Easter Sunday The Resurrection of the Lord The Mass of Easter Day

Lectionary: 42

Think of what is above, not of what is on earth.
For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
When Christ your life appears,
then you too will appear with him in glory.

Lent reminded us of the enormity of our sins; Easter celebrates the Lord's victory over sin. Lent humiliated; Easter delights. 

I was fortunate to celebrate Easter in Australia in 1980 and 1981. The Earth's southern temperate and polar zones in March and April are settling into Autumn and preparing for Winter. Other than the traditional lilies on greeting cards, Easter has few reminders of spring. And yet our spirits rose up refreshed at the Easter news.

Preachers often associate Easter with spring and the "hope that springs eternal within the human breast." They point to the superabundance of the Earth's vitality; that many seed-bearing trees produce millions of seeds in a single year. Only one of those seeds might sprout and mature but "Nature" will not be disappointed. The same tree will produce many more seeds which will be readily consumed by creatures of every size and shape, from microbes to men. Anyone can point to a dozen other examples of life's superabundant resilience. 

Easter reminds us of that hopeful resilience but its source is far deeper and more encouraging  than "nature." Easter is the promise. It is God's promise of mercy, healing, forgiveness, reconciliation, and eternal life. This promise is given to humankind  despite our killing of his Only Beloved Son. It is the revelation that, what we thought was murder, was really a sacrifice and the Lord himself was the priest who offered the sacrifice -- which he did for us although he had no need to sacrifice for himself. 

He was saved from death by the mercy of God his Father, and we are saved by his compassion for us. 

Easter is the promise renewed and we can celebrate that with unrestrained joy. Little changed overnight in our world; the entire season has left few traces in the Realpolitik of humans dealing with one another. But, deepened by our experience of Lent, our Church remembers the promise and announces it to us and to the world again. How can we keep from singing? 

Holy Saturday Vigil

Lectionary 41

But when they came to the nations, where they went, they desecrated my holy name, for people said of them: 
“These are the people of the LORD, yet they had to leave their land.” 
So I relented because of my holy name which the house of Israel desecrated among the nations to which they came. 
Therefore say to the house of Israel: Thus says the Lord GOD: Not for your sake do I act, house of Israel, but for the sake of my holy name, which you desecrated among the nations to which you came. But I will show the holiness of my great name... Ezekiel 36:20-23

I have ordinarily taken a sabbath rest on this silent day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. This year I make an exception; call it a retired guy's privilege. Part of the reason for my silence was the overwhelming number of readings of the Easter Vigil service. No homilist, nor any team of homilists, could adequately address all of them during this service -- unless they had a congregation with iron butts and a lot of coffee.
And so I'll remark about part of one of the seven Old Testament readings, one by Ezekiel which might not be read this year in many churches. 

I've only noticed the above passage from Ezekiel in the past year. I find it a sobering reminder that the Lord's purposes are not my own. If I am concerned about my salvation, and that of my friends, family, and friars, the Lord may be as well, but he has another, somewhat different, more compelling purpose. We do well to notice that. 

The Lord's Prayer, after a proper address, "Our Father who art in heaven," begins by stating what should be our first and most important desire, "Hallowed be thy name!" 

But perhaps I've not been paying much intention to the prayer or the Lord who taught us this invocation. I came to prayer with my concerns topmost. I want something! It might be for my benefit, like peace of mind, self-control, a generous and merciful spirit. It might be concern for a friend or family member. Or it might be a more immediate crisis that occupies all my attention. It might even be something of no importance, mean-spirited, or wrong. In any case, my prayer is about me and what I want. 

The LORD, speaking through the prophet Ezekiel, replies, 

"Not for your sake do I act, house of Israel, but for the sake of my holy name, which you desecrated....

Our purpose as God's baptized, holy people is to hallow the Lord's Name; that is, to Bless the Lord. 

We should reflect God's holiness and people should notice it. They might admire it; they might despise it. But if we fail -- if we hide our light under a bushel basket -- God's choice and gift to us means nothing. We make a mockery of God's name. And that, it needn't be said, is not well advised. 

Of course, our concerns are real; and the Lord certainly wants his chosen people, this remnant who remembers his holy Name, to pray for the earth and all its people. Like the Lord Jesus, we represent before our good and beautiful Lord God of Heaven and Earth all of his creation. All humankind should express the Earth's grateful response to God's creativity, and the Descendants of Abraham should be the first to do so. The Lord wants to hear us. 

And so we come with confidence to prayer, bringing our friends, family, neighbors, and enemies; and reassuring them that the Lord invites us to relax and enjoy his company. He is so good, and we are so glad to be here while we sing his praises! We model with our lives how one should comport oneself in God's presence. We are happy, at ease, assured, and always aware of God's fond gaze upon us. 

And so we sing God's praises. "Hallowed be thy name!" We know God's name and we hallow it with the sacrifice of our lives. 

Good Friday of the Lord’s Passion

 Lectionary: 40

For we do not have a high priest
who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses,
but one who has similarly been tested in every way,
yet without sin.
So let us confidently approach the throne of grace
to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.

For whatever reason, perhaps the wars in Ukraine and Gaza, perhaps the election year, perhaps my own habitual pessimism, I've been feeling oppressed as we observed Lent and approached Easter. But, as we celebrate Good Friday and settle into the silence of Holy Saturday, I find the above passage from Hebrews reassuring. 

He is not "unable to sympathize with our weakness." He knows, he understands. Even from the cross to which our sins have nailed him, the One who is like us in all things but sin, understands and feels our foolish helplessness in the face of sin. 

It's not just the present temptations and constant harassment of the world which would buy, sell, trade, and waste the only life we're given. It's also the massive history of sin which we inherit and leave to our children. Can anyone say the world is better for their having been here? 

But we accept the Scripture's many assurances; we may confidently approach the throne of grace. It was God the Father who sent his son to save us; and neither the Father, nor the Son, nor the Holy Spirit can fail. As enormous as our sin with its history and scope might be, so far -- and far more -- is the Mercy of God. 

Our very presence in the church's on this Good Friday, and the demonstration we'll see this Sunday when many strangers appear among us, reveals that Spirit which does not quit. The Lord still gathers, feeds, heals, and strengthens us. He still teaches us to pray and encourages us to sing. We have not quit coming because the Spirit, who can raise children to Abraham from these very stones, has raised us up despite our manifest unworthiness.

This is God's gift. Our sinful past, our present helplessness, and our deficient penances teach us to accept the gift of God. It is undeserved and unearned and yet graciously, persistently offered. And who am I to refuse? 

Holy Thursday -Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper

Lectionary: 39

For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup,
you proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes.

With those words in his First Letter to the Corinthians, Saint Paul ties the Lord's Last Supper to his Crucifixion. We cannot speak of one without the other. We cannot know the meaning of the Lord's passion and death without the Mass. 

Scholars of the Bible try to determine exactly when that meal was celebrated. If he died during the "preparation day for the sabbath," as Saint John says, then the Last Supper was not a Passover meal. On that Friday the Passover fell on the Sabbath, and the priests were slaughtering the lambs in preparation for the Jews who gathered in the city for the feast. At that very hour, as the lambs were slaughtered, the Lamb of God died on the cross. 

But the Church has always known the two events belong together; they mean nothing without each other, and cannot be far apart. And so we celebrate the Lord's Supper on Thursday evening because our liturgical day, like the Jewish sabbath, begins at sundown. The First Eucharistic Prayer says, "On the before he suffered…” which is true by our reckoning. But the Jews began and ended the day at sundown, so Jesus ate his last meal with his disciples on the day he died. 

The Mass without remembering the passion and death of the Lord would be nothing more than an agape meal, a feelgood celebration of friendship. And the death of the Lord without the Mass is just another senseless killing like Cain’s murder of Abel. It’s been going on since the beginning and will continue until the end of human history. 

But as we eat his flesh and drink his blood we relive Jesus’s agony and death. To keep our focus on his Passion, every Mass is celebrated before a crucifix. We do not look at a bare cross, for God told us through the Prophet Isaiah,

See, my servant shall prosper,

he shall be raised high and greatly exalted.

And Jesus told us, “... just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

The crucifix over our altars also recalls Isaiah’s vision of God. The prophet says,

I saw the Lord seated on a high and lofty throne, with the train of his garment filling the temple. Seraphim were stationed above; each of them had six wings: with two they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with two they hovered. One cried out to the other: “Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts! All the earth is filled with ..his glory!” At the sound of that cry, the frame of the door shook and the house was filled with smoke.

During the Mass we also cry out with the angels "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Hosts, heaven and earth are full of your glory….” and we see the Crucified Lord God seated on his throne. 

Saint John the  Evangelist adds a third layer of meaning to our ceremony: our care for one another. Holy Thursday Mass and Good Friday mean nothing if the Lord’s disciples are unkind to one another. All barriers of class, wealth, and status must be demolished by our intense, reverent respect for one another. 

No one suffers the curse of Eve in our community. That is, no one "rules over" anyone. Our concern begins with the least among us. The able-bodied, wealthy, and powerful can take care of themselves. They neither deserve nor need kowtowing or special consideration. Those who are set free by the Lord fear the Lord and no one else. 

God’s kindness knows no boundaries; it is openhearted and generous; it does not calculate who is worthy of generosity. We know we have not earned and do not deserve the mercy we’ve been shown. How can we ration mercy to others?  Because of his passion and death, Jesus was given healing power and redeeming authority over all nations and peoples. If our charity begins at home it must go well beyond our homes to every needy person. 

We began this Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper with the sign of the cross. With that gesture we fix ourselves on the Cross of Jesus. We will not use that gesture again until the last blessing on Easter Sunday. Between now and then, we will eat his flesh and drink his blood and do all this in memory of him. This Mass of Holy Thursday, the ceremony of Good Friday, the Easter Vigil, and Sunday Mass are a single event. As we undergo this extended ritual, we will know the Lord has forgiven our sins and for everyone who believes in him has eternal life.

Wednesday of Holy Week

Lectionary: 259

“What are you willing to give me
if I hand him over to you?”
They paid him thirty pieces of silver,
and from that time on he looked for an opportunity to hand him over.

The Gospel of Saint Matthew begins with a story of Herod's homage and concludes with Judas Iscariot's sellout. There are many moments of delight between, and the Gospel will end with the overwhelming good news of the Savior's Resurrection, but there can be no gospel which does not include stories of perfidy and cynicism. 

The evangelists offer only one reason for Judas's action: he wanted the money. And yet we know enough about the loss of faith; it doesn't begin with greed. That vice is certainly common. Enough is never enough for misers. But greed can lie dormant in our souls and never appear when the Spirit of God governs our thoughts. If there are openly greedy people among us, it's because the culture encourages greed. Ordinarily, we might hesitate to let money go; but, persuaded that it's going for a good cause and will do more good for others, we share and share alike. 

But there are other voices within our hearts: cynicism, reservations, and doubts about the Lord who is leading us. They might appear as we face the reality of death. We have heard the promise of everlasting bliss with the Lord but.... really? And what if it's simply not true? That there is only this life, and we should eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die?

That incantation troubled the divine authors; it appears in Scripture several times, including, Isaiah 22:13; Luke 12:19; and 1 Corinthians 15:32. It can become a raucous cheer when we tire of the discipline, focus, and dedication the Gospel wants; when it appears that our coreligionists have different motives and different goals. Perhaps we're not all in this together; perhaps we're not united by our faith; but our solidarity is only habit, convenience, cowardice, and a singular lack of imagination. 

At some point, perhaps, Judas said, "I know where this is going, and I'm not going there." He was drifting; he was not seeing the glory of God in Jesus; but he did see the foolishness of his companions. He saw their bickering about which of them is the best; he saw them jockeying for the seats on the Lord's right and left. He knew the authorities were anxious about Jesus. Everything he said and did only pointed toward trouble, and the authorities would move in before that happened. Nothing in Jesus' healing ministry, works, or words pointed to the kind of change Judas could imagine. Nor did he reveal any more to his disciples than he said in public. Would he ever make his move and take control of Jerusalem? Why was he dawdling? 

The Lord saw it happening in his disciple. As Saint John said, he "did not need anyone to testify about human nature. He himself understood it well." If the others remained under Jesus's thrall, Judas was drifting. Comments, muttering, whispered asides, questions, jokes: his growing discontent was leaking from him like steam from a pressure cooker. 

And he was handling the money, How did that happen, that the one who seemed most distracted, least enthusiastic, least inspired was handling the money? 

When the Gospels were written, in retrospect, it all made sense. It was greed. But before the greed there was the cynicism that harbored and nurtured doubt, that kept its options open. 

The story of Judas must always be told; no gospel can be written without including stories of hypocrisy and cynicism. 

Lent is ending; Holy Week is rapidly drawing us through the Lord's Supper into the darkness of Good Friday. Our attention must be focused, and our hearts consecrated for even the elect will be sorely tested by what is about to happen. 

Tuesday of Holy Week

Lectionary: 258

Reclining at table with his disciples, Jesus was deeply troubled and testified,
"Amen, amen, I say to you, one of you will betray me."
The disciples looked at one another, at a loss as to whom he meant.
One of his disciples, the one whom Jesus loved,
was reclining at Jesus' side.
So Simon Peter nodded to him to find out whom he meant.
He leaned back against Jesus' chest and said to him,
"Master, who is it?"

Today's gospel introduces a new phrase, "...the one whom Jesus loved." We've not heard it in all the twelve preceding chapters. Tradition calls him John, and says he was the youngest of the twelve, and the last to die, of old age rather than martyrdom. He is often portrayed in Last Supper scenes as beardless; apparently too young to have a beard. 

The Gospel stubbornly refuses to give the man a name, but we suspect he is that unnamed companion of Andrew. The two heard the Baptist's proclamation in the first chapter, "Behold the Lamb of God!" They followed Jesus and became his first disciples. We suppose he was the disciple with connections who followed the Lord with Peter into Herod's courtyard. We'll become more acquainted with him on Sunday and in chapter 21, the epilogue. 

We hear this mysterious phrase -- the one whom Jesus loved -- in the same paragraph about the traitor Judas. We know the Iscariot although the gospels only speculate about his motive. Was it greed? He kept the Lord's money and apparently managed the group's expenses. It made little sense that he would keep some for himself, as they surely had no bank accounts, secret or otherwise. Some people suppose he was trying to force the Lord to act by arranging his arrest. Others suppose he'd grown cynical about the Lord's promises and decided to drop out. If someone paid him as he went, that only sweetened the deal. In any case, we remember him as the traitor. Nor do the evangelist express any forgiveness for his crime. 

The gospels also say the other disciples were flabbergasted by Jesus's words. They had not suspected there might be a spy or a traitor in the group, and could not guess who it might be. Some, in their astonishment, wondered "Is it I?" -- a question we asked ourselves as we go with the Lord. 

There was one disciple who was not capable of betrayal, and received immediate reassurance when the Lord whispered to him, ""It is the one to whom I hand the morsel after I have dipped it." This disciple whom Jesus loved had been with the Lord through it all, from the beginning. He would be the first to believe in the Lord's resurrection, even as Peter gazed in bewilderment upon the empty tomb and neatly folded shroud. He would recognize the Lord before anyone else as they spotted him standing on the shore. And he would survive Peter, as the 21st chapter indicates. 

He was the author and inspiration of the Gospel, although another author finally spoke of him, "It is this disciple who testifies to these things and has written them, and we know that his testimony is true." (John 21: 24) 

But who was he? Tradition calls him John, but I think that misses the point. The beloved disciple is you. You have known the Lord, and followed him with your life; and perhaps, all your life. You have loved him and grown in your fidelity to him. You always knew he was divine and would be raised from the dead. If you were confused about yourself, and asked, "Is it I?" you did not doubt the Lord. And when he was arrested you went with him. 

You are the one who stood with his mother and heard the Lord's dying wish; a word addressed very personally to you, "Behold your mother." And you heard and were both amazed and grateful when he spoke to her, "Behold your son." 

Of course you took her into your home. You cling to her as you cling to the Lord, and love her with equal affection. The woman who gave us the Body of the Lord lives in your home and your heart, where she is safe, even as she continues to speak of the Lord to you. 

Monday of Holy Week

Lectionary: 257

Here is my servant whom I uphold,
my chosen one with whom I am pleased,
Upon whom I have put my Spirit;
he shall bring forth justice to the nations....

In the desolation of Babylon, as the Jewish exiles waited without expectation for relief, Isaiah prophesied, 

See, the earlier things have come to pass,

new ones I now declare;

Before they spring forth

I announce them to you.

They recalled their past servitude in Egypt and their escape through the Red Sea; they remembered the sojourn in the desert and the Lord's providing for them through all those desperate years. But they also knew the shameful history of their ancestors who, despite God's promises of complete security and superabundance, feared their enemies and hoarded their wealth against the poor, needy, and aliens. 

In Babylon they were desperate again, and the LORD seemed to have abandoned them. Their nation was gone and their holy city razed to the ground. Their future would be dissolution among the senseless religions and inane cultures of the earth. There would be no history of God's mercy. It would be as if Moses had never led them out of Egypt, or God provided water from the rock, manna, and quail. David's victories, Solomon's temple, Hezekiah's reforms, Jeremiah's prophecies: all would be lost -- psalms, stories, proverbs -- as if they never happened. How many thousands of other cultures and cities have disappeared without a trace? 

But through Isaiah God promised the exiles, "...the earlier things have come to pass, new ones I now declare. Before they spring forth, I announce them to you."

In Holy Week, we remember the hopes and fears of all the years are met in Jesus's arrival in Jerusalem. 

Here is my servant whom I uphold,
my chosen one with whom I am pleased,

The new things declared are found in the man who arrived in Jerusalem several centuries after Isaiah, riding a colt, the foal of an ass. A silent prophet recognized him in Bethesda. While his disciples and friends were feting him with a banquet Mary, the sister of Lazarus and Martha, slipped into the room, 

...with a liter of costly perfumed oil made from genuine aromatic nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and dried them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the oil.

Only Jesus knew what it meant, that new things were about to occur. The woman acted with a compelling intuition like that of the magus who presented myrrh to the mysterious child in Bethlehem. It was necessary; it was good. The events of the following days would prove its prescient wisdom. The man was born to die for our sins. His hour of new things had come; he would not flee from it. 

From the throne of his crucifixion, he will announce the coming of his kingdom, "See, I make all things new!" (Rev 21:5) 

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion

Lectionary: 37 and 38

...he will show you a large upper room furnished and ready. Make the preparations for us there.”
The disciples then went off, entered the city, and found it just as he had told them; and they prepared the Passover.

The Cenacle where the Lord celebrated his last Passover was apparently a banquet room, available to Jewish pilgrims who came three times a year to attend the major festivals. 

The room was "furnished and ready" for the Lord's coming. Saint Mark's inclusion of this detail signals the preparation every Christian should make in anticipation of the Lord's arrival. The same room will witness his appearance to the unprepared disciples on the following Sunday evening. But these preparations were not the only ones made in God's Holy City for the events of that week. 

The irony of a city with dual purposes goes far beyond the prepared Cenacle. Jerusalem had been the holy city of God for more than a thousand years. It had witnessed the building of Solomon's temple, its reconstruction after the exile, and King Herod's remodeling. The city had suffered the approach, siege, occupation, and withdrawal of several empires as they breached and then rebuilt its walls. It was the once-and-future capital of David's once-and-future kingdom. It was always God's holy city, even when governed in Abraham's time by the priest-king Melchizedek. 

We often remember the betrayal of Jesus's disciples: Judas, Peter's denials, and the disappearance of his followers. Their treachery is sharpened by the memory of their sworn vows of personal fidelity to him. 

But we should contemplate also the irony of Jerusalem's failure to greet its long awaited Messiah, Lord, and Savior. This disappointing history gives context to the failure of his few apostles and disciples; it places the city's critical moment in human history between the Garden of Eden and the Last Judgement. 

Jerusalem had enjoyed the Lord God's governance for over a thousand years, since the day David and his army took the fortress of Salem and renamed it Jerusalem. God's rule was both merciful and just; it was never arbitrary or erratic. It was always patiently demanding, "I am the Lord your God, you shall have no other god before you!" The Lord would not abide evil. Rather, he continually demanded that Jerusalem return his love and reflect his merciful holiness to the greatest and the least.

It had all the resources to do so. They had only to trust in God's providence. Each year they should celebrate three festivals; they were like three Thanksgivings a year. Throughout the year they proved their religious faith in the Lord's dependability by the practice of tithing. And then, their banquets were shared with the poorest, neediest, and strangest aliens. For "God provides;" there is always more where that came from. Nor should there be any judgments of who is worthy or unworthy; their faith told them no one is worthy of such love. If the stockpiles were exhausted, they should feel no anxiety for God's abundance is inexhaustible. 

It is supremely ironic that the Holy City built on a hill called Zion, was most gracious to its Lord and Savior when he arrived, and expelled him to Golgotha Hill a few days later. 

And yet, what should we expect? We know the story; and we knew its outcome for we know ourselves. Can anyone blame Jerusalem or its adopted heir, the Church, for its failure to welcome the Lord? 

When I was young I was astonished by the evil I found within my own thoughts, impulses, and desires. I thought I was better than that. Today I am more surprised by the kindness I've shown to others in past years; I am not surprised by my history of sin, nor especially surprised by anyone else's. 

As Genesis tells the story, when the LORD came upon Adam and Eve and found them shamefaced in their nakedness, he spat out his disappointment with evident disgust, "You are dirt and to dirt you shall return."  He might have added, "What was I expecting? What did I expect?" he might have said. "Was I such a fool as to expect gratitude from dirt?" 

But the LORD relented and provided clothing to them. And then he gave an assurance that evil would one day be defeated. 

I will put enmity between you and the woman,

and between your offspring and hers;

They will strike at your head,

while you strike at their heel. (Genesis 3:15 see the footnotes)

In the sad stories of sinful Jerusalem, faithless disciples, peccant Church, and wicked humanity we hear the story of God's inexhaustible, patient love. The story would not be a history -- it would be a tale told by an idiot -- if God's mercy does not prevail in the end. He will provide guidance through suffering and healing through reassurance. We will find within our hearts compassion for one another through the horrors we share and the burdens we carry together. 

We will learn kindness and know that it is the kindness of God. As we own the enormity of our sins; and then confess and atone for them, we will measure the superabundant, boundless dimensions of God’s patient love. 

Saturday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 256

Many of the Jews who had come to Mary
and seen what Jesus had done began to believe in him.
But some of them went to the Pharisees
and told them what Jesus had done.

On this last day before Holy Week, the Church gives us this transitional story from Saint John's Book of Signs to his Book of Glory. We have seen the last and greatest of his signs, the raising of Lazarus. As the long awaited hour arrives we shall see his glory. 

We are moving into apocalyptic time. Some people religiously acknowledge the demands of apocalyptic time even in our quotidian world: Jews light candles as the Sabbath arrives and attend synagogue; Christians celebrate their faith on Saturday evening or Sunday morning. We keep holy the sabbath and remember that our finite lives and measured hours will come to an end as the Day who is our End takes his seat upon the throne. 

Apocalyptic time brings an irretrievable decision of great consequence. Today's gospel tells us that many Jews, seeing Lazarus stumble out of his grave, believed in Jesus even as others hotfooted into Jerusalem to report that, "He's back, and you won't believe what he has done now!" The crowd that had been united around Lazarus's sealed tomb was split in two when he broke out of it. Each decision, for or against the Lord, was final.

Holy Week, with its memories of Jesus arrival in Jerusalem, his celebration of the Pasch with his disciples, his arrest, trial, torture, and crucifixion, makes demands upon all Christians. If these observances mean nothing to us; if they do not interrupt our routine daily and weekly practices we should not suppose we belong to God's people. As Saint James said, "Show me your faith without works and I'll show you the faith that underlies my works!" 

...You believe that God is one. You do well. Even the demons believe that and tremble. Do you want proof, you ignoramus, that faith without works is useless? Was not Abraham our father justified by works when he offered his son Isaac upon the altar? You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was completed by the works. Thus the scripture was fulfilled that says, “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness,” and he was called “the friend of God.” See how a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. (James 2:18-24)

The Lord's disciples live in earthly time and mark eternal time. We are in this world but not of it. Holy Week marks the difference and everyone -- good and bad alike -- knows it. 

 

Friday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 255

If I do not perform my Father’s works, do not believe me;
but if I perform them, even if you do not believe me,
believe the works, so that you may realize and understand
that the Father is in me and I am in the Father.”

The tenth chapter of Saint John repeats many of the arguments of the fifth chapter. Again we hear of the Lord's work which is the work of his Father. Again we hear of the credentials which he presents and his opponents refuse to accept. 

But the tenth chapter is more intense as the crisis of God's presence in Jesus approaches its climax. Something must give; a man must die to satisfy his enemies. The next and final chapter of John's Book of Signs will tell us of Lazarus called from the grave and its consequence -- the decision to have Jesus crucified, if necessary during the Pasch. 

The death of the Lord should put an end to his announcement that the Kingdom of God is near. We should hear nothing more of that. We should be left forever in the hopelessness of a dead religion which has nothing to say to powerful persons, regardless of their burden upon society and their arbitrary, sanctimonious, cruel regime.

But truth does not die so easily. It is not an idle something in an alternate reality without import or meaning. More than weighing upon our consciousness, it forces itself upon us, intruding and sabotaging the corrupt structures humans build against it. 

Nor does it meekly submit to evil. If this or that agent of truth is silenced, others will speak up. If all are suppressed, it will erupt from the divisions within evil itself -- that kingdom which must turn against itself. For the wicked can only form alliances to oppose the truth. Witness the Sanhedrin conspiring with Pontius Pilate and Herod. (Politics makes strange bedfellows.) But when they appear victorious they must turn upon one another, like the armies who marched against Jerusalem when Jehoshaphat was king. 

Our Gospels tell us that evil will have its day. The enemies of God can only leave the world in hopeless darkness. The faithful seem to have no reasonable foundation for their hope or faith. They often have only their love for one another to keep them together. 

However, the Word of the Lord endures. He will meet us on the way -- out of town if necessary -- to give us a sure sign and everlasting proof of his mercy. 

Thursday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 254

“Amen, amen, I say to you,
whoever keeps my word will never see death.”

No one experiences death. It's been said, for experience is a memory of something, and if there is such a memory there is no one to share it with the living. 

How does one choose death? And when must I make that fateful, fatal decision?

I witnessed the death of patients in the VA as a chaplain; and more immediately, in the past year, with the passing of several friends and close relatives. I guess that's to be expected of advancing years; I attend more funerals than baptisms. Each of my loved ones approached death differently. Not all welcomed it; some did not accept it; one took matters into his own hand. 

With healthier friends and family, we asked, "How will I approach my death? Will I be ready? Will I welcome it? Will I be terrified or resigned? Perhaps, I'll be eager to give myself to the Lord as I approach that gateway.  

Jesus predicates his teaching on death with his strongest language; they sound almost like an oath, "Amen, Amen, I say to you, whoever keeps my word will never see death.”

His opponents wonder if a young man can know anything of death. But they know only about bodily death, when people cease to breathe, move, or care, when the dying are clearly no longer present. 

They know nothing of that dying which remains present and engaged. They cannot imagine a death which radiates God's glory, which confidently announces God's mercy, compassion, infinite patience, and deep sympathy for our frail human nature. They have never seen the truth of death; they've seen only those who failed to die when their bodies failed to breathe. 

This young man who seems to know nothing of life will show the world the truth and beauty of surrendering to a God who is infinitely worthy of our life. Upon his death, a Roman centurion who was deeply familiar with death declared, "Truly, this man was the Son of God." 

Wednesday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 253

If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples,
and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."

A Veteran friend of mine in the VA hospital  had visited Germany and admired much about the country. "But" he said, "they don't enjoy the freedom we have in this country."

Everything he said about this European ally sounded both good and better than our life in the United States. Their cities are clean; the trains run on time; their transportation systems serve the poor and elderly as well as commuting shoppers and workers; people are seen walking at all hours of the day and night. But he insisted. "They're not as free as we are." 

Eventually, as I got to know the man, I realized he was talking about guns. Germany does not permit many people to own, much less carry, guns. His freedom is the so-called right to own, collect, carry, and use firearms; and he had many. 

Freedom is what we give to one another. And if no one gives you freedom, you cannot have it. 

As a VA hospital chaplain, I worked hand in glove with many nurses. All were friendly, courteous, and helpful. Some were delighted when I visited their floor; they would greet me with enthusiastic full-body hugs. And I was always glad to receive their affection; and gave as well as I got! Others were just as gracious, but didn't offer the same freedom. They might give me a shoulder hug, or fist bump, or a friendly greeting. And I was grateful for everything. 

But I don't think I ever took liberties with the nursing staff, counselors, or therapists. I received as much freedom as they gave me; and I offered the freedom of my friendship, concern, and bodily contact insofar as they would accept it -- and no more. Nor did anyone ever want more than I could or should give. I was fortunate in that regard.  

Freedom is what we give to one another. We cannot -- and dare not -- take liberties with one another. At least, not without an apology, careful explanation, and reassurance that this will not happen again. 

The Lord gives us the freedom of God's children. Saint John says it more precisely, "to those who did accept him he gave power to become children of God." (John 1: 12)

Although most Christians are adopted into the family of Abraham, our freedom is as complete as the "descendants of Abraham." We may call God "Our Father." We may ask for whatever we need in his service. We may rest in his love with the assurance of everlasting salvation.  

Obviously, this is not a freedom that lacks discipline or impulse control. If Jesus comes to serve he is not a slave genie who prostrates and declares, "Your wish is my command." 

Ours is the freedom of One who takes delight in obeying his Father even as the Holy Spirit drives him toward Jerusalem and Calvary. We serve an obedient God. 

Like my gun-toting friend, the Lord's opponents in today's gospel believed they were free because they did what they wanted to do. They did not recognize their bondage to their own wills. There is no worse slavery, none more subtle and hard to escape. 

In the doctrine of the Holy Trinity, we find our deepest understanding of freedom. When the Father expresses himself perfectly, he pours his divinity entirely and without reservation into the Word who became flesh and dwelt among us. When the Son returns in love to the Father, his entire life, from conception to passion and death, is a surrender to the Father. Their love is the Holy Spirit whose being is also consumed -- "consummated" -- by love for the Father and the Son. 

The freedom of the Christian is found within the life of the Trinity, as Jesus says,

In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me, because I live and you will live. On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you. (John 14:19-20)

 

Solemnity of Saint Joseph, husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Lectionary: 543

“Joseph, son of David,
do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home.
For it is through the Holy Spirit
that this child has been conceived in her.

Joseph of Bethlehem was certainly delighted to find himself betrothed to the lovely Mary of Galilee. If he knew little about her, she was young, attractive, pleasant, and of a respectable family. We can only imagine his dismay when he learned she had a past. There was more to her than met the eye, but that would become too apparent soon enough. He was suddenly afraid to take Mary into his home.

If he was the first to face this dilemma, he was not the last. Even in the fourth century, as the bishops approached Nicea, many refused to accept Mary into their relationship with the Lord. She was the mother of Jesus, they were willing to grant, but that made little difference to them. She had done her part in bearing Jesus of Nazareth, they supposed, now let her disappear into the past and be forgotten. They could not accept and would not use her title, Theotokos -- the Mother of God. 

And they had their reservations about Jesus. He was a good man, like many others. A saint! He had been possessed by the Son of God, but was not himself the Son of God. He too had done his part in manfully bearing God's Presence within him even to Calvary. He certainly cooperated fully and completely with God's plan of salvation for the human race. A hero! 

But not God. He was a man who'd been used by God to show his fellows the way of salvation. Act as Jesus acted and you too will be saved. An extraordinary man, a role model, an example! But not God. God had gone as far as God could go -- as God should ever go -- in using the man to demonstrate the way we should live. But God had neither suffered on Calvary, nor died on a cross, nor been buried in a grave. Nor would he descend into hell. Jesus might have, but not God. 

We can only imagine their consternation when they were shouted down by the roar of most bishops attending the Council of Nicea, and voted into obscurity. They must have suffered disgust when they heard the spontaneous festivity of the city celebrating Mary's new title -- Mother of God! -- throughout the night. 

But there are still many who are afraid to take Mary the Mother of God into their homes -- because she still comes with a past. Her past now includes all the sins of the Church that God her Son gave her with his dying breath. Those children, despite their sins, heard and obeyed his command, "Behold your mother." 

They include drug-dealing Mexican drug dealers with their images of Our Lady of Guadalupe; and Italian mafia who demand that images of Santa Maria di Polsi bow before the home of their crime boss. The Church denounces these abuses of her image, but that matters little to those who shun the company of sinners.  

To belong to Jesus we must belong to the sinful Church which loves the Lord and his Mother. We approach the altar through the narrow doors of the baptismal font and confession box. Idealists abandon their ideals and purists, their purity when they enter the Church to greet its people with a holy kiss. We might not like the people we meet in Church; we might hold grudges against former spouses, adulterous in-laws, and shady neighbors. But there they are, and here we are, together in Joseph's house.

Everyone has a past. If you love someone without knowing their past you love only an image of your ideal self. If we know little of Saint Joseph's past, we can admire the way he accepted Mary's and ours. True, he hesitated for a moment. But he never looked back as he fled his home and career in Bethlehem to take her and her son into Egypt. 

Saint Joseph knew Psalm 106 like everyone of his fellow Jews, and would pray with them, "We have sinned; we and our fathers have sinned." And by that prayer, he became a saint. 

Monday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 251

Then Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you.
Go, and from now on do not sin any more.”

This terrifying story ended with a sigh of relief touched with humor. The enemies went away one by one. The Lord had given them permission to stone the woman, with only one proviso -- that the one who had not sinned should cast the first stone. The rest of the sinful pack could proceed in their bloody game with abandon. Apparently none would claim innocence of sin before the rest of his brothers. 

Suddenly alone in the street with the woman, the Lord sent her home. With no one to condemn her, there was no need for a trial or condemnation. Jesus had said to Nicodemus, he had not come to condemn anyone; why would he do so now? Her innocence was again presumed. As to the man with whom she'd committed the sin -- if there was such a man -- he had already escaped the sentence of death, but he'd not heard the kind words of Jesus. His guilt remained. 

What do we make of the story? Interestingly, "Generative AI" offers this self-contradicting analysis of adultery in the United States: 

As of 2022, adultery is a criminal offense in 16 states. However, prosecution for adultery is rare because many adultery laws are considered archaic. Adultery is defined as a married person having sexual intercourse with someone other than their spouse. It can be punishable by a fine or even jail time. Adultery is a crime in most of the United States and occurs in most American marriages. However, states' anti-adultery laws are rarely enforced. Some states with anti-adultery laws include: Alabama, Arizona, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Kansas, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, Mississippi. Adultery can also subject you to court-martial in the United States military.

An unenforceable law is no law. Apparently, police, prosecutors, and judges have assumed the same attitude, "Neither do I condemn you."  

The Catholic Church believes that adultery is a serious sin. It is a violation of the covenant between a husband and wife; it is sacrilegious because the marriage covenant reflects the Covenant of God with his people. We cannot conceive of God abandoning his Church. We attend Mass and receive the Eucharist with the assurance that the Lord gathers us into his Real Presence. So long as two or more pray together, he is with them; in fact, he called them together.  Upon this rock he builds his Church and the gates of hell cannot prevail against it. 

If we had to trace the origin of much of the waywardness of American society to its origin we might point to adultery. There is the most obvious form of illicit liaisons between consenting adults; there are the more subtle forms of spouses failure to be with one another. Alcoholism comes between many couples, as do preoccupations with work, leisure, and family. 

Every faithful couple struggles to maintain their awareness of their marriage, keeping it ahead of every other concern. They make decisions together; and when they must decide separately, they talk it through. They shape their lives around their needs for togetherness and separation; and no two marriages are alike because every married individual is unique. 

But, as the scriptures attest, there is nothing new about adultery. It's been around forever. And the Lord continues to withhold his punishing hand as he leads us by the hand into every deeper union with him, 

Fifth Sunday of Lent

 Lectionary Year B Readings

“I am troubled now.  Yet what should I say?
‘Father, save me from this hour’?
But it was for this purpose that I came to this hour.
Father, glorify your name.”

John the Evangelist recalls only a brief moment when Jesus suffered any human hesitation as he approached the hour of his death. The synoptic gospels -- Mathew, Mark, and Luke -- give us more detailed accounts of the Lord's Agony in the Garden. He fell to the ground at the thought of what was about to happen; he sweated blood as he realized he would be dead by this time tomorrow. 

But Saint John's Jesus reflects serene, presidential confidence from his first appearance in the Jordan River through his passion and death, and into his Easter appearances. In today's gospel, as the shadow of anxiety passes over the Lord, he immediately settles his soul with the prayer he has taught us, "Hallowed be thy name." It's virtually the same as "Glorify thy name." 

His mission and ours is to give glory to God. From the moment God spoke to Abraham, eighteen centuries before Gabriel spoke to Mary, the mission of God's people has been to glorify God's name. Other people may know something about God. The Greek philosophers, for instance, supposed there should be a supreme being; but they had no name since he never spoke to them or revealed his name to them. 

Our hallowing of God’s name, in obedience to the Lord's Prayer, begins with our reverence for the word God; and continues with our straightforward, direct language. Christians have no need to swear, as Jesus taught us:

...you have heard that it was said to your ancestors, ‘Do not take a false oath, but make good to the Lord all that you vow. But I say…. Let your ‘Yes’ mean ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No’ mean ‘No.’ Anything more is from the evil one.

Our hallowing the name of God the Father, the holy name of Jesus his son, and the Holy Spirit goes beyond not abusing the words. As God's holy people we bless God’s name when we speak of the wonders God has done for us. We are blessed in so many ways, and we must practice that attitude of gratitude. There are a billion obvious things for which we thank God from our birth – especially because of the parents who welcomed and did not abort us. To our food, shelter, security, education and opportunities And our health – such as it is. Everyone who has ever visited or stayed in a hospital knows there’s someone worse off than me. We thank God for our health, our breathing, and our being human. 

We also remember the miracles when he healed us from the hurts we’ve suffered – especially those things that have been done to us. They are manifold, ranging from unintended insults to the cruelest, most deliberate crimes. By the Grace of God, and because we obey him, we learn to let them go. No regrets, no resentments, God delivered me from that place, that hurt, those people, and I have no need to go back. Praise God for that! 

We hallow God's name by our cheerful generosity to others. If we are not generous, if our behavior is uncivil; our attitudes, cynical; and our thoughts, self-absorbed, then we dishonor God’s name. For the world is watching, and they know we are God’s people and are told to be holy as he is holy. 

During Lent we approach the Sacrament of Penance to celebrate God’s mercy. The confession of our sins also glorifies God’s name. Like our fathers and mothers from ancient times, we remember and own their sins and ours; and that the Lord persistently, consistently, repeatedly forgives us for pretty much the same sins time after time after time. 

Our life stories must become gospel stories, like the story of Jesus’s passion, death, and resurrection. If our gospels are different from his, it’s only in that they include the sins we have committed, while he is without sin.

In today’s gospel, Jesus reminds us, “It was for this purpose that I came to this hour.” He must glorify God’s name by his passion and death. He would betray his mission if he blamed anyone for his death; he would not save us if he condemned the Jews, or the Romans, or anyone else for what happened that day; as He said,

This is why the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own. I have power to lay it down, and power to take it up again.

Every time we say “forgive us our sins,” we admit to anyone in earshot that we have sinned, and thereby we Glorify the God who stands with us in our guilt, shame, and remorse. 

That prayer is a sure sign of God’s mercy. It shows that the Holy Spirit still lives in our hearts; he still calls us together; his words still find utterance on our tongues, and God’s Holy Name is still glorified in us. 

Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 249

But, you, O LORD of hosts, O just Judge,
searcher of mind and heart,
Let me witness the vengeance you take on them,
for to you I have entrusted my cause!

Several years ago, when I was younger and more adventurous, I was riding my bicycle on a reasonably wide and very straight country road. There was ample room with a wide berm for two lanes of traffic. But as I pedaled, wearing no more protection than a t-shirt and shorts, a car full of teenagers swerved out of their lane to pass within inches of my handlebars. 

I was astonished and angry at the whole group -- I could see some turning around to look back at me as the car passed -- and I cursed them. And then I remembered there was a severe curve about a mile up the road and hoped they'd miss the turn. I went further; I said a prayer that the driver would lose control and the car would flip over. 

That's how I felt about their threat to me, and I said it aloud. All the saints and angels heard me say it in the presence of God. 

But then, as the calm of the open highway returned to my soul, I considered that there was only one person driving the car; and he or she had made the foolish, impulsive decision to terrify me. Not all the riders had wanted him to do that, though they might have said nothing in protest. They probably have parents and relatives who would be grieved at the accident, and would never know about the threat I'd suffered. I began to repent of my prayer. 

I decided to let the Lord choose and exact whatever revenge he should take for what I'd suffered. He would be my champion and defender, and the judge of all. When I got to that treacherous curve there was no evidence of an accident, and I was relieved. 

I've often heard that anger is a sin. I don't believe that. We witness God's wrath in the Old and New Testaments, and we often read about the anger of the prophets and saints, and the avenging angels. 

If we don't get angry enough to do something, an awful lot of things never change. 

Anger may cause me to sin, and for that I am responsible. But I might, in sheer joy, throw a hammer through a window. Elation doesn't make it right; it's just as sinful whether I was mad, sad, or glad when I threw the hammer. 

In today's first reading, we hear Jeremiah's prayer for revenge. We was not a powerful warrior. He seems like a rather smallish fellow, very lonely with his mission, and respected only as an unpopular prophet. When he was abused he felt hurt and angry and wanted revenge. What could be more natural than that? And so he prayed that the Lord would judge between him and his enemies. 

God's people, following the example of Jesus, the prophets, martyrs, and saints, let the Lord be our protecting shepherd. He leads us away from danger and, when necessary drives away the wicked thief, wolf, bear, and lion. If he allows us to suffer, it is with him. And the saints call that a privilege.