Tuesday of the Thirtieth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 480

For creation awaits with eager expectation
the revelation of the children of God;
for creation was made subject to futility,
not of its own accord but because of the one who subjected it,
in hope that creation itself
would be set free from slavery to corruption
and share in the glorious freedom of the children of God.

Critics of our faith who have a bent for astronomy like to point to the billions and billions of galaxies, and deride our confidence. How can a human creature boast of any significance or meaning in the face of such enormity? 

I heard one fellow recently claim -- as a mathematical certainty but without a shred of proof -- that there are gazillions of planets identical to earth in the infinite multiverse. In fact there are other readers identical to you, and writers like me, who are reading and writing precisely the same text. It makes sense to him. And, though he was on the radio and it was hard to tell, he seemed to make this claim with a straight face!

Saint Paul presents a very different vision of creation. The word implies a creator, which the comedienne qua mathematical astronomer also dismisses without a shred of proof. The Apostle sees God's creation paying close attention to God's children. It watches with eager expectation for our maturity in grace and our rising with the Risen Lord. Unlike the skeptical scientist, we rely on the Word of God rather than mathematical certainty or credible proof. But we do have experience of both human and divine fidelity, and we know the world we have built depends upon the fidelity of its creators. 

We take our place in God's creation because we are not subject to futility. Yes, we've engaged in futile projects. Sinners that we are, we have invested much time, energy, and some money in projects in which God had no interest. We thought they were important. But we have learned through disappointment to listen to the Spirit of God and seek direction from the Creator even as we carry the crosses assigned by our Redeemer. 

We find that caring for the least among us -- the poor, the elderly, the sick and infirm, and the despised of the earth -- is work worth doing. It doesn't pay well; and is sometimes thankless; but the impulse is divine and that is very satisfying. In fact, all creation is delighted by our work as it fits and makes sense in God's plan. It is, to use His favorite word, good. 

Monday of the Thirtieth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 479

For those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God.
For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear,
but you received a spirit of adoption,
through which we cry, "Abba, Father!"
The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit
that we are children of God,
and if children, then heirs,
heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ,
if only we suffer with him
so that we may also be glorified with him.

In Romans 8, the Apostle Paul combines several of his most important insights into a brilliant theme that will always stagger preachers and theologians. First, there is his insistent contrast between life by the Law of Moses and Life in the Spirit of Jesus. Secondly, he introduces his teaching about adoption; that gentiles are adopted into God's chosen people although they are not direct descendants of Abraham. And finally, we Christians --Jews and gentiles alike -- must suffer with the Lord if we would be glorified with him.

The Old Testament celebrates God's gift of the Law to his beloved people. If they do not observe it well, it is nonetheless their greatest boast, and justly so. God's people, be they Jew, Christian, or Muslim, must be grateful that the One who created the Universe by a single word of command, speaks to us. We are set apart and called his own. We know we are not chosen for our intelligence, wealth, good looks, or military strength. If we must explain our election, we can only say we are descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. 

The Word of God has come to us as a gift of wisdom, a moral guide through life's innumerable challenges, and an assured formula for correct and appropriate worship of the Creator and Lord of the Universe. The Mosaic Law also contains dietary advice and restrictions to guide the omnivore who would please God under every circumstance. The Chosen People can be sure of God's pleasure so long as they live by the Law. Finally, the Law informs them when their behavior has displeased the Lord; it pierces their persistent excuses and denials, and demands atonement. We are grateful for God's reproof; he does not simply abandon us in our sins and to our doom. 

Saint Paul adds to this eighth chapter his vision of gentiles grafted onto Abraham's line with full status in his family, through Jesus. That is, we are adopted, as Saint John will say, "through water, blood, and spirit." If Paul did not expect the gentiles to become the majority of Christians, he did expect this mingled people would forget their differences as they melded into the Body of Christ. By his sacrificial death, the Lord has broken down the barrier that kept us apart! 

As God's beloved, adopted children we know him as Abba, and do not hesitate to call the LORD of Abraham, Father. Jesus himself gave us these words and we use them as he did, in our darkest moments. We call out to God like lost children crying for their dads to come find them. We delight in hearing him call us by name, and even when he might tease us out of our anxiety, calling us with silly names like worms and lice. 

And finally, the Apostle announces the purpose of God's people. They are not divinely favored pets, like some heroes of Greek mythology. They must prove to the world God's holiness and wisdom, and lure the nations into fascination with God so that they will want to know him also. We will do that by our willingness to serve others; and by our suffering gracefully every challenge that life raises against us. Paul would speak of his own trials as being crucified with him, and would boast of the wounds he suffered. 

Whew! All this and more is packed into Romans 8. We can spend a lifetime meditating on each sentence. 

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 148

This is the greatest and the first commandment.
The second is like it....

When the Pharisees challenged Jesus, it's safe to assume, they had no idea how he might respond to their question, for they could not agree among themselves about "which commandment in the law is the greatest." As they say of lawyers, ministers, and priests, "If they are five in the room there will be ten different opinions." 

The question of which commandment is the greatest was, for the Pharisees, as much a game as a serious question. It made for good conversation and loud argument, but remained insoluble...

...until they spoke to Jesus. And he added a duality to the conversation, a both/and which was not an either/or. 

Certainly, the LORD demands much of his people and it's often in terms of either/or. To reinforce that teaching, we can cite Deuteronomy 28 with its marvelous blessings for the faithful and its exhaustive list of curses upon the unfaithful. The chapter was written with a fresh memory of the Assyrian and Babylonian sieges, sacks, and rapes of Jerusalem. We must either be a holy people or suffer the wrath of the world which despises the truth, detests love, and abhors holiness. There is nothing between them and us except the powerful protection of our God. 

But Jesus added a necessary depth to Deuteronomy 6:5 -- the Shema -- with his coupling of Leviticus 19:18. The two must be bound together. Without the bond we become religious fanatics after the first commandment or do-gooders after the second, with neither direction nor purpose. These opposites might be compared to the liberals who would move ahead of the Church versus the conservatives who lag behind. Both are lost in the wilderness; neither can represent the Lord in a godless world. 

Our salvation lies in our solidarity which loves the Lord and loves the neighbor. But we're often surprised to find communion with strangers  because the love of truth is universal, and human affection comes with natural human relationships. That surprise comes from our sinful expectation that fears strangers and assumes that we're superior to them.

Once the Lord has assured us of his love for us with a lasting sign of his covenant, that is the crucified body of his incarnate son, he gives us our purpose. We must announce the Good News to all the Earth. My salvation is not about me. Our purpose is not us. Rather, we are sent as a holy people to be a blessing to the nations by our witness, our courageous joy, and our spontaneous generosity. 

Their animosity will prove and test our integrity, their welcome will assure their salvation. Ours is a mission that cannot fail.

Feast of Saints Simon and Jude, Apostles

Lectionary: 666

Jesus went up to the mountain to pray,
and he spent the night in prayer to God.
When day came, he called his disciples to himself,
and from them he chose Twelve....

There are those who piously suggest they believe in no organized religion, suggesting there is some other kind. After my first experiences as a deacon, and then a priest, at the Shrine of Our Lady of Consolation in Carey, Ohio, I know that Catholicism is sufficiently disorganized to serve the most pious hypocrite. Given that our Church spans the globe and includes people of every nation, race, language, and ethnicity the wonder is that it can be called a religion. And yet at its heart, Catholicism is the love of the Lord Jesus and his dear Mother Mary. It is also a marvelous devotion to the saints of our past, the sinners of our present, and the martyrs of our future. 

There are many churches dedicated to the apostles Simon and Jude but no website explains why they are coupled together; nor does the scripture offer many stories about either of them. It suffices to say they were chosen, blessed, and commissioned by the Lord to announce the Gospel to all nations; and they did that -- along with the rest of us. 

They did not fail, nor have we, despite our continual distracted sinfulness. And that is because the Spirit of God moves us as certainly as John Brown's body lies amoldering in his grave but his soul is marching on. 

The glory of Catholicism is the assurance that we are sinners -- as all the world knows and will often remind us -- but we cannot fail because God will not fail. And with that assurance, we can laugh at ourselves. Because faith in God comes with a deep sense of humor about one self. 

Friday of the Twenty-ninth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 477

...and when you notice that the wind is blowing from the south you say that it is going to be hot–and so it is.
You hypocrites!
You know how to interpret the appearance of the earth and the sky; why do you not know how to interpret the present time?

Without modern appreciation of germs, dirt, and cleanliness, Jesus's contemporaries saw demons plaguing their lives with diseases, both acute and chronic. These nasty little presences plagued human life from birth to death, and often cut short the most promising persons and possibilities. 

The Lord never argued about the existence of germs or diseases like anemia and diabetes. He knew nothing of them, but he encountered demons because he and everyone else expected to deal with them. 

But he also saw another, higher authority everywhere, a sovereign and benevolent presence ignored by nearly everyone. He knew the LORD of Israel, whom he called Abba, who was closer and more real than any demon. More than a god, and more than the philosophers' One God, his Abba governed the universe with particular affection for humankind, and a particular guidance of his Chosen, Beloved People. 

Deeply familiar with Jewish worship, scriptures, and traditions, raised in the home of Mary and Joseph, enlightened by the Holy Spirit, and genetically disposed to an intimate knowledge of his Eternal Father, he saw the God of Israel's presence in everything from sunrise to sunset, and the serenity of night. Like the poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, he knew the one who fathers-forth whose beauty is past change. How could he not, Praise Him?

Trained and disciplined by a secularized society, Christians struggle to reclaim Jesus's vision of God in everything. They are plagued by a cynical skepticism which challenges the faintest stirrings of hope. They hear a roar of outraged opposition to every remark about God's goodness. A world which exploits tragedies to sell goods and services loves to wring its hands and moan, "Where is God in all this grief?" They cannot and will not imagine an infinitely gentle, infinitely suffering thing who lives among us. 

Faith, hope, and love have always been very deliberate and courageous acts. They defy every society, be it modern secular or ancient pagan. These theological virtues are learned and practiced in the company of the Church; they wither in the unforgiving environment of the marketplace, industry, and sports arena. Without the presence of the Church, they do not appear in a hospital bed, nor do they suddenly rush in to accompany the dying patient. (Unlike the characters in some movies, this former chaplain rarely met a dying patient who spoke of life after death.)  

We decide to believe in God, and we encourage others to do so. And having made that choice, we discover the audacity of faith, the eager willingness of hope, and the freedom of charity. We know the Lord.  

Thursday of the Twenty-ninth Week in Ordinary Time

MSF chapel window, with symbols of
God's providence (an eye) and God's eternity,
the serpent consuming itself

 Lectionary: 476

For when you were slaves of sin, you were free from righteousness.
But what profit did you get then
from the things of which you are now ashamed?
For the end of those things is death.

I was invited once to provide a Mass for Catholic youth and their guardians at a rodeo in Minnesota. This was not a televised, big-deal event. It was a sporting event for young people who might dream of going professional but were expected to take their places in the farming and beef industries. Unacquainted as I was with this kind of event, I could think of few scriptures that might inspire young athletes. Ancient Israel had few, if any, competitive events and despised the Greeks who did. 

I might have used this text from Saint Paul's epistle to the Romans. He urged his newly baptized Christians to refrain from wasteful practices that indulge the body's crude desires and destroy its vitality. As he said, "For the end of those things is death."

Medieval ascetics were especially eager to prove they were not slaves to sin, and could live righteously by strict disciplines. If the age of martyrdom ended when the Roman Empire adopted Christianity as its official state religion, they would practice "white martyrdom" by severe asceticism. 

From the few surviving accounts of her life, Saint Clare might never have eaten a square meal. She was abstemious as a child and, it was said, would hide food in her apron at the table to give to the poor at the door. After entering the convent, she ate so little that the local bishop and Saint Francis joined forces to insist that she eat at least one biscuit every other day. 

But Francis was hardly the man to talk since he ate little, rarely touched wine, kept midnight vigils, wore thin rags against the Italian winter, traveled on foot continually, slept on the ground, wore a hair shirt, and occasionally scourged himself with a flail. Practices like these persisted well into the twentieth century and, for all I know, might remain in some remote monasteries. 

However, these white martyrs also knew the danger of these practices. An anonymous tract (perhaps written by John of Banillo) called Pax Anima, urges restraint with those practices:  

First, therefore, establish firmly the bent and inclination of your heart, that whatsoever you do externally may have its root and principle in the interior; for though penance and austerities are commendable, used with discretion according to every one’s necessity and condition, yet shall you never thereby arrive at true virtue if they are not founded on and regulated by the interior, but rather grasp at vanity and the empty shadow of glory.

He urged his disciples to, 

...stand upon your guard and watch; which watching consists in subduing, pacifying, and quieting all the movements of the soul, so that whatsoever tempest of passion or breath of sensuality begins to arise, you immediately calm it before it hath produced any disorder there. Be sure you do this upon every the least disturbance either in or out of prayer, and then shall you know how to pray as you ought when you have thus learned to act and discharge the duty of your station. And this must be done, not with force, but with sweetness, since nothing is more opposite to peace of spirit than violence.

The point is, we're not slaves of sin. We belong to the Lord and our relaxation, pleasures, leisure, and rest are subject to his authority. We should want nothing but that which the Lord wants for us.  And we pray daily that the Lord will not lead us into the temptation of "red martyrdom." 

Wednesday of the Twenty-ninth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 475

...thanks be to God that, although you were once slaves of sin, you have become obedient from the heart to the pattern of teaching to which you were entrusted.
Freed from sin, you have become slaves of righteousness.

Roman civilization depended upon two economic principles: patronage and slavery. When powerful people wanted to get something done, they told their slaves to do it, or they looked for the help of more powerful persons -- their patrons -- to help them. There was money, of course, to pay for things; and there was knowledge about how things can be done. But of the three kinds of capitals -- money, knowledge, and connections -- the last was the most important. It wasn't what you know, it was who you know.

Slaves were subject people. They had been conquered by foreign invaders, usually the Roman army, and forced to serve their conquerors. Most were subjugated in their own homeland, but many were taken from their native lands to foreign places, as the "ten lost tribes" were removed from Israel, and the Jews were taken from Jerusalem and Judah to Babylon. 

The system was hugely unfair, but what system isn't? They only seem fair to those who are content with their lot, whether they be rich or poor, powerful or weak. During the New Testament era, Rome knew nothing of Christianity but its Roman system of slavery was not nearly as savage as the American, which was perpetuated by ostensibly Christian persons. Roman law offered some protection from their masters; and many slaves were skilled, educated, and lived comfortably.

As Saint Paul served the Gospel, he saw that the worse form of slavery is to one's own needs, impulses, fears, passions and desires. Those who cannot see beyond these chains need a human master to control them for theirs is an animal existence. Their memory teaches them only fear and greed, and they think nothing of the future. That form of slavery persists today in the form of addictions to alcohol and drugs, and is mimicked by many compulsive obsessions. 

Paul found his freedom in serving the Lord, and he urged it upon citizens and slaves alike. His bondage was to a demanding God who would be served at every hour of the day and night, but who commands his servants to rest, be healed, study, work, love, pray, and play. 

There are no vacations from the spiritual life; there is no place far removed from God's sovereign authority. He might command his servants to take care of the body and its desires, or he might require martyrdom. But, like all good leaders, the Lord will never ask of his people what he does not demand of himself.

And that is why we serve the Lord with great humility. (also Acts 20:19)

Optional Memorial of Saint Anthony Mary Claret, bishop

Lectionary: 474

If by that one person's transgression the many died, how much more did the grace of God
and the gracious gift of the one man Jesus Christ overflow for the many.

Today's passage from Romans underscores the comical nature of Jonah, the tale of a reluctant prophet who is hugely dissatisfied with his very satisfactory work. With characteristic exuberance, Saint Paul repeats his teaching about the difference one man -- even a man like Jonah -- can make. Several times in today's reading, he compares the sad effects of Adam's sin to the astounding graces that flow from Jesus's obedience. The Apostle can hardly contain his excitement as this mystery breaks upon him. It's meaning echoes through his heart and mind, and keeps generating more ways to say the same thing. 

Occasionally, when I happen to be among a huge crowd of people, I look at all these people who are thinking about a zillion other things, and I remember that the Lord has died for all of us; and we're hardly aware of it. The cheerful civility we demonstrate as we move together, recognizing, greeting, meeting, and bumping into one another, speaking and listening to one another, proves the grace that comes to us through Jesus. For, whether we know it or not, in him we live and move and have our being.

This teaching might seem like nonsense to many. It can hardly be proven if we use the measures of standard scientific proof. But our ancient science of theology challenges more recent scientific methods by finding many proofs of this doctrine. They appear in our personal lives, and especially in the stories of our martyrs. 

These witnesses, overwhelmed in the moment by an extraordinary grace, often blessed their persecutors as they suffered. I think of Saint Thomas More: he paid his executioner a coin for his trouble, and then carefully placed his beard away from the executioner's block before the ax came down on his neck. "My beard has committed no crime." he said. I think of the Ugandan boys who hurried to catch up with their doomed classmates at Namugongo.  I think of the Roman soldier who joined 39 martyrs at Namaste, despite his knowing nothing about Jesus, as they died of exposure to the freezing elements. These stories are endless and continuing as the twenty-first century adds its own list to the roster of saints. 

Saint Paul also proved the truth of his teaching as he traveled the Roman roads toward his own execution. He was simply undaunted by the opposition he met among pagans, Jews, and some Christians. He  knew instinctively that his doctrine would cost his life. Violence is practically a necessary reaction to the peaceful gospel. What else could happen when one of two powers stops resisting the other? The survivor will crush its opponent in a spasm of irrationality. 

Paul's testimony about Jesus as the solitary man who saves the world, speaks not only of the Lord's identity as the Incarnate God. It also reminds each of us that, as we live and move and have our being in him, each one can make a huge difference. And we have many personal stories to testify to that. 

First among them? Jonah, the foolish prophet who faithfully, albeit reluctantly, announced doom to the Ninevites and saved them from God's wrath. 

Optional Memorial of Saint John of Capistrano, priest

Lectionary: 473

Abraham did not doubt God's promise in unbelief;
rather, he was empowered by faith and gave glory to God
and was fully convinced that what God had promised
he was also able to do.
That is why it was credited to him as righteousness.

Notions of faith are sometimes plagued by confusion with opinion. To say,  "Here's what I think..." or "I suppose that..." may be confused with one's religious faith. The confusion becomes critical when believers are measured by opinion polls, and counted among those who feel a certain way about something. 

When Abraham went to Mount Moriah to sacrifice his son, he didn't feel it was the right thing to do. His feelings must have opposed him at every step of the way. When Elias marched forty days into the desert with neither food nor drink, he was impelled by a command, not a feeling of weariness or fear. And certainly not by elation. When Moses raised his staff over the sea, he didn't say, "I think this will work." 

When Jesus took up his cross and walked to Calvary, he acted faithfully. He knew in his heart that his Father commanded it and the Holy Spirit directed it, but he was driven more by obedience than by his belief that this will somehow work out okay.

I like to use the words faith and fidelity interchangeably. A faithful husband practices fidelity. If we act with fidelity toward our family, friends, church, and God, we may be called faithful. Opinions are something else altogether. Similarly, the theological virtue of hope should not be confused with opinions or feelings about how things might work out. 

Holding a conviction might be the same as faith, since conviction drives one's behavior. The difference is that between thinking the ice is thick enough to bear one's weight and walking on it. 

Saint Paul contended with his converts over this difference between opinion and belief. He announced to his fellow Jews that the Father had raised Jesus from the dead, and they should join him in the breaking of bread and drinking of the cup. But that entailed leaving their synagogues to enter a communion with the apostle and his disciples. If some doubted that they must abandon their former rites and practices, the Jewish leaders insisted upon it and drove them out. That excommunication began in Jerusalem and continued in every Jewish quarter of every major city, wherever the Gospel went. 

There are Jews to this day who blame Paul for the rupture between the two religions, but the Gospels and Saint Luke's Acts of the Apostles bear witness to their incompatibility. It began before Paul's fateful encounter on the road to Damascus. 

Faith/fidelity insisted that every Jew who believed in Jesus must take up that cross and carry it away from the synagogue and into communion with the Church. Many former Jews could not be reconciled with their families and friends. For all intents and purposes, they died to their past life and were reborn into a whole new world of different relationships. 

Today that story is borne out when many alcoholics enter AA, and abused children abandon their families to seek healing. They act in faith and must leave their former lives and relationships  behind; and sometimes their careers. Some pacifists too are commanded by the Spirit to leave the military-industrial complex to find employment in a more hopeful industry. 

As difficult as it is, the way of the cross is not unfamiliar to ordinary life. We must often turn our backs on the past and many past relationships in our search for freedom. Like our Father Abraham, when we make such choices, we invest everything we have and are in God's promise of life. 

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 145

He said to them, "Whose image is this and whose inscription?"
They replied, "Caesar's."
At that he said to them,
"Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar
and to God what belongs to God."

It's probably a sign of seniority when you declare, "There's no joke like an old joke!" But I always chuckle when I hear the Lord's reply to his opponents. It came so quickly and easily. If he didn't follow it with, "Doh!" it's only because he was born too soon. 

We can well imagine the consternation of Pharisees. Their obsessive pursuit of Jesus along with their refusal to hear anything true, just, or meritorious in his preaching, made them stupid; or foolish to use the word preferred in scripture. 

And we remember that the Bible links foolishness with wickedness; for the foolish act wickedly and the wicked act stupidly. They neither study the word of God nor ask for God's spirit to guide them. And they're often humiliated by their blind impulsiveness. When they persist in their idiocy, they end up in disgrace, courtrooms, jails, and prisons. As Johnny Cash sang of an old buddy, "He's in the jailhouse now."

But God's wisdom does not come cheap or easy. We're warned of that in Jesus's parable of the sower and his seed. A lot of people hear the word of God. But many ignore it altogether; some are so distracted they forget about it; some accept it with great enthusiasm as the latest fad, and then lose it when it starts to require courage and commitment. Not many flourish and produce substantial fruit after years of study, prayer, work, and sacrifice. 

At one time, the Conventual Franciscans welcomed Catholic men of every sort to join our community. We asked some of them to study and prepare for ordination; others were asked only to accept the demands of religious life and serve among us. Many religious brothers had little education, and knew little about our religion. A few were simple-minded souls given to the church by their families. When the world provided lots of employment for low-skilled workers, we asked our brothers to cook, farm, or do maintenance, housekeeping, and janitorial work. They did well and the community flourished. 

But the world and society changed and there came a day when our religious brothers were asked questions they could not answer. And worse, they offered wrong answers. Since the 1970's, new candidates to the community must study scripture and theology regardless of the work they might do. They must speak for the Church because the world expects it of them.

But the world continues to change and today's Catholics are also being asked religious questions, and many cannot answer them intelligently. Everyone must study our scriptures, our traditions, our history, and our faith. You can no longer say, "Go ask the priest." because we're not generating enough priests, deacons, sisters, or brothers. 

An eighth grade Catholic education no longer cuts it. Nor does Catholic high school. We're being asked why does the Church oppose abortion and birth control, gay marriage and "transitioning" gender. They want to know the purpose of celibacy, and why won't the Church ordain women. Ill-informed answers and made-up replies are worse than ignorance. They mislead and do harm. Souls are lost.

Saint Paul spoke of this kind of distress in his First Letter to Timothy:

I repeat the request I made of you when I was on my way to Macedonia, that you... instruct certain people not to teach false doctrine or to concern themselves with myths and endless genealogies, which promote speculations rather than the plan of God that is to be received by faith.

The aim of instruction is love from a pure heart, a good conscience, and a sincere faith. Some people have deviated from these and turned to meaningless talk, wanting to be teachers of the law, but without understanding either what they are saying or what they assert with such assurance.

The Catholic Church, like our Savior, speaks a prophetic word to the nations. Everyone of us speaks for the Church, and for our God, to our neighbors, colleagues, strangers, and friends. They have honest questions; they seek answers. We owe them the truth. 

We cannot afford not to know the truth. We must not act stupidly or foolishly in this brave new world. We have work -- intellectual work -- to do. Let's get to it.

Saturday of the Twenty-eighth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 472

For this reason, it depends on faith,
so that it may be a gift,
and the promise may be guaranteed to all his descendants,
not to those who only adhere to the law
but to those who follow the faith of Abraham,
who is the father of all of us, as it is written,
I have made you father of many nations.

Saint Paul invokes a powerful argument for trusting in the God of Abraham.  As children of "our father in faith" we rely on the promise which we have seen fulfilled over many generations. It is a word that, were it not from God, would have been lost many centuries ago. The world has seen how many thousands of cities, nations, and peoples, with their cultures and languages, their triumphs and failures, their virtue and wickedness appear, flourish, fade, and vanish? Periodically, archaeologists unearth another ancient city, long forgotten. They wonder who lived here, and how, and why they disappeared. And why does no one remember them today? 

But the nation of Abraham, whose foundation is God's fidelity, remains through it all. Nor can any one of us boast of their own fidelity. Our history, as recorded in the songs, stories, and annals of our own sacred texts, describe a people who cannot produce even a single generation with purity of heart. "We have sinned; we and our ancestors have sinned." It is the LORD who does not surrender us to our sins but continually calls us back to himself.

We have had our champions in faith, our saints. Of them all there is only Jesus and Mary who lived without sin. Clearly their perfect integrity was a gift of God, unearned and unmerited, and given to them as a gift for everyone. We credit them for proving their worthiness by his sacrifice of his life and her sacrifice of her only son. 

But we boast also of those sinners who surrendered to the God of Abraham. They repented and lived by the Spirit of God, listening intently to his whisper in their hearts, and habitually sacrificing their own desires, preferences, expectations, and opinions. What they wanted mattered not to them; they wanted only what God wanted. 

We remember that our saints and martyrs turned away from their former lives as they suffered the discipline of God. Many had been notorious sinners leading scandalous lives. Their transformation was wonderful in our eyes, as the psalmist said. It was just as amazing to them as it is to us. They knew they could claim no merit for what God had done with them.

In our own lives of prayer, we ask God to do something with us. "Dear Lord, find something useful in my willingness and turn it to your purpose." We remember the oft repeated prayer of Abraham, "Here I am." And of Jesus, "I come to do your will."

Optional Memorial of Saint Paul of the Cross, priest

Lectionary: 471

So also David declares the blessedness of the person
to whom God credits righteousness apart from works: 
Blessed are they whose iniquities are forgiven
and whose sins are covered.
Blessed is the man whose sin the Lord does not record.

Abraham appears in the Letters of Saint Paul and the Gospel of Saint John as a corrective to the Pharisees' misreadings of Moses' law. In a resounding rebuke of his opponents, the Lord told them, "Abraham your father rejoiced to see my day! He saw it and was glad!" 

By faith Abraham accepted the promise of many descendants, despite his and his wife Sarah's old age. They would be as many as the stars in the sky, which, (as we know...) are more than the sands on our seashores! Whatever that number might be, it's unimaginable! Abraham rejoiced especially at the birth of Isaac; that was a great day in the life of the ancient couple. So the Patriarch's joy was twofold as he heard God's promise and saw its fulfillment -- a word made flesh, as it were -- in Sarah's firstborn son. 

The preachers and writers of the New Testament also summon King David to testify for the Lord Jesus against the Pharisaic reading of Moses, as we hear in today's first reading. 

In both cases, the men are credited with righteousness despite their well-documented sinfulness. On the basis of these stories, Christians can declare quite openly, with neither shame nor hesitation, that we are sinful, holy people. We have not become holy by our deeds, but we have become righteous by our faith. Nor, for that matter, has our learning, wealth, charm, physical beauty, or social standing done us much good. All these things are so much rubbish in our eyes and in God's sight. 

We must begin and end each day with that realization. In the morning we ask for the wisdom, strength, and courage to think, say, and act according to God's spirit. In the evening, recalling the day, we thank God for his guidance through difficult moments, and ask forgiveness for when we strayed. 

If it sounds simple, it is. If it sounds easy, it's not. We learn by daily and persistent practice to walk in the footsteps of Jesus. Sometimes we're pressed to move quickly; sometimes we're told to move slowly. Those who move too fast or too slowly get lost in the Wilderness of Self, and must find the Lord again, even as he -- the Good Shepherd -- searches for them. 

Always, we maintain that awareness of God's goodness which remains both apart from us and within us. If Jesus can say, "Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone!" we can make no claim to goodness on our own. Rather, we walk by faith and not by sight, and are given credit for righteousness. 

Memorial of Saints John de Brébeuf and Isaac Jogues, Priests, and Companions, Martyrs

 Lectionary 470

Now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law,
though testified to by the law and the prophets,
the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ
for all who believe.

Regardless of their religious beliefs, people always believe their gods are somehow engaged in their lives. 

I've been reading Homer's Iliad lately -- it's there among my bedside pile of books -- and I am amused by Homer's depiction of the Greek deities. They regard their human devotees affectionately, like pets. They want to see Achilles and Hector and Helen content and happy. And they want them to win against their rivals, especially when the human rivals are sponsored by other patron gods. But they really don't care because, whether the humans win or lose, live or die, the gods live immortally. I suppose other nations expect the same indifferent paternalism of their deities. 

The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob -- whom we know as the Father of Jesus -- clearly has a deeper investment in us. And yet there is, especially in the Old Testament, that suspicion of soaring indifference. The LORD is in his heavens. He cares about his people, and rescues them from Egypt and Babylon, and miraculously spares Jerusalem from the Assyrian horde. 

But when he delivers them from Babylon, it is for the sake of his own name. The LORD will not have his name besmirched among the nations by his people's humiliation. In fact, he intends to elevate their name and their reputation to the heights of heaven, so that all nations will come to worship him. That will be for their own benefit, as well as his. 

Their redemption, in other words, has little to do with their worth or merit. "It is because God loves you!" And so we hear Saint Paul insist: 

Now the righteousness of God has been manifested apart from the law...

Our response, when we are discovered in sin, should be regret, remorse, and the intention to do penance. But, more importantly, it should be gratitude for the mercy which has convicted us of sin. And we should sing exultant songs of God's goodness. How good is the incomparably good God to his sinful people! When we read the 26 verses of Psalm 136, which recounts God's creating and redeeming works, we sing out 26 times, "...for his mercy endures forever!"   

Romans ponders God's engagement with humans in the person of Jesus, the only begotten Son of God. Christians see that God himself has abandoned the luxury, security, and splendid isolation of heaven to live, suffer, and die with us. In the passion and death of Jesus, we have watched God throw in his lot with us. He dares to go with us, and pays a ransom which is more than God can afford! 

This is incomprehensible. This we would not and could not believe if it were not revealed to us. But we have seen it and must believe it. 

If our sins are forgiven and our integrity as human beings restored, all credit must go to

"...the righteousness of God through faith in Jesus Christ for all who believe."

God only requires of us that we believe. Paul's Epistle to the Romans insists upon these twin doctrines of God's righteousness and our response in faith. So are we faithful? 

Any man can claim to be a faithful husband, but only the man who proves his fidelity to his wife and children by continual sacrifices of time and energy as he places their needs and desires above his own deserves the name of husband and father. Likewise the so-called faithful must act with complete integrity. Faith which lacks fidelity is not faith; it's a pharisaic sham. 

And so, to wrap up, God's sovereign generosity soars high above our lame, unworthy response. Our merit is never satisfactory; our integrity, never stainless. But God, to prove his worth in the presence of our crucified Lord, has redeemed him and us. 

Feast of Saint Luke, evangelist

Image: St Luke as the first portrait painter of Mary 

 Lectionary: 661

Demas, enamored of the present world,
deserted me and went to Thessalonica,
Crescens to Galatia, and Titus to Dalmatia.
Luke is the only one with me.
Get Mark and bring him with you,
for he is helpful to me in the ministry.

We find Saint Luke listed among the travelling companions of Saint Paul. They were apparently a small band of missionaries who ventured from one Greek town to another, searching out the Jewish neighborhoods, and announcing the Gospel of the Lord's death and resurrection. 

We find him also in those portions of the Acts of the Apostles which have come to be called the "we passages" (Acts 16:10–17; 20:5–15; 21:1–18; 27:1–37; 28:1-16). Although most of Acts is written in the third person, several brief sections of the book are written from a first-person perspective. Although no explanation is given, Saint Luke must have been their author. 

His appearance in 2 Timothy as the only faithful companion to Paul reminds us of the struggles of the early Church. For all his brilliance as a preacher and writer, the Apostle didn't have Jesus's majestic ability to settle every difference before it disturbed the group. There were quarrels among them, and the group sometimes split to go separate ways; as when "Barnabas took Mark with him and sailed away to Cyprus." (Acts 15:39) Today we regard the whole lot of them as saints but they might have felt differently about each other at the time! 

Welcome to the Church. We follow the Lord because we're sinners and seek redemption. Not because we're righteous and have no need for mercy. 

God's intervening grace encourages us to continually seek reconciliation; it empowers our human abilities to make peace, find agreement, and laugh at ourselves. We are all children of Eve; meaning we're fallible, foolish, and beautiful. Unfortunately, those who maintain secret alliances which are alien to the Lord -- alliances like alcoholism, drug abuse, lust, resentments, or cynicism -- cannot allow grace to lead them back into communion following some disruption. 

Scandals will occur, as Jesus said, but healing, reconciliation, and joy will follow when God again works a Mighty Work. 

Recently, on the 26th Sunday of Ordinary time, I was astonished and delighted to read the collect. As we pray to become graceful and merciful like our God, we aspire to this: 

O God, who manifest your almighty power
Above all by pardoning and showing mercy,
Bestow we pray your grace abundantly upon us
And make those hastening to attain your promises
Heirs to the treasures of heaven.

Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

who lives and reigns with you

in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

God, forever and ever.

 

Memorial of Saint Ignatius of Antioch, Bishop and Martyr

Lectionary: 468

...a Pharisee invited him to dine at his home. He entered and reclined at table to eat. The Pharisee was amazed to see that he did not observe the prescribed washing before the meal.

When I offered a ride to a young fellow some years ago, he was surprised that I was listening to classical music. He was sure my cd player played only Bible Belt church music. Situations like that, though common, are embarrassing as we have to explain "We're human too." 

Like the Pharisee who invited Jesus to his home, unchurched people often have strong expectations of what holy persons should say or do. Even normal biological functions astonish them. 

Ideologues are also certain they know what their opponents will say and how they'll react. Jesus's experience of the Pharisee is familiar to any religious or priest who takes their vocation seriously. 

When he rebuked the astonished Pharisee, the Lord insisted, "You are missing the point entirely!" 

As invited Church leaders sit with Pope Francis for a synod on synodality, ideologues around the globe divide into two camps. Both firmly believe they know what to expect: some expect the worst; others expect the best. Few have any real idea what synodality might entail. 

They cannot imagine a meeting of persons from all parts of the earth asking God to guide his church; they cannot believe that God might have certain intentions for his Church. And, if he does want something of the Church, they cannot conceive of a way to discover what that might be -- short of a supernatural skywriter appearing overhead. (Dorothy, surrender!") Nor do they hear insiders reply, 'Expect nothing, except perhaps disappointment." 

Ideologues believe the results are more important than the process. Or, in other words, the end justifies the means. If we have to do good by frustrating, disappointing, or destroying some people, it's unfortunate but necessary. 

The Church has long experience of disagreement and bitter memories of heresy. We know that disagreements are not resolved when a dominant faction gains control over a people nation, or Church. If resistance seems to disappear, it has only gone into hiding -- to reappear at another time under a different guise. Nothing is resolved by victory, regardless of who wins. 

To use a familiar analogy: Many of Moses' people supposed they knew where the Lord was taking them and went on ahead -- and were lost. Others insisted we should stay where we are, and were lost. Only those who remained with the People of God remained in communion with God. 

As the Synod works throughout the coming weeks, we who are not attending should pray that we will be moved by the same obedient spirit that the Holy Father has invoked. We must habitually ask the Lord, "What am I to do today? How should I respond to today's challenges? Please send your Spirit to guide my thoughts, words, and deeds; my actions and reactions!" 

And we should always conclude that prayer with, "Thank you for being the One, True God." 

Monday of the Twenty-eighth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 467

Paul, a slave of Christ Jesus,
called to be an Apostle and set apart for the Gospel of God....

Saint Paul's important Letter to the Romans begins with one of his typically endless sentences. The Gospel fired his brilliant mind and he could barely contain his enthusiasm. His impulsive zeal rushed from his heart, through his mind, and onto the page with a torrent of words. We can imagine his preaching was also like that; we've heard preachers who can't seem to find the end of their sermons. 

The Apostle was eager to share the gift he had received. He was like a boy who's been given a football for his birthday. As wonderful as it is, the gift is useless if he can't play football with other kids. The Gospel had unexpectedly found the Jewish citizen of Tarsus and sent him onto the empire's highways to speak of Jesus to gentiles. Well educated in both Jewish religion and gentile philosophy, he had discovered his place, identity, and purpose. The slave and apostle of Christ Jesus could not be happier.

Catholics of the twenty-first century also discover their place and purpose in the Church. Whether we're cradle Catholics or converts to it, we cannot be satisfied with the name only. Unlike older generations of Americans, we don't need a religion to identify ourselves. No one has to claim a religion anymore. Many of our neighbors are content to be American, or citizens of one of its states. Some are identified by their professions, careers, or jobs. Some claim a sports team and call themselves fans. Or they invest their life and purpose in their children, hobbies, or obsessions. 

Catholics do their religion. The Lord demands that we be holy and the world expects it. As Saint Paul lived in the Gospel, we live in the Church, which has both time and space. We find ourselves in God's time,  in this present moment between its history and its destiny. 

While millions suffer future shock, and cannot navigate an increasingly complicated world, we know where we're going because we know where we've been. If the end of history is distant, it's nonetheless in sight because we see the approach of the Lord of Glory. With that security we can care for one another. 

Given this orientation within the world without being part of the world, we do as Saint Paul did. We invite others to know the Lord as we know him, our savior, guide, friend, companion, and God. 

Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 142

On this mountain the LORD of hosts
will provide for all peoples
a feast of rich food and choice wines,
juicy, rich food and pure, choice wines.
On this mountain he will destroy
the veil that veils all peoples,
the web that is woven over all nations;
he will destroy death forever.

The Lord’s parable in today’s gospel might sound familiar to today’s moviegoers who consume movies about powerful kings and beautiful queens, courageous knights and damsels in distress, dragons, magicians, curses, witches, ogres, gnomes, and fairies. These imaginary kingdoms have no judiciaries to challenge and condemn a despot’s arbitrary decisions and excessive punishment. 

But in 21st century America no one kills the postal employees who bring dinner invitations, and no one slaughters invited guests and burns their cities. Things like that might have happened in Jesus’s day, when Rome ruled the world; but I think Jesus’s mythical king resembled the Hebrew prophets’ LORD and GOD; the God and Father of Jesus whom we still worship. 

People who want the so-called New Testament God to be nice, benevolent, and peaceful regardless of the injustice and cruelty in his world, have not read this parable. This Father of a royal prince has limited patience; and the judgment day will come for his enemies. They might kill his prophets; they might crucify his son, torture his martyrs, and oppress his chosen people; but in the end he will destroy those murderers and burns their cities. 

Like those Christmas paintings with brilliant stars and bearded magi, our Good News describes a chiaroscuro of darkness and light. They imagine an apocalyptic worldscape with an impersonal, unbearable evil which must be – and will be – destroyed by a justice which is uncompromising and a mercy which redeems the helpless and the innocent. 

The Gospels remind us that without faith – without fidelity to one another and the promises we have made – our world collapses. But rather than listen to a preacher’s fuming about this terrible world, listen to the words of the American poet, Muriel Rukeyser, written in 1973:

Ballad of Orange and Grape

After you finish your work

after you do your day

after you've read your reading

after you've written your say –

you go down the street to the hot dog stand,

one block down and across the way.

On a blistering afternoon in East Harlem in the twentieth

    century.

Most of the windows are boarded up,

the rats run out of a sack –

sticking out of the crummy garage

one shiny long Cadillac;

at the glass door of the drug-addiction center,

a man who'd like to break your back.

But here's a brown woman with a little girl dressed in rose

    and pink, too.

Frankfurters frankfurters sizzle on the steel

where the hot-dog-man leans –

nothing else on the counter

but the usual two machines,

the grape one, empty, and the orange one, empty,

I face him in between.

A black boy comes along, looks at the hot dogs, goes on

    walking.

I watch the man as he stands and pours

in the familiar shape

bright purple in the one marked ORANGE

orange in the one marked GRAPE,

the grape drink in the machine marked ORANGE

and orange drink in the GRAPE.

Just the one word large and clear, unmistakeable, on each

    machine.

I ask him : How can we go on reading

and make sense out of what we read? –

How can they write and believe what they're writing,

the young ones across the street,

while you go on pouring grape in ORANGE

and orange into the one marked GRAPE –?

(How are we going to believe what we read and we write

    and we hear and we say and we do?)

He looks at the two machines and he smiles

and he shrugs and smiles and pours again.

It could be violence and nonviolence

it could be white and black, women and men

it could be war and peace, or any

binary system, love and hate, enemy, friend.

Yes and no, be and not-be, what we do and what we don't do.

On a corner in East Harlem

garbage, reading, a deep smile, rape,

forgetfulness, a hot street of murder,

misery, withered hope,

a man keeps pouring grape into ORANGE

and orange into the one marked GRAPE,

pouring orange into GRAPE and grape into ORANGE forever.

The Word of God, incarnate among us in the person of Jesus, remains true; he promises the truth to us if we will live through him, with him, and in him. 

And he warns us, “Many are invited, but few are chosen."