absurd, is good enough for them.

Our gospel today concerns five wise little girls and five foolish ones. (Called virgins, I assume the author and translators mean teen or preteen females.) 

The wise virgins enter the wedding hall to enjoy the festivities; the foolish virgins arrive too late and are barred from entering. Their darling, plaintive cries of. "Lord, Lord, open the door for us!’ are met by the Lord's refusal, "Amen, I say to you, I do not know you."

That's a hard story, and especially for Americans whose hearts melt for disappointed children. But Covid is also hard, as are poverty, racism, and climate change. Hard facts don't care who they hurt. And people die because they believe lies instead of truth. The scriptures have little sympathy for fools. 

Saint John Henry Newman recognized the fallacies of his Anglican church and, in mid-life came over to Roman Catholicism. He insisted that Christians cannot pick and choose the doctrines they want to believe. We search for that One Face among the billions; we listen for the Good Shepherd's voice. We accept the Truth as God speaks the Truth while fools die in their sins. 

Optional Memorial of Saint Louis of France

 Lectionary: 428

Jesus said to his disciples:
“Stay awake!
For you do not know on which day your Lord will come.
...So too, you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come.

After September 11, 2001, federal and state governments developed warning systems with various degrees of alertness. Intelligence experts, both overt and covert, watch for apparent threats within the United States and abroad. They monitor social media for signal words and coded language that might indicate someone's planning a bombing, shooting, or other mayhem. They sometimes tap into suspicious conversations between shadowy persons. The enemy may be white racists in the United States or Taliban fighters in Iraq. They may be conspirators or solo madmen. 

When intelligence detects specific threats they might signal law enforcement to move in on the enemy, or they might urge the public to assume heightened awareness. They use five color-coded levels of terrorist threat: green = low; blue = guarded; yellow = elevated; orange = high; red = severe. 

Government offices and private businesses, alert for the warnings, should adjust their actions and attitudes according to the level of threat. Responding to the recent spate of shootings, citizens -- especially teachers and students -- are also taught to watch for certain signals of impending danger. The nation should never again be caught off guard by a Pearl Harbor, Nine-Eleven, or Sandy Hook. 

If our times are more troubled than many, there have always been threats and warnings, as we find in Jesus's words:

Be sure of this: 

if the master of the house

had known the hour of night when the thief was coming,

he would have stayed awake

and not let his house be broken into.

Our religion warns us that threats are not only military or social; they are also spiritual. 

Every human society harbors dangers in its traditions, customs, and values. Devout parents must often warn their children, "Just because your friends do this, doesn't mean you can! We are not that kind of people!" 

Alert pastors assume the role of prophets as they warn their congregations about current trends or ancient customs.

But you are “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of his own, so that you may announce the praises” of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light. (1 Peter 2:9)

(And alert parishioner sometimes urge their pastors to refrain from old expressions which have taken hilarious new meanings, like the word ejaculations.) 

Many scriptural passages have apocalyptic dimensions which some people read as signals that the end is near. Some get carried away with exaggerated expectations as they cash out bank accounts and sit on hilltops awaiting the Second Coming. There may have been a brief moment when even Saint Paul expected something like that. 

But after centuries of foolish prophecies and false alarms, we have learned to practice alertness against the real threats; that is, the apparently good ideas and popular movements that can lead only to trouble. We needn't fall prey to arms merchants or security specialists. Restocking the bomb shelters of the 1950's is ludicrous. 

Rather, we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus and our hearts in prayer; we use our time well, knowing it will run out. 

Feast of Saint Bartholomew, Apostle

 Lectionary: 629

Let all your works give you thanks, O LORD, and let your faithful ones bless you.
Let them discourse of the glory of your Kingdom and speak of your might.

Spiritual writers have sometimes reflected on the harmony they find in all God's creation. Ancient astronomers began the conversation as they spoke of "the harmony of the spheres." They understood the night sky as a series of transparent spheres, with the moon fixed in the nearest one, while the stars were set in several more distant spheres. Each orb rotated at its own pace around the Earth, and thus explained the changing night sky. These astronomers saw a marvelous synchronicity in that enormous, crystal machine. 

Not only did it work well, but it fit their understanding of the cosmos. The unchanging, dependable patterns of seasonal weather and ocean tides were also harmonious. The migration of birds and other animals, and the cycles of the human body fit God's plan for the universe he had created. As Saint Paul said, 

"We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28

The apostolic mission to preach the gospel to all nations also fit that universal pattern and decree. Everyone should hear the Good News so that they might recognize the "mighty works" of God's creation, which included the mighty work of salvation effected by the Lord Jesus Christ. That work created more than a harmonious society. The Word of God echos upward through the crystal spheres and down through the many layers of one's interior castle. It brings healing, cleanliness, and understanding. Peace of mind reflects the harmony of the spheres. 

As I understand, the baroque music of the 17th century reflected that understanding of the universe. Despite the religious wars of that era, the music reflected an appreciation of the joy,  confidence, and cohesiveness that begins with, "Let there be light." Perhaps this is why the baroque remains popular today; we hear its pleasant promise of peace and well-being in the music despite the constant distress of our time. 

Christians still believe in the One God who created harmony in the universe. If we don't look up to see magical spheres, we find amazing beauty and a kind of purity through the Hubble and James Webb telescopes. Astrophysicists continue to search for that unifying principle that makes all things work for good. The most hopeful expect to find life, perhaps intelligent, self-aware life; and argue it has to be there somewhere!

The feast of the Apostle Barnabas, and the horrifying manner of his death in particular, reminds us of the true cost of this harmony. It doesn't just happen within a society or nation, nor even within one's heart. Because of the Original Sin that pervades human life and the disordered structures we create, not everyone enjoys peace and prosperity. These scarce commodities are trapped in a spiritually clogged supply chain. If I'm okay and you're okay, the world is not. 

On this late summer day, Saint Barnabas invites us to welcome his penetrating gospel into the machinery of our own souls, and to let that grace flow like a lubricant through our complicated hearts. If we cannot change the world around us, we can allow the Lord to purify the spheres within us. 

As Saint Francis said, "Let us now begin, for hitherto we have done but little." 

Optional Memorial of Saint Rose of Lima, virgin

Lectionary: 426

To this end he has also called you through our Gospel

to possess the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, brothers and sisters, stand firm

and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught,

either by an oral statement or by a letter of ours.

The gospel often hits people like a spark to gasoline. Burdened with guilt, depressed with disappointment, desperate for relief, they explode with energetic joy upon learning of their salvation. 

Urged to contain their zeal and not waste it in a seizure of excitement, some will go off in a huff. They cannot be bothered with the traditions they were taught. Like young lovers who cannot imagine their parents ever fell in love, they suppose the gospel, which is ever new, was never old.

Said to be the oldest document of the New Testament, Saint Paul's First Letter to the Thessalonians, recalls that kind of enthusiasm. The Apostle had to urge his new converts 

"...not to be shaken out of your minds suddenly,

or to be alarmed either by a “spirit,” or by an oral statement,

or by a letter allegedly from us

to the effect that the day of the Lord is at hand."

It is good that our earliest memory is of enthusiasm, and that it comes with Paul's calming admonition. Many people's first impression of church reflects anything but excitement. They see weary people wearily reciting the rosary or sitting through another tiresome sermon. "Fuggetaboutit!" they say. 

Can I, on this summer morning as schools reopen and vacations wrap up, remember the energizing joy and freedom of the gospel? 

I have heard it said of American Protestant religion, "The children try to remember what their parents tried to forget." In the last half century, the proverb has become true of Catholics also. Many young priests, not remembering the plodding processions and trudging tempos of untalented organists -- I encountered one just recently -- long for the "pre-Vatican II" traditions which had lost their way. 

But our traditions also remember enthusiasm. Saint Bernard of Clairvaux collected thirty of his nearest and dearest friends, marched up to an isolated monastery and announced they were joining. Somehow the old fellows made room for them and the young abbot went on to introduce one of the great reforms of church history. Saint Francis of Assisi also staggered a weary Church with his decision to live like the birds of the air and lilies of the field. Young men and women flocked to him from all parts of Europe.  

We know about enthusiasm, it's blessings and its dangers. We know obedience, which banks burning embers of faith. It directs the heat of love downward into the neglected, cold, and dark dungeons of our hearts while warming the world with hope for relief. Saint Paul had experienced that discipline during his three years in the desert, and could encourage his Thessalonian disciples with a mature enthusiasm that still inspires the world. 

With two weeks until Labor Day we ask the Lord to send for your Spirit and renew the face of the earth, and of the church, and us. 

Memorial of The Queenship of the Blessed Virgin Mary

 Lectionary: 425

"Woe to you, blind guides, who say,
'If one swears by the temple, it means nothing,
but if one swears by the gold of the temple, one is obligated.'
Blind fools, which is greater, the gold,
or the temple that made the gold sacred?
And you say, 'If one swears by the altar, it means nothing,
but if one swears by the gift on the altar, one is obligated.'
You blind ones, which is greater, the gift,
or the altar that makes the gift sacred?

The Queenship of Mary is a memorial feast, but not an obligatory memorial, and we are permitted to use selected readings to honor the Virgin or those of this Monday of the 21st week of Ordinary Time. In a playful search for inspiration and divine guidance, we can look for a less-than-obvious link between today's gospel and the memorial feast.

Pope Benedict, in his book The Spirit of the Liturgy, remarks about the primitive Church's attitude toward the temple in Jerusalem. Whereas Jews had treasured the temple as the only place to worship God, and diaspora Jews traveled from all parts of the Roman Empire to visit the shrine, the first Christians -- Jews and gentiles -- immediately forgot about that particular devotion. 

They maintained spiritual connections with the Church in Jerusalem and supported them through a famine. But the building disappeared from Christian spirituality. It's last mention is in the first chapters of Act of the Apostles. It reappears only as a heavenly vision in the Letter to the Hebrews and the Book of Revelation. Christians found their temple in the person of Jesus; and especially in their gathering as a church, their ecclesia, a Greek word meaning assembly. During the first century they met in private homes or public places, and had no need for a building.

Today we hear Jesus's understanding of Pharisaic teachings about the building, and his response. They value the gold embellishment of the temple rather than the temple; and the gifts on the altar rather than the altar. Jesus's rebuke concerns the oath, a custom he takes seriously. The One who is The Word Made Flesh is very serious about words. Regardless of whether one swears by the temple, the gold, the stone, the altar, or the bread on the altar, an oath is sacred. In fact, every word is sacred with or without an oath, as he also teaches, 

"Let your ‘Yes’ mean ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No’ mean ‘No.’ Anything more is from the evil one."

The controversy in this passage also concerns the temple; and Catholics recognize Mary as the new temple of God. (Are you still with me? I am retired now and have time to ponder these things.) 

When the Angel Gabriel promises the Holy Spirit will overshadow you, we remember that the same Spirit overshadowed the temple. But she is now the temple. When the magi prostrate themselves before her and her child, they stretch themselves on the ground as they might have on the temple floor. They left Jerusalem and "Herod's temple" because neither was holy any more. 

And so we hear some Christians argue that our prayers to Mary are not heard but those to Jesus are. Hello? Are they not united in heart and soul in love of the One God? Can there be any difference of opinion between those who are bound with one mind, one heart, and one desire before the LORD? That forced distinction between Jesus and Mary sounds like the Pharisees' parsing the temple and its gold, or the altar and its bread. 

We come to Jesus through Mary, especially in obedience to her command, "Do whatever he tells you." 

We come to Mary through Jesus, especially in obedience to his command, "Behold your mother!" 

Plus, we heed the Angel's command to Joseph, "'Do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.'... When Joseph awoke, he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took his wife into his home."

In Catholic devotion there is no either/or between Jesus and Mary; there is only both/and. We love the Lord and his Mother. And his saints. And his angels. And we know they pray with us. The most secluded monk, lost sailor, or isolated prisoner prays with a cloud of witnesses. Our prayer is assembly and festival; we never pray alone and do not want to. 

Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 123

And people will come from the east and the west and from the north and the south
and will recline at table in the kingdom of God.
For behold, some are last who will be first,
and some are first who will be last."

It doesn't take a weatherman to tell you the world's climate is becoming more hostile and, once again, is forcing millions of people to migrate  -- as we have for hundreds of thousands of years. One of the first great migrations came out of Africa into Europe and Asia as humans followed the elephants. In the course of time, their descendants disappeared while the elephants remained. Subsequent migrations, however, were more successful. 

In today's Gospel the Lord, who would have known little of archaeology, fossil remains, or climate change, predicts another vast migration. "People will come from the east and the west and from the north and the south and will recline at table in the kingdom of God." 

His Good News attracts people despite his insistence that they must enter through the narrow gate. Experience has already taught them about "wailing and grinding of teeth." They scoff at consumerism's absurd promises of a life without hardship or sacrifice. Threatened by polarized politics, inconvenient truths, and a culture of death, reasonable people gather to worship the one God. 

During its earliest day, when Rome ruled the "known world" -- a small place comprised of southern Europe, the near east of Asia, and north Africa -- the Church discovered its catholicity. Heretics gathered small group of people here and there. Entire congregations, guided by unfaithful bishops, were given to alternate truths and fake beliefs, but these popular misreadings of the gospel rarely spread to other cities. Arianism was the most successful as the emperor Constantine would make his brand of Christianity the religion of empire. But it perished with the empire. 

The Catholic Church, however, inspired by the LORD, guided by bishops with little political power, and united around the Bishop of Rome kept the faith.  It suffered and absorbed the incursions of Lombards and Huns. Attracted by the civility of the Empire even as it collapsed, the German invaders eventually accepted the true faith and promoted its expansion. Meanwhile, heretical sects faded into history. They are remembered only for the threat they represented and the doctrines that developed in response. 

Americans and Europeans today face another mass migration, one which might make the earlier ones look very small. Because of human-induced climate change, the Earth's tropical regions are becoming uninhabitable. Humans will not be able to endure the heat of the equator, nor will its desiccated lands provide nourishment. 

Christians are again challenged to welcome refugees and migrants with all the adjustments that accommodation requires. Just as water goes where it will despite flood walls, canals, levees, and dams, migrants will overrun natural and artificial barriers. Only the Gospel invitation to east and the west, north and the south can assure a peaceful adjustment. The United States, which has no traditional way of life, should be more ready than most nations to welcome the newcomers. They have always provided new vitality to our inventive way. 

Those who love our way of life will not resort to violence. Warfare coarsens a nation's citizens and escalates family violence. Historians tell us that wars alter societies and peace stabilizes it. Those who prefer the way things are will do well to welcome migrants. 

Hospitality seems like a narrow gate to the narrow minded; it teaches peacemakers peaceful ways.

Memorial of Saint Bernard, Abbot and Doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 424

The greatest among you must be your servant.
Whoever exalts himself will be humbled;
but whoever humbles himself will be exalted.

The prophet Bob Dylan warned us sixty years ago, "The times they are a-changin." I was a student in high school and worked summers in my uncle's plumbing shop. If things were changing in the seminary, the word had not arrived in the shop. 

But the changes swept through that world of technology, commerce, and politics before they hit the Church, despite the "changes" following the Second Vatican Council. Few, if any, attending bishops foresaw a reform of clerical culture. If they knew of criminal behavior among the clergy, it was not discussed in Saint Peter's Basilica.

The changin times nonetheless arrived; and Jesus's prophecy -- that the exalted must be humbled -- rumbles through the church like an M1 Abrams tank announcing a new regime. 

Jesus's words were apparently addressed to the "scribes and Pharisees" of his time; but, a half-century later, Saint Matthew retained them as a warning to the Church. The wise know that religion is as corruptible as every form of government, academia, or commerce. Religion seems to give a peculiarly unassailable authority to its leaders for it reeks of divinity, holiness, and infallibility. To question one's religious authorities feels like challenging the gods; and blustering deacons, priests, and prelates know that. Even Eucharistic ministers, catechists, and parish secretaries can invoke the gods to cover their inadequacies. 

Protestantism owes its origins and continuing existence to the incompetent corruption of Roman Catholic leadership, and remains as a perpetual challenge to its clerical culture. But, being as human as every other institution, that too is frequently staggered by internal scandals. 

And so the merciful words of the Gospel persist; they challenge every generation of the Church, and every tier of its authority. With the Lectionary's cycle of readings, all religious authorities from parents to popes are warned annually and repeatedly. The arrogant have no excuse. The condemned cannot complain; they had Moses and the prophets, to warn them. They witnessed one rising from the dead. 

That invitation to come to our senses is good. We thank God for it. 

Friday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 423

Son of man, can these bones come to life?
I answered, “Lord GOD, you alone know that.”
Then he said to me:
Prophesy over these bones, and say to them:
Dry bones, hear the word of the LORD!

I had the privilege of hearing Jean Ritchie sing in Louisville's Iroquois Park a few years ago. A folk singer, she spoke of the life in the hollers of her Kentucky home before electricity, radio and television. On many evenings people would gather on the front porch of a neighbor's home with their fiddles, dulcimers, spoons, and washboards to sing, dance, and tell stories. 

It wasn't that long ago that entertainers like the prophet Ezekiel could draw a large crowd to hear their poetry and song. The prophet's song of the dry bones must have been a favorite for it's still heard in the mountain music of Kentucky. 

If faith-based music doesn't entertain as it once did, most prayerful people have known difficult days when they knew the song of the dry bones. Their prayer was as dry as an Arizona desert, and they felt as lifeless as desiccated, disconnected, broken bones. They might not have been suffering an emotional crisis like a death in the family; they might have only run out of inspiration. The words of scripture fail to inspire, familiar songs rankle, pious expressions irritate, and the news is always bad. Family, work, and life in general lack interest. They're just plodding along or, more likely, slowly circling an eddy into a spiritual sinkhole. 

In times like this we might be convinced that we are loving the LORD with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength. And if we don't love our neighbors as ourselves it's their fault! At times like this it's good to go to confession, speak with a spiritual director, guide, or friend, and ask the Holy Spirit, "Okay, God, what's going on? Where am I failing? What are you trying to say that I don't want to hear?" 

Any electrician will tell you how difficult it can be to find a short. Accountants can spend hours looking for missing numbers; geeks, for glitches; and plumbers, for clogs. That spiritual blockage is there somewhere and it's probably as plain as the nose on your face, which you ordinarily overlook but everyone else sees. They just assume you don't want to hear about it because, in fact, you don't. 

When I complained of my hopelessness to a spiritual advisor several years ago, he laughed and assured me, "We can deal with this." It took a while -- it didn't come as quickly as Ezekiel's wind or rain in the desert -- because I resisted. But the LORD found my purpose and showed it to me again. 

And so we turn to the LORD again and beg for mercy. We turn to the Church again to provide some assistance. Because God always hears; he cannot resist the prayer of the helpless. 

Thursday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 422

I will put my spirit within you and make you live by my statutes, careful to observe my decrees. You shall live in the land I gave your ancestors; you shall be my people, and I will be your God.

I have enough of the idolatrous spirit in my own heart to appreciate the fear and dread Ezekiel's words arouses among many people. They fear the name of God; they will not hear the word God. They insist that it comes with a hidden agenda, and a judgement of doom. 

And they're right about the hidden agenda, although it's not all that mysterious to those who read the Bible. The LORD intends to glorify his name by inspiring us with confidence, courage, and a wholesome ability to know right from wrong. We will be fully alive among people who fear to live, who continually demand more assurance, more security, and more power. Filled with God's Spirit we can laugh at funny things and find humor in hard times.  

Abandoning the pursuit of power, we let God be God. Clearly the LORD knows how to deal with powerful historical forces. The faithful see God's hand in the rise and fall of nations, economic boom and bust, climate change, and epidemic. When the secular mind would fasten faith to the ineluctable march of history, we ask who designed and decreed this predetermined march. If they point to the machinery of the universe, we ask why is it so vast and whence comes its beauty.

The secular philosophy fears the presence of an Other, especially one whose will and purpose outlast every human scheme. Even if that Other should intend only goodness for the beloved, they remember their disappointment and pain when they trusted human authorities, whether parents, friends, autocrats, or presidents. They believe that leaders always have a hidden agenda, some ill-defined purpose which serves only part of the good. And they're fine with their stony hearts and suspect the offer of a new heart and a new spirit. They cannot imagine the happiness of trusting God, much less trusting God-fearing people.

In response the faithful resolve to wait upon the Lord. We can neither change nor judge our neighbors; we have no right to do so. Raised voices and shouted threats of doom fall on deaf ears; they only hurt the throat and make us feel foolish. 

And we ponder today's first reading again. How lovely they sound. They are sweeter than honey. 

Wednesday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 421

Thus says the Lord GOD: I swear I am coming against I will claim my sheep from them and put a stop to their shepherding my sheep so that they may no longer pasture themselves. I will save my sheep, that they may no longer be food for their mouths. For thus says the Lord GOD: I myself will look after and tend my sheep.

Today's reader of Ezekiel might assume the "shepherds" who are so roundly condemned in this passage are the bishops and priests of the Church. However, the rulers of an agrarian, shepherding society often presented themselves as shepherds to the nation, and there was no "wall" to separate religion and government. When the priest anointed the king they did so as government officials, and the king had religious authority over them. 

But, as the Lord speaks to his Church through the scriptures in every age, we can understand this text as a severe reminder of God's watchful eye over bishops of the Roman Catholic Church. Saint Augustine reminded his people and himself, "With you I am a Christian; for you I am a pastor." He stood under judgement in both ways, and the latter was more severe. He did not forget that he pastored sheep not his own. 

The confidence of the faithful in our time has been shaken by the discovery that bishops sometimes transferred priests suspected of pedophilia or ephebophilia from one parish to another; and often repeatedly. They foolishly (or criminally) accepted the offending pastor's denials and counter-accusations, and thus abetted his criminal behavior when they sent him to another parish or school. Some prosecutors have compared their misdeeds to that of organized crime and brought RICO charges against them.

That the Canon Law of the Church severely limited their authority over the priests was little excuse; they should have called the district attorney and the police to address the crime anyway. That would not be an easy choice, and would certainly destroy the career of an ambitious prelate. But, as they often remind the faithful, the Gospel's challenge is not supposed to be easy.

In the ongoing discussion over this tragedy, we have begun to realize how powerfully a subculture can limit one's choices. Police, doctors, and lawyers are just as reluctant to inform on one another as the clergy of every religion. Pope Francis has rightfully called it "clericalism" and demanded that we recognize the potential threat of a clerical subculture. While it is good that deacons, priests, and bishops support one another they must also appreciate the danger of their authority. The electrician who does not respect the power of electricity has a brief career, as should the cleric.

A democratic society, genetically suspicious of its elected leaders and willing to replace incompetent or unworthy office holders, should be quite capable of policing its religious institutions. Nor do they need to elect their ministers as they vote with their donations, their attendance, and their participation.

Ezekiel's severe threats and today's gospel remind the Church that we are being watched by a just God who has unlimited authority to punish. He alone decides what is just; he alone administers mercy; and our every thought, word, and deed are subject to his authority.

I recently reflected on Jesus's reluctance to grant the Syro-Phoenician woman's request. He had to make a choice between his understanding of his mission and his human compassion for a woman in distress. It was not an easy choice and he took a grave risk by showing mercy to her; nor was his choice vindicated until much later, on that miraculous Easter Sunday.

We make our choices daily between justice and mercy, severity and relaxation, obedience and freedom; and pray that the Spirit of God guides us.

My son, to my words be attentive,

to my sayings incline your ear...

With all vigilance guard your heart,

for in it are the sources of life.

Dishonest mouth put away from you,

deceitful lips put far from you.

Let your eyes look straight ahead

and your gaze be focused forward.

Survey the path for your feet,

and all your ways will be sure.

Turn neither to right nor to left,

keep your foot far from evil. Proverbs 4:20-27

Optional Memorial of Saint Stephen of Hungary

 Lectionary: 420

Because you are haughty of heart, you say, “A god am I!
I occupy a godly throne in the heart of the sea!”—
And yet you are a man, and not a god...

Ezekiel's parody of the prince of Tyre sounds like "the self-made man," an all too familiar figure in American society. They might be the wall street trader, the banker, or the street sweeper. They might be a Harvard graduate or a high school dropout; a drug dealer or a president of the United States. Their accomplishments impress no one but themselves; their authority depends entirely upon the power others give them. As Jesus said to the officious procurator, "You would have no authority were it not given to you from above." He and Pontius Pilate both knew it could be cancelled in the twinkling of an eye. 

The story is told among Franciscans of Bernard of Quintavalle. He was an extraordinarily wealthy pal of Francisco Bernadone, who is known to history as Saint Francis of Assisi. Watching his friend's transformation from reckless spendthrift to ardent ascetic, Bernard decided to join the young saint and pursue holiness with him. He announced his intention to the city and opened his house to anyone who wanted anything. A frenzy ensued as friends, neighbors, and complete strangers arrived from every direction. They stripped the house of everything that wasn't nailed down, and most of that which was, as Bernard and Francis watched in amused wonder. Everything he owned disappeared in the twinkling of an eye. And good riddance.

Freed of the burdens of ownership, Bernard took to the open road, and preached the Gospel of Joy to everyone who would listen. 

The Franciscan tradition also warns the self-made person about the vanity of titles, responsibilities, and offices. Francis said the friar should accept office in the church like a corpse. Pull him out of his casket, set him on a royal throne with ermine on his shoulders, a crown on his head, and a scepter in his hand. He'll be no happier than he was in his casket. Nor will be be disappointed when you take all that stuff away. 

If the appointment is important it can be given to others. But, very often in our world of continual restructuring, office holders discover their duties are no longer needed and their responsibilities have been voided. If you treasure anything, make it something else and somewhere else. 

The kingdom of heaven is like a pearl of great price, which a merchant found and, in great happiness, sold everything to purchase. Jesus's parable of the pearl strikes me as fanciful, for the merchant has been impoverished by his ownership of a single bauble. How does he eat or drink or pay for his housing? Francis and Bernard knew the answer. 

Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary

 Lectionary: 622

For just as in Adam all die, so too in Christ shall all be brought to life, but each one in proper order: Christ the first fruits; then, at his coming, those who belong to Christ; then comes the end, when he hands over the Kingdom to his God and Father, when he has destroyed every sovereignty and every authority and power.

Many Catholics in our distracted world might not know exactly what the Assumption of Mary is about. They give little thought to the promise of heaven, and much less to the pains of hell. But they don't mind celebrating the feast in mid-August. We are happy to honor the Mother of God who gave us her only begotten Son. 

Today we remember what the Lord gave to Mary, and the promise he gives to us through his gift to her. 

The more I see of human messiness, the more intractable it seems. I follow the local, national, and international news with some interest, and I hear continually of Good Ideas proposed, argued, countered, dismissed, restored, legislated, enacted, ignored, and disappointed. There is no panacea, cure-all, or magic bullet.

The Assumption reminds us of God's promise when all will be be brought to life, but each one in proper order. The Order of Love must create a thing of  beauty. 

Perhaps this is why artists create mosaics for our churches. No single tessera is especially attractive. Look at it closely and nothing happens. But thousands of tesserae carefully placed can astonish us with their brilliant, lively beauty. We return to them again and again, over many centuries, to contemplate the mysteries they represent. And then each tile is honored for the beauty of all of them. Should one fall out it will be preserved carefully and then restored to its rightful place. 

Several dreadful decisions of the United States Supreme Court come to mind as ugly, regrettable, disgusting moments in our nation's history. The Dred Scott decision led directly to the bloodiest war in our history. Recent SCOTUS decisions led to the killing of unborn infants, the slaughter of children in elementary and secondary schools, and a bizarre definition of marriage.

We might well ask, "Can these terrible mistakes contribute to a thing of beauty?" And then, for good measure, we'll ask, "Can three centuries of mechanized war and the sacrifice of millions of people produce anything worthwhile?" and "Is God good?" 

In response we hear Saint Paul's promise: 

For just as in Adam all die, so too in Christ shall all be brought to life, but each one in proper order.

The Assumption of Mary restores our hope that God's supreme love will create an unimaginably beautiful mosaic of human history. At its center will be the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus Christ. By his life and death, he has restored purpose and meaning to our lives. 

And very close beside that center are the twin mysteries of Mary's Immaculate Conception and Assumption. It was necessary, Blessed John Duns Scotus said, that one human being should live in absolute freedom and utterly grateful obedience to the Holy Spirit. One life should reflect perfectly the salvation effected by the sacrifice of Jesus. That person cannot be God, but one who loves God. 

Without Mary's perfection, we might suppose that our lives are good enough since nobody's perfect. What is worse, we might suppose that the supreme perfection of God deserves less than our perfect surrender in love. We might believe that God overlooks and ignore the horrors that pollute our world. 

We would not accept such a god; made in God's image we could not tolerate it. 

The notion that God might be satisfied with good enough finds no support in the Bible. The story of Noah's flood warns us of God's demand for perfection. But it's also a story to show that we cannot be saved by God's violence or wrath. When the earth had been purged of all sin it remained hidden and viral within the heart of Noah. No soon had they left the ark than the family was divided by his drunkenness and the history of Original Sin continued unabated. 

The LORD took another tack. He inaugurated a History of  Salvation, beginning with Abraham and extending until the Day

...when he hands over the Kingdom to his God and Father, when he has destroyed every sovereignty and every authority and power.

On that day we will praise God for our redemption with complete gratitude. We will see that our shameful history and intractable guilt were reconciled in the perfect Sacrifice of the Son. 

If we cannot now imagine that incomprehensibly glorious destiny, we see its sign in the Assumption of Mary.