Thursday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 233

More tortuous than all else is the human heart,
beyond remedy; who can understand it?
I, the LORD, alone probe the mind
and test the heart,
To reward everyone according to his ways,
according to the merit of his deeds.

"Why did I do that? Why did I say that? What was I thinking?" we ask ourselves. Or we're challenged by someone else, "What were you thinking?" And we have no answer. 

Stupid does not answer the question. I'm not stupid. It wasn't that. It was greed, lust, fear, sloth.... It was uglier than stupid. Envy, jealousy, anger, gluttony, pride.... The list goes on and is seemingly endless. Who can understand the human heart? As Jeremiah says, " More tortuous than all else is the human heart, beyond remedy...."

If we're blessed we turn to the Lord and ask him to show it to us. Lord, what was I thinking? What did I expect? 

Knowledge of God comes through revelation; we would have only vague ideas of God without his speaking to us. We actually know God through his coming to us and walking with us. We know God by his mercy. That much is revealed to his elect. 

But how do we know ourselves? Given the bias of what I want to believe about myself, and the needs, suppositions, and surmises of others who tell me who I am -- I am at sea. I need the Lord to speak to my heart and tell me why I did that, and who I am in his sight.

It's not pretty. It might be as mild as foolish; but it's probably worse. Self-knowledge comes as a mercy, and with a gentle sound.

The Lord is compassionate and gracious,

    slow to anger, abounding in love.

He will not always accuse,

    nor will he harbor his anger forever;

He does not treat us as our sins deserve

    or repay us according to our iniquities. Psalm 103 (NIV)

Wednesday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 232

Jesus said in reply, "You do not know what you are asking. Can you drink the chalice that I am going to drink?"
They said to him, "We can."
He replied, "My chalice you will indeed drink, but to sit at my right and at my left, this is not mine to give....

Recently I spent much time with a mortally ill friar, and I listened to his deciding over many days to let it go. He was drinking deeply of the Lord's chalice of suffering, and I wondered how willing I might be when that day comes. As sympathetic friends asked about him, I reminded them of the same choice. Given the American way of dying, which involves a cycle of repeated, frequent trips to the emergency room, most of us will face that decision. And we'll also make it for family members as they linger on death's threshold. 

But, as the Lord speaks of death, we realize it's also a metaphor for how we live. And those innumerable choices made over the course of life are far more important than any advanced directive.  Am I willing to die to myself; that is, to my opinions and beliefs, my preferences and desires, and my needs, both apparent and real? Am I willing to let others go first, to receive better treatment than I get, and enjoy the fruit of my labor? Am I willing to suffer their indifference? 

The real death doesn't come in a hospital, hospice, or nursing home. Death comes when I disappear and the Lord appears in my place. Or in what I mistakenly thought was my place. 

The clueless disciples in today's gospel are practically comical in their efforts to secure powerful positions in the Lord's kingdom. They think of kingdom and power in the same breath. But the day will come when they see the Lord seated on his throne between two "revolutionaries, one on his right and the other on his left." And they will ask, "What were we thinking?" In the meanwhile, they cannot imagine how they must follow the Lord. 

Deep in the season of Lent, with four weeks yet to go, we ask the Lord to show us how we must die to ourselves. We pray for that ready willingness to follow him to Jerusalem, Calvary, and Easter. The disciplines of Lent are a simple test, and they often prove more difficult than we expected. It's not because fasting, prayer, and almsgiving are so hard; it's because we don't want to die.

Tuesday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 231

Come now, let us set things right,
says the LORD:
Though your sins be like scarlet,
they may become white as snow;
Though they be crimson red,
they may become white as wool.
If you are willing, and obey....

Can human beings be worthy of God's merciful protection and generous blessings? Can we hope that the Lord might say, at least to some of us, "Come share your masters joy?" Or, "Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world?" 

Are these nothing more than empty promises of fervid religious fantasies? The optimism of the few humans who enjoy their unearned, undeserved privilege and expect the same favored treatment in an imaginary afterlife? 

A glance at the current news is discouraging. Some people explain our senseless violence with Darwinian theory; a survival of the fittest gone insane. Others insist it began with the childish disobedience of a gullible pair in a prehistoric Eden. Neither premise offers much to hope for, and we find little of infinite worth in the daily news. We'd rather forget most of what we read. 

And yet, a thing of beauty is a joy forever, as the young poet John Keats said. Those who are willing do find things of infinite worth even in our daily life, things that go unnoticed and unremarked by intrepid recorders of current events. And sleeping children are surely worthy of protection, nourishment, and opportunity. Even their grumpiness upon waking is darling and deserving. 

Lent promises new opportunity to those who are willing to obey the Lord and set things right. Although our crimes are scarlet they may become brilliant white; our behavior, which has been deplorable, may delight the angels who behold God's face. 

Lent begins with me, with my willingness to turn away from my sinful habits and attitudes, and the systemic sins of my culture to study the ways of God. If I hesitate, supposing that someone else should make the first move, I'll be left behind when they do. 

Doctors, counselors, spiritual directors, and pastors understand that change begins when I realize the problem is me. So long as I suppose it's someone else; or suppose that "I am what I am and I cannot change," nothing will change; and the descent into hell will only continue. Neither abundant blessings nor ominous threats nor punishing catastrophes can make me change my attitude, practice, or habits. Nor will a half-hearted, go-along-to-get-along, compromise suffice. Nor will a temporary adjustment with an expectation of reverting as soon as Lent is over, satisfy a jealous God. 

But if you refuse and resist,

the sword shall consume you:

for the mouth of the LORD has spoken! (Isaiah 16:20)

 

Indeed, the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating even between soul and spirit, joints and marrow, and able to discern reflections and thoughts of the heart. No creature is concealed from him, but everything is naked and exposed to the eyes of him to whom we must render an account. Hebrews 4:12-13

 

Monday of the Second Week in Lent

Firemen conduct a controlled burn
on the MSF prairie. 

Lectionary: 230

"Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.
"Stop judging and you will not be judged.
Stop condemning and you will not be condemned.
Forgive and you will be forgiven.
Give and gifts will be given to you....

We judge others because we have to. Some people are dangerous; some people, for reasons of their own, do evil. 

I suppose we all do evil occasionally; or we have in the past. In retrospect, we wonder what we were thinking; and we remember with remorse, shame, and grief. But we might also wonder how we might have done differently, remembering the circumstances. "I should not have been there in the first place, in that near occasion of sin." 

And so we judge ourselves and we judge others. 

Contemplative prayer teaches us to go easy with the judgments. We needn't be cruel to ourselves, our loved one, strangers, or enemies. We cannot know what drives them anymore than we always know our own motives. And consequences are often unintended. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." 

As Daniel said, 

We have sinned, been wicked and done evil;

we have rebelled and departed from your commandments and your laws.

We have not obeyed your servants the prophets,

who spoke in your name to our kings, our princes,

our fathers, and all the people of the land.

Justice, O Lord, is on your side....

Faith insists that God is just; that Justice is on God's side. The Gospel insists there is such a thing as justice. Some people doubt that. They suppose there is only power, "Might makes it right. I do it because I can!" Given control of the military, the police, the courts, and the laws, the powerful can do whatever they want. Except that God is just.  They cannot control God. 

Judgment often comes as consequences follow; and then Justice laughs at the wicked. "I told you so!" they might say. "Ha Ha Ha Hallelujah!"

The just rejoice in knowing God is just; that he punishes the wicked even as he disciplines his people. And so we approach the Sacrament of Penance with a willingness to see, acknowledge, and name our wicked thoughts, intentions, words, and deeds. We are ready to turn back to the Lord again and say, 

"Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers.”’" Luke 15:18-19

Second Sunday of Lent

Lectionary: 26

Then a cloud came, casting a shadow over them; from the cloud came a voice,
"This is my beloved Son. Listen to him."
Suddenly, looking around, they no longer saw anyone but Jesus alone with them.

IN today’s gospel, we hear a Voice from heaven declare, “This is my beloved son; listen to him!” When John baptized Jesus in the Jordan River, a voice also came from the heavens, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.” 

But there is no indication that the Baptist or anyone else heard the voice. As Saint Mark tells the story, God spoke only to "you," to Jesus. He was known only to God, and is otherwise alone and unrecognized among the crowds who came to be baptized. 

Other gospels, of course, give us a different story: Saint Luke will tell us Jesus and John are related on Mary's side; Saint Matthew describes John's knowing Jesus and whether he should baptize his superior. And in the Fourth Gospel, the Baptist pointed directly to him and shouted, "Behold, the Lamb of God...." 

But Saint Mark's Jesus is shrouded in anonymity and mystery. We cannot know how he felt about the incident. He said nothing to anyone. And he seems to have arrived without a plan for, "Immediately the Spirit drove him into the desert."

That is why the Voice which Peter, James, and the disciple John heard on a high mountain shocked the disciples. It might have sounded familiar to Jesus but the fishermen were dumbfounded. 

As we hear the story told on this Second Sunday of Lent, the Church points our attention to the unique relationship of Jesus and God. He alone is "my beloved son." The word beloved immediately sends us back to another mountain in the distant past where God spoke to Abraham, 

"Take your son Isaac, your only one, whom you love,

and go to the land of Moriah.

There you shall offer him up as a holocaust

on a height that I will point out to you."

But, not many years after hearing that astounding voice, Saint Peter obviously knows the only begotten Son of God. At the risk of his own life, he declares in front of friends and enemies, 

There is no salvation through anyone else, nor is there any other name under heaven given to the human race by which we are to be saved.” 

This knowledge comes by revelation to Peter, the disciples, and to us, the Church. “Flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my heavenly Father.”

In a popular movie several years ago, George Burns, playing the role of God, said that "Jesus was my son. Buddha was my son. Muhammad, Moses, you, the man who said there was no room at the inn was my son." 

Excuse me for being Catholic and complaining about the great comedian, but that was rank heresy and a direct attack on our faith. And yet many people ate it up, and many Catholics believe it. 

We are called to be a people peculiarly his own and our most peculiar characteristic is our complete and absolute faith in Jesus Christ. We believe he is the only beloved Son of God; he is the Word made flesh; he is the Word who was with God and the Word who is God. 

His death alone saves us from ourselves and our sins; the sacrifice of his life alone must teach us the mercy and justice which God demands of us. There is no salvation without him; there can be no hope for those who deny him. As we hear in the Gospel of Saint John,

Whoever believes in him will not be condemned, but whoever does not believe has already been condemned, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the verdict, that the light came into the world, but people preferred darkness to light, because their works were evil.

The Lord calls us, a people peculiarly his own, during the Season of Lent to prepare us for the judgment day of Good Friday and the great revelation of Easter. 

We take the season seriously because we know we cannot save ourselves, our nation, or our planet. Now is the time to beg God for salvation, deliverance, and mercy. During an election year, as the United States faces a critical test of our democracy; and as we watch antichrists rising to power in many nations, we hear the Voice of God tell us in no uncertain language, "This is my beloved Son. Listen to him." And we hear Jesus, the Crucified Messiah reassure us, 

I am the LORD, there is no other,

there is no God besides me.

It is I who arm you, though you do not know me,

so that all may know, from the rising of the sun

to its setting, that there is none besides me.

I am the LORD, there is no other.

Saturday of the First Week of Lent

Lectionary: 229

...you are to be a people peculiarly his own, as he promised you;
and provided you keep all his commandments,
he will then raise you high in praise and renown and glory above all other nations he has made,
and you will be a people sacred to the LORD, your God, as he promised."

In today's gospel, Jesus spells out and hammers home how we are to be a people peculiarly his own. Unlike "tax collectors and pagans" who love those who love them and greet only their own kind, we should have an open, hospitable heart for everyone.  And our kind is anyone. This manner copies his way of meeting people. 

If he had opponents because of his teaching and his witness to the Kingdom of God, he had no enemies. Or, he made no enemies; he condemned no one. They made themselves his enemies by their refusal to accept the Good News that he announced. 

As he said to Nicodemus, 

For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him. Whoever believes in him will not be condemned, but whoever does not believe has already been condemned, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God  (John 3:17-18)

Today, this peculiar way of life is like walking a tightrope in a hurricane. There's an obvious reason for the polarization of our society; it sells. The public wants trouble. As a nation we're at war with no one. Our economy is good; jobs are available; inflation is under control; and yet we're screaming at each other. Because it sells products.

How many times have we seen both houses of Congress split evenly with 50 senators in either camp, and a similar division in the House? Why does American society split so evenly into two opposing parties? It sells.

Newt Gingrich (House Speaker 1995-1999) and other politicians discovered that loudly expressing extremist statements generated more cash than saner, irenic policies. Making enemies entertained the public, making peace disappointed them. If most Americans stood in the middle they were not so willing to pay for the privilege as their more savage compatriots. 

A peculiar people like Jesus's disciples is not driven by consumerism and its rabid sale of goods and services. We listen, consider, discuss, and seek agreement. We stop and think before we buy anything. We prefer a quieter way of life, less exciting, less entertaining, less expensive, and more productive. 

That's something else I noticed on my way to mental health: I don't need excitement. Nor do I thrive with it. I have met people who felt uneasy when their lives were normal. They were working productively, paying the bills, keeping a regular schedule, without any unusual stressors at home, in the office, or among their friends. They complained, "This can't last long." Clearly, they were not used to it. 

A peculiar people like Jesus's disciples prays routinely, with a regular, daily schedule. It helps us maintain that mental balance. We may miss the excitement but we don't need it. And we're more open to hearing controversial statements and seeing upsetting things without being drawn into them. We can pray for people without meddling in their lives. 

We walk the tightrope of prayer; which is to say, "First things first; we worship God." It is right and just that we should do so. And that, in today's world, is very peculiar.

Friday of the First Week of Lent

Lectionary: 228

Jesus said to his disciples:
"I tell you,
unless your righteousness surpasses that
of the scribes and Pharisees,
you will not enter into the Kingdom of heaven.

Perhaps the recent controversy about Fiducia Supplicans concerns an understanding of the Lord's teaching about the false righteousness cited in today's gospel. Within the Vatican declaration about blessings of gay persons there is a subtext about opinionated priests and bishops who lack compassion for homosexual persons.

In October 1986, then-Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, as head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, published his "Letter to the bishops on the pastoral care of homosexual persons." With that the Church's official teaching regards homosexuality as a disorder rather than a moral failing. Homosexual behavior is still deemed sinful and, like all sin, both unnecessary and forgivable. But society and the Church can make allowances for the disorder as we do for blindness, deafness, and other disabilities.

The teaching seemed like a concession in some quarters and was not universally welcomed. Many "gay" persons insisted their condition is normal, and no more abnormal than being left-handed in a right-handed world. And they had the support of many psychiatrists. 

However, old attitudes remain and some people still regard homosexual persons as evil and unworthy of just treatment in the church or anywhere else. 

And, in the other camp, many homosexuals have assumed a stance as victims; they regard anyone who differs with their beliefs as unsympathetic, "homophobic," and reprehensible. 

American spirituality has always been Manichean; that is, it sees reality through a lens of good-and-evil. And so it readily falls into ideological thinking which sees some institutions as oppressive, and people as either oppressors or oppressed. There's little room for nuanced conversation in that environment. 

Fiducia Supplicans has not been well received in either camp. Its teaching that, "Blessings are among the most widespread and evolving sacramentals." is certainly novel. Who knew that blessings can evolve? Are those who disagree, like the African bishops, behind the times? Or less evolved? 

And the statement, "For this reason, one should neither provide for nor promote a ritual for the blessings of couples in an irregular situation." is contradicted by the promulgation of the statement itself. Many priests and bishops have always met and prayed with gay persons, and encouraged them to practice chastity, the same virtue which should be practiced by single, celibate, and married adults. 

So who was the target of the declaration? Perhaps it was "scribes and Pharisees" with their pretentious righteousness. They're certainly out there, but they won't be transformed into sympathetic friends of gay persons by this statement or the controversy. They have their own issues which might be addressed by their conscience, counselors, or spiritual directors. 

Immersed as we are in a polarized society, everyone should examine their attitudes about people. We all make judgments but we should be equally ready to suspend judgment; even as Jesus did when confronted by centurions, gentiles, and women caught in adultery. The world could stand a few less opinions. 

Feast of the Chair of Saint Peter, Apostle

Lectionary: 535

I exhort the presbyters among you,
as a fellow presbyter and witness to the sufferings of Christ
and one who has a share in the glory to be revealed.
Tend the flock of God in your midst...

The story is told of Archbishop Harry Flynn's visit to a gathering in a church basement, along with the parish pastor. As they moved from one table to another, a woman greeted her parish priest with great enthusiasm, and then finally turned to the archbishop -- whose picture appeared weekly in the diocesan Catholic Spirit -- and sweetly asked, "And who are you, Father?" 

I once spoke with a fellow who had a complaint about the Catholic Church. He insisted that I should convey his concern to Pope Francis the next time I see His Holiness. Nor would he hear that I have no more access to the pontiff than he does. 

On this feast of the Chair of Saint Peter, we hear the Apostle's exhortation to his fellow presbyters, rather than his fellow bishops. That is, to priests. They are the face of the church for most Catholics. The feast is an explicit celebration of the Vicar of Christ and his pastoral authority rather than the Apostle Saint Peter. 

The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes pope's authority by comparing it vis a vis the authority of the united bishops of the Church:

882 The Pope, Bishop of Rome and Peter's successor, "is the perpetual and visible source and foundation of the unity both of the bishops and of the whole company of the faithful." "For the Roman Pontiff, by reason of his office as Vicar of Christ, and as pastor of the entire Church has full, supreme, and universal power over the whole Church, a power which he can always exercise unhindered."

883 "The college or body of bishops has no authority unless united with the Roman Pontiff, Peter's successor, as its head." As such, this college has "supreme and full authority over the universal Church; but this power cannot be exercised without the agreement of the Roman Pontiff."

884 "The college of bishops exercises power over the universal Church in a solemn manner in an ecumenical council." But "there never is an ecumenical council which is not confirmed or at least recognized as such by Peter's successor.

The Church describes the pope as "the Vicar of Christ." No matter how modestly the pope appears before his fellow bishop or the world's media, we regard him with the deference we would give to Jesus if Nazareth, were he to reappear. 

And when we speak of that authority we remember the Song of the Lamb in Revelations 5:

“Worthy is the Lamb that was slain

to receive power and riches, wisdom and strength,

honor and glory and blessing.”

“To the one who sits on the throne and to the Lamb

be blessing and honor, glory and might,

forever and ever.”

The pope is persona Christi with the authority to speak to the Church and to world leaders with the authority of Jesus Christ. And yet, he is a man. Pope Francis is an old Argentinian, a survivor of Argentina's Dirty War, and a Jesuit. We regard him with the affection we would have for any old fellow whose health is precarious, and whose regard for the least among us is challenging and exemplary. 

Pope Francis has attempted to speak with a prophetic voice to the Church and the world, which is very unusual. The pope's authority, like that of any leader is more often used to suppress and divert spirited impulses in the Church. If someone has a good idea about what "we" should do, they must -- sooner or later -- get some authorization from the official leadership. They might assemble a large group of people to meet with that person, or they might go alone, but the official's responsibility is to listen and consider, and then to encourage, dissuade, or redirect the energy. 

The authority will ponder: Does this idea jive with our tradition? Does it fit within our vision, goals, and plans? Can it be folded into the efforts we're already making? Is it coming from out of left field, or is it something we're already doing? Has it been tried and failed already? Or perhaps it should be squelched as a very bad idea whose time never has and never will come.

The leader ordinarily does not come up with a whole new vision of where we should go, and try to persuade the body of their particular idea. 

Pope Francis has certainly not promoted alien ideas with his concern for synodality, the poor, and climate change; but he has, I believe, attempted to make a prophetic statement to the World and the Church. And, predictably, he has upset a lot of people because popes don't often speak to the Church prophetically. 

And so we pray for him and we pray for our Church and we watch to see where the Lord is leading us. And we thank God again for the gift of the papacy. When we consider the confusion, disunity, and distress of virtually all other religions, we are astonished by that divine determination to remain united before a bemused, bewildered world.

Wednesday of the First Week in Lent

Lectionary: 226

This generation is an evil generation;
it seeks a sign, but no sign will be given it,
except the sign of Jonah.
Just as Jonah became a sign to the Ninevites,
so will the Son of Man be to this generation.

Jesus invokes Jonah's mission to Nineveh in today's gospel, and not the comical story of his encounter with "a great fish." Despite the misgivings of the spokesman, the Word of God did not fail when it was preached to gentiles. Rather, the entire city from the king on down, including the animals, heard the warning, recognized their wickedness, accepted the severe rebuke, and begged God for mercy. And received it. 

The sign given to Jesus's evil generation was his announcement of God's kingdom. But only his disciples were listening. 

Today we recite the 51st psalm of King David to express our willingness to repent,

Have mercy on me, O God, in your goodness;

in the greatness of your compassion wipe out my offense.

Thoroughly wash me from my guilt

and of my sin cleanse me.

The original editor of the passage gives us the context of its writing, "A psalm of David, when Nathan the prophet came to him after he had gone in to Bathsheba."

Ravishing the vulnerable young wife and then murdering her husband were unspeakable crimes. They spoke of David's arrogance as the Lord's triumphs went to his head. Bored with governance while his army was in the field, the Anointed of God idled his time by exploiting one of the young wives in Jerusalem. And how many others? When one of the women became pregnant, he attempted to cover it by having her husband pay a conjugal visit to his wife. But the devout young man maintained the same abstinence as his comrades at war. His murder was more than a violation of God's law; it was a betrayal of the warrior king's covenant with his soldiers. 

When his crime was exposed, David repented, and his repentance was accepted. There were, however, ineluctable consequences. First, the death of the infant born of David's adultery, and then a most terrible curse, 

Now, therefore, the sword shall never depart from your house, because you have despised me and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife.

I have not heard a scripture scholar or theologian speak of this curse. The editors of the New American Bible footnote it with a reference to Absalom's plot against the king the murder of his brother Amnon, and the civil war that followed. But forever is longer than one upheaval in David's household. The Abrahamic religions -- Judaism, Christianity, and Islam -- have always been plagued with internal violence. 

Do I exaggerate? Perhaps, but abuse of power has caused endless sorrow and deep scandal. It plagues every church, government, and family; and every generation of leadership has added its own sad history.

We must never stop doing penance for the sins of our ancestors and our own sins. We must never forget that we are a sinful people, and left to our own devices we fall back into rank violations of God's love. 

And so the Church practices Lent. We acknowledge our part in the death of Jesus, and our hope that God will raise him up and restore him to us as our Savior and Lord. 

Tuesday of the First Week of Lent

Lectionary: 225

So shall my word be
that goes forth from my mouth;
It shall not return to me void,
but shall do my will,
achieving the end for which I sent it.

Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing; 'twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands. But he that filches from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him and makes me poor indeed"

Shakespeare's Iago anticipated the gossip that might follow his suspicious behavior and reminded his unwary friends that they should not filch another's good name. 

A word is a powerful thing; it may be used as a most wonderful blessing or a most dreadful weapon. A word may span the infinite distance between our brief moment on earth and the Lord of all Creation; it may penetrate the apparent silence of heaven to be heard in God's presence. 

Jaded Americans dismiss the power and import of a word. If it's not documented and certified and verified in a court of law after several appeals to higher courts, it means nothing. It was never said. Or it doesn't mean what it appears to mean. In fact, we don't know what it means, and it means nothing. 

The scriptures, those who wrote them, and those who live by them, take God's word very seriously. If God has spoken that word, it is true, reliable, everlasting, and as solid as a boxer's left hook. And for that reason, God's people do not trash their own words with untruths. They say what they mean and mean what they say. You can take it to the bank. 

Our scriptures speak to us today of God's word, and we're especially grateful for the Our Father. This prayer speaks for us and to us. It teaches us how to pray; it gives us the attitude we assume in God's presence; and reassures us that we can, may, should, and are welcome to present ourselves before the Lord of the Universe. He is our Father, our progenitor who made us from the dust of earth, the waters of heaven, and the breath of his nostrils. He knows and cares for us, and listens attentively to our prayers. 

The Father hears us because he knows the One who taught us this prayer; they are his own words emerging from the heart of God and sounding on our lips. They prove that his word has found its place in our hearts despite our treacherous sins and the untruths by which we live. Even as we pray we confess our sins and ask his forgiveness "as we forgive those who sin against us." 

I think of that phrase especially as we celebrate a funeral. I'm one of those who remember the resentments I have against the deceased. No matter how much I loved and admired them, I remember the issues that came between us. And then I say to myself, "Let it go. It's over. It's done with! You're forgiven and you must forgive." 

It's as simple as that. For...

Just as from the heavens

the rain and snow come down

And do not return there

till they have watered the earth...

So shall my word be

that goes forth from my mouth;

It shall not return to me void,

but shall do my will,

achieving the end for which I sent it.

Monday of the First Week of Lent

Ice draped branch of fir tree

Lectionary: 224

“Speak to the whole assembly of the children of Israel and tell them:
Be holy, for I, the LORD, your God, am holy.
“You shall not steal.
You shall not lie or speak falsely to one another.

Today's first reading from the Book of Leviticus reinterprets the Ten Commandments of Exodus and Deuteronomy in the light of our call to holiness. The Lord has given us our religion with its rituals and moral guidelines because we must be holy as the Lord is holy. Failing that we are worthless, like salt that has lost it's savor. It's really that simple. 

The funny part is that everyone knows it except us. The world knows we speak for God. If they hate us when we speak in God's name, they also know where we're coming from; they know both our mission and our sins. How dare we speak of God's law to them when we don't keep it either? 

Sometimes people, discovering how sinful we are, decide to reform the Church by separating themselves from it. They will challenge us as outsiders. Until their humbug is discovered. And no one is surprised. 

Perhaps more often nowadays. young people, thinking they can certainly do better than their elders, decide to renounce the Covenant and the Law. They would fashion their own religion with their own principles, values, rituals, and sacred writings (of insipid banality). But, predictably, their children see the arbitrariness of that phony religion -- it has neither tradition nor foundation to support it -- and create another one even more absurd. 

I remember the reluctance I felt as a young Franciscan and priest to accept all the expectations of the Church. I would cuss and swear like everyone else (?); drink, smoke, and recreate with the same devil-may-care spirit of my peers. I would prove that I am just a normal person despite my vows and my sacred orders. But the congregation's expectations never went away, and I have finally had to repent in shame and remorse for the embarrassment I caused and the harm I did. 

But everyone has a past and God is merciful. I've often reassured people from my own experience, "If God does not forgive us, we're all in very deep trouble!"

And so we "put on the armor of God with righteousness as a breastplate and faith as our shield." And we recognize our hypocrisy. We accept as our own the writings of the Hebrew prophets who so relentlessly pointed out the sins of our Jewish ancestors; they speak to us. We are no better despite our faith in Mary's Son. Holiness is a cross; the world knows that, which is why they won't accept it. We embrace it with the Lord and follow his footsteps to Calvary and Easter. 

First Sunday of Lent

Lectionary: 23

...God patiently waited in the days of Noah during the building of the ark,
in which a few persons, eight in all,
were saved through water.
This prefigured baptism, which saves you now.

The Voice of God is always pleasant for those who want to hear it; even when -- perhaps especially when -- we have turned aside from the Lord. 

I quit drinking in 1980. I realized I could be a drunk or a priest, but I couldn't do both. Not long after I made that important decision, I swallowed a  little water -- perhaps a teaspoon -- that had  been tainted with alcohol. I did it to spare a friend’s feelings. 

I visited a couple one evening, parishioners who’d kindly invited me to their home. I told him I wasn’t drinking but he put some bitters in my Coca-Cola. When he saw I’d finished the drink he asked if I liked the bitters he’d added. 
What are bitters? I asked.
Neither of us knew that bitters are alcoholic. When we checked the bottle, we discovered they are 90-proof. But, to spare his feelings, I polished off the teaspoon of melted ice anyway. He then refilled my glass with Coke and ice, and nothing more. 

But I should not have drank the last of that melted ice; and even as I did so, I knew I should not. It was just a courteous gesture of reassurance, of apology. It’s okay, it said. Don’t worry about it. Nothing more. 
But being free of alcohol is more important than anyone’s feelings. 
The next day, I worried about the incident; it seemed like the slip I'd heard of among members of AA. Some people never recover from a slip. I feared a relapse into drinking. There was no doubt in my mind or heart; the time had come for a decisive change in my way of life. 

As I was praying and pondering, I heard the Lord say to me,
"Ken, we do it my way, or not at all!" 
And I responded, "Yes, Sir!" 
I've never had a drink since then. 

The voice was stern, commanding, welcome, and beautiful. I felt extraordinarily privileged that the Lord would speak to me; that he would rebuke me with a word so direct and so uncompromising. There was nothing nice or soft about it; there was no, "Please think about what I say." or, "What do you want?" God did not ask me, “How do you feel about it?” 

I was told what I wanted, and that is what I want. 

Lent is a season of repentance; it's a period when every Christian must ask the Lord to, "Speak to me. Guide me; help me. For I want to know your way." It's a season when we ask the Lord to rebuke us for our sins, whether they be thoughts, attitudes, words, or deeds. We say, Here am I, Lord, I come to hear your word.

As Lent begins we should not come to Church like the people who came to be entertained by the Prophet Ezekiel. The Lord spoke to him and said:

As for you, son of man, your people are talking about you beside the walls and in the doorways of houses. They say to one another, “Let’s go hear the latest word that comes from the LORD.”

My people come to you, gathering as a crowd and sitting in front of you to hear your words, but they will not act on them. Love songs are on their lips, but in their hearts they pursue dishonest gain.

For them you are only a singer of love songs, with a pleasant voice and a clever touch. They listen to your words, but they do not obey them.

But when it comes—and it is surely coming!—they shall know that there was a prophet among them. (Ez 33:30-33)

We don't come to church to hear the music or be entertained by Father’s amusing stories. Saint Paul warned his disciple Timothy about this very thing: 

For the time will come when people will not tolerate sound doctrine but, following their own desires and insatiable curiosity, they will accumulate deceitful teachers with demonic instructions; and they will stop listening to the truth and will be diverted to myths. (see 2Tim 4:3)

We don’t come to feel good about ourselves, about our friends or neighbors. We should not consider whether we're being fed or not. The Catholic Church does not offer a smorgasbord of opinions and beliefs to please the religious marketplace. We don’t say, “Take what you like and leave the rest.” Catholics are not consumers who can pick and choose what they like about this particular church, congregation, or pastor. 

If there is a teaching  we don’t understand, we ask about it, pray about it, and beg the Lord to reveal it to us. If it’s something with which we disagree, we ask the Lord to show us where we’re wrong. As Saint Paul said to the Philippians, those who are “perfectly mature will adopt this attitude. And if you have a different attitude, this too God will reveal to you.”

We come to worship God because it is right and just that we should do so. We come with the hope that God might speak a word to us; a word of encouragement, peace, guidance, or severe rebuke. 

Whatever God might say to us is good. As the boy Samuel said, "Speak, Lord, your servant is listening." 

Saturday after Ash Wednesday

 Lectionary: 222

“Those who are healthy do not need a physician, but the sick do.
I have not come to call the righteous to repentance but sinners.”

Some people approaching the Sacrament of Penance and the Season of Lent might complain that they don't really know how they should repent. "How have I offended the Lord?" they might ask; and, "What am I supposed to do.  

In today's first reading the Prophet Isaiah spells out a series of urgent recommendations. First, we remove oppression, then clean up our speech, feed the hungry, and satisfy the afflicted. 

There follows a series of promises, including wise guidance and "plenty on the parched land."

And then he continues,  

If you hold back your foot on the sabbath
from following your own pursuits on my holy day;
If you call the sabbath a delight,
and the LORD’s holy day honorable;
If you honor it by not following your ways,
seeking your own interests, or speaking with malice—
Then you shall delight in the LORD,
and I will make you ride on the heights of the earth....

Perhaps the key to all this is found in the expression, "If you honor  it (the Sabbath and all it represents) by not following your ways, (and) seeking your own interests...."

In his book, Habits of the Heart, Robert Bellah identified Utopian Individualism as a belief that, "If you do your thing, and I do my thing, and everyone does their thing, everything will work out just fine." It sounds ridiculous because it is, and yet that is often how counselors address their clients, and friends encourage one another. That affirmation of my feelings is very pleasant but my feelings are short-lived. They come; they go; they may be trusted some of the time. The notion that there is some mystical system that functions smoothly when no one sacrifices anything is beyond absurd; it is probably evil. It's certainly a sandy foundation for a community. 

Wisdom teaches us to suspect our own motives, as well as those of others. I have to do what I don't want to do very often; and, almost as often, I find that someone else was right where my feelings, desires, and preferences were wrong.

Jesus said, "I have not come to call the righteous to repentance but sinners.” He might have added he did not come to save the self-assured, the always-right, and arrogant fools. His salvation begins with those willing to confess their sins, admit they did wrong and were wrong, and recognize how they have oppressed others.  

 

Friday after Ash Wednesday

 Lectionary: 221

Cry out full-throated and unsparingly,
lift up your voice like a trumpet blast;
Tell my people their wickedness,
and the house of Jacob their sins.
They seek me day after day,
and desire to know my ways,
Like a nation that has done what is just
and not abandoned the law of their God....

We heard a similar expression on Wednesday. Isaiah and the Prophet Joel used the same brass horn to announce God's Word, 

Blow the trumpet in Zion!

proclaim a fast,

call an assembly;

Gather the people,

notify the congregation....

But, once we're together and the Lord has our attention, Isaiah's message is more severe than Joel's; he even resorts to sarcasm: 

Is this the manner of fasting I wish,

of keeping a day of penance:

That a man bow his head like a reed

and lie in sackcloth and ashes?

Do you call this a fast,

a day acceptable to the LORD?

We are not the faithful people we suppose we are, but must he be so severe? Evidently, yes. 

People in a superior position often resort to shouting, threats, insults, sarcasm, and invective as they try to persuade their inferiors to do as they're told. We should not be surprised that the Hebrew prophets use such language when they convey God's word; nor should we suppose that they have misread God's feelings or exaggerated his intentions. From the beginning the Lord spoke to us in human language with human speakers who make no attempt to shield us from their emotions; from neither doting affection nor outrageous anger.  

With rare exception -- I think only of the incident reported in the Book of Daniel (5:5-29) -- God never uses words without a speaker. Nor does the Lord speak without emotion, in the Dragnet language of just the facts, Ma'am. We would not understand God's words of love if they came without intense feeling and overwhelming emotion. We might say, "That does nothing for me," and wonder, "What was that all about?" We would blow God's word off as unimportant or irrelevant. 

A threat we understand. Insults and sarcasm, we get. We use them on one another; we understand the frustration and disappointment behind that kind of talk. 

Nor should anyone suppose that God should not or would not use such language. Who am I to tell God how he may speak with me? If I treasure the covenant God has given and the Word he has spoken, I listen all the more intently to the prophets' invective. 

Every word from God is a word of love, whether it conveys anger, compassion, sympathy, or tenderness. And I am grateful for it. If it comes as a word I'd rather not hear, I must listen all the more intently. 

Thursday after Ash Wednesday

Lectionary: 220

The Son of Man must suffer greatly, and be rejected

By the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes,

And be killed,

And on the third day be raised. 

Then he said to all, 

“If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself…

Today’s gospel is one of three predictions of the Lord’s coming passion in Jerusalem. All the synoptic gospels – Matthew, Mark, and Luke – present the predictions, and nearly word for word. In John’s gospel Jesus speaks three times of his being “lifted up;” a set like to the synoptic predictions. 

Accompanying each of these mysterious prophecies of doom and deliverance is a teaching about discipleship, about what it means to follow the Lord. 

As we set out on a forty day march to Holy Week and Easter, we hear the Lord’s insistent word to us, “If anyone wishes to come after me….” 

Lots of people describe themselves as Christian and Catholic. Each year we’re amused by the “C&Es” who crowd into the church on Christmas and Easter, although even that number is shrinking each year. Bemused Catholics might add to that anagram AW, because Ash Wednesday is often the largest crowd of the entire year.  But they’re not here the day after Ash Wednesday, and so we can ponder in familiar quiet the meaning of discipleship. 

Pastors and preachers are often caught in a dilemma between two of his parables. As we call our congregations together, do we apply the parable of the farmer who broadcast his seed in every direction? Or the parable of the pearl that is not thrown to swine? Do we give our Sacraments for which Christ shed his blood and many martyrs are still dying, to anyone who shows up in Church? Or do we withhold the Sacrament from those who are no more than curious about this building and its rites? 

A pastor recently told me of the second grade child who attends his Catholic school and wants to “make First Communion” with his Catholic classmates. The family is unchurched and shows little indication that they might follow their seven-year-old through OCIC and OCIA into full Catholic discipleship. What should he do? 

In conversation with two former pastors, he agreed that the boy might be encouraged to pursue further religious initiation when he is of an age to attend Sunday Mass with his friends. In the meanwhile he'll discover that few of his Catholic classmates received a second Communion.  

On this Thursday after Ash Wednesday, as we enter the foyer of Lent, everyone who received their ashes yesterday should develop a plan for their own turn and return to the Lord. How shall I follow my Savior on the road toward Jerusalem, Palm Sunday, the Supper of the Lord, Good Friday, and Easter? 

The religious practices of fasting, prayer, and almsgiving signal the body and those around us that we're taking the Lord's call seriously. We want to feel and be aware of his presence all the time. Each impulse to eat whets our appetite for God's presence. A more intense regimen of prayer hones an awareness of God's presence; and -- what is perhaps the sharpest tool of all -- almsgiving reminds us that everything we have and are comes from God.

These religious practices may lead us into discipleship, into becoming the last of all and the servant of all.