Tuesday of the Seventh Week of Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 342

Where do the wars and where do the conflicts among you come from?
Is it not from your passions that make war within your members?
You covet but do not possess.
You kill and envy but you cannot obtain....

Today we resume the celebration of Mass within the "ordinary cycle" of the year. Ordinary refers to ordinal numbers, that is, "a number defining a thing's position in a series, such as first, second, or third." (Google) 

The season is not the routine or quotidian time of year; it is full of grace and opportunity. As my friend, Chaplain Keith at the VA hospital, was wont to say, "Another chance to get it right." 

Right out of the gate we hear the challenge of Saint James, "Where do the wars and where do the conflicts come from?" and his immediate answer, "your passions that make war within your members!" 

I suppose by members  he meant the members of the Church as they struggled to understand the new life they'd been given. But in this individualist, post-Freudian age it might also refer to the inner conflict every Christian knows. As Saint Paul said, 

We know that the law is spiritual; but I am carnal, sold into slavery to sin. What I do, I do not understand. For I do not do what I want, but I do what I hate. Now if I do what I do not want, I concur that the law is good. So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells in me.

In both cases, the collective and the personal, Saint James reminds us of our practice of penance. If we'd slipped from it during the eight week Easter cycle, we should be reminded of the obvious, the continual "war within our members." 

Penance responds to the awareness of, and gratitude for, God's blessings. God is so very good to us despite our sins. Penance forgets nothing, neither our history of sin nor my personal guilt. For without that memory we cannot know or appreciate God's goodness. 

Why would I remember our ancestors' escape from Egypt through the Red Sea and into the desert if I didn't remember the cruel oppression of the Egyptian slavers? Why would I remember Easter if I never think of my sins? The story of the Lord's crucifixion and resurrection would be nothing more than an ancient legend -- and a silly one at that -- but we believe it's an historical fact. God has raised up his Beloved Son and restored him to us as our God and Savior, and there is no other name by which we are to be saved.  

Nor can I suppose that sin is a thing of the past. If I entertain such a fantasy, it evaporates like last night's dream. Where do the wars and conflicts come from except from my own members? Saint Paul, relying upon his Greek education, brought a standard list of vices to our conversation, 

...immorality, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, hatreds, rivalry, jealousy, outbursts of fury, acts of selfishness, dissensions, factions, occasions of envy, drinking bouts, orgies, and the like. (Gal 5:19-21)

If I am personally not presently plagued with these complaints I certainly recognize them, and thank God for my deliverance. 

Speaking of ordinary, there is nothing ordinary about practicing penance, for it restores our joy daily. We remember both our deliverance from a sinful past and our hope for that day when, by God's grace, we'll have outgrown all that nonsense. We long for that day of integrity when all our members will be integrated into the Body of Christ. On That Day, we will sing with all the angels, martyrs, and saints the praises of God and the Song of the Lamb: 

Great and wonderful are your works,

Lord God almighty.
Just and true are your ways,
O king of the nations.
Who will not fear you, Lord,
or glorify your name?
For you alone are holy.
All the nations will come
and worship before you,
for your righteous acts have been revealed. 

Rev 15:3-4

Memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of the Church

Lectionary: 572A

When they entered the city they went to the upper room where they were staying, Peter and John and James and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James.
All these devoted themselves with one accord to prayer, together with some women, and Mary the mother of Jesus, and his brothers.

Whenever the Church celebrates Pentecost we cannot overlook the presence of Mary among his disciples in the Upper Room. This is her last appearance in the writings of the Evangelists though the "woman clothed with the sun" in the Book of Revelation certainly looks like her. In Saint Luke's telling, Mary opens and closes the complete account of the Lord's physical presence among us. 

She also signals that Shekinah (presence) of the Holy Spirit. In the first chapter of Saint Luke's Gospel the Angel Gabriel told her the Holy Spirit would overshadow her much as it had overshadowed Solomon's new temple:

When Solomon had ended his prayer, fire came down from heaven and consumed the burnt offerings and the sacrifices, and the glory of the LORD filled the house. But the priests could not enter the house of the LORD, for the glory of the LORD filled the house of the LORD. All the Israelites looked on while the fire came down and the glory of the LORD was upon the house, and they fell down upon the pavement with their faces to the earth and worshiped, praising the LORD, “who is so good, whose love endures forever.” 2 Chronicles 7:1-3

 That same Spirit appears in Acts of the Apostles 2:

And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house in which they were. Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire, which parted and came to rest on each one of them. And they were all filled with the holy Spirit and began to speak in different tongues, as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim.

With Mary in the room, there can be no doubt that this is the same Holy Spirit who accompanied, guided, and impelled Jesus throughout his life. Luke's sequel to the Gospel describes how closely the Church obeyed and imitated her Lord as missionaries carried the Gospel to the ends of the earth beginning at Jerusalem. 

Mary continues to act as a guarantor of the Holy Spirit in our lives and in our Church. We cannot assemble without her, and would not want to. Could a family gather without their mother so long as she is alive? "Am I not your mother?" she might say if they were to attempt it! 

The Father of Jesus has given the Church many touchstones to assure us of his continual guidance. The last chapter of the Gospel of Saint Mark describes several accompanying signs: 

These signs will accompany those who believe: in my name they will drive out demons, they will speak new languages. They will pick up serpents  and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not harm them. They will lay hands on the sick, and they will recover.” 

But for those who recoil from serpents and have no taste for battery acid, the Lord gives the Eucharist and the sacraments, the apostolic succession, the Magisterium, the witness of the martyrs, and especially the presence of Mary. 

As the Church sails through these troubled times when even common sense understandings of truth and falsehood, male and female, law and disorder are confused, we thank God that her Shekinah remains with us. 

Pentecost Sunday 2024

Lectionary: 63

Brothers and sisters, live by the Spirit and you will certainly not gratify the desire of the flesh.
For the flesh has desires against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh;
these are opposed to each other, so that you may not do what you want.
But if you are guided by the Spirit, you are not under the law.

Although Saint Paul knew nothing of Jesus before his death and resurrection, after his conversion he spent much time with the Lord's disciples. He studied the Jewish scriptures with a new understanding; he prayed, pondered, and reconsidered the direction of his life.  And he knew the Spirit of Jesus. That Spirit was not something one could describe or define. It could not be bottled and sold in the marketplace or auctioned to the highest bidder. 

The Spirit was neither impulsive nor undisciplined enthusiasm. It was not a cultivation of correct attitudes and opinions. Jesus had never tried to speak the right words, expressions, or language. So Paul never deleted Jewish, Greek, or Latin words from the Christian dictionary. He could talk about men and women, sin and sinners, saints and martyrs, Jews, Greeks, and Romans without fear of being called antisemitic, racist, sexist, or homophobic. The Spirit of Jesus has no need to control minds or wash brains.

Saint Paul knew the Holy Spirit as the God who guided and directed him day by day. The Lord was with him when he moved from one Jewish neighborhood to another, and as he spoke to congregations in synagogues and crowds in the marketplace. The Spirit remained with him when he was opposed, arrested, beaten, tried, and jailed. It sat with him in the darkness of a prison, met him at the door when they released him, and then sent him on his way. The Spirit also sometimes prevented him from doing things he wanted to do, as when he wanted to go to Bithynia. 

Saint Paul was never frustrated by the time he spent in Roman jails because the Spirit came to him, healed his wounds, relieved his resentments, filled his idle hours with contemplation and prayer, and revealed the truth as he wrote his epistles. In the spirit, he could be honestly angry about those "super Apostles" who followed him from town to town; and he could shamelessly mock their pretensions and dishonesty.  

Saint Paul preached the Gospel and spoke the Gospel Truth because he knew the Spirit of God. It was the Voice of the One who spoke to him on the road to Damascus; it was the Voice of one who had been Crucified and raised from the dead. And when the Spirit was silent he could stop, wait, and pray until God spoke to him again. 

And so, when he urges his Galatian congregation to "live by the Spirit and you will certainly not gratify the desire of the flesh," he is not simply saying, "Do good and avoid evil." That's common sense and needs no divine revelation. "Live by the Spirit" means listen for God’s coming to you; and listen to God when he speaks to you, both to you personally and to your church.

Saint Paul knew that God had an intention for every church and for every individual in the Church. Every baptized person should listen to God's voice for God has a particular intention for everyone. 

And when Pope Francis gathers men and women, priests and lay folks from all over the world to meet in a synod, he believes that God has something specific to say to the entire Church. If we pray, listen in prayer, believe in one another, trust the integrity of every person, and listen to one another we may – as a Church – have a very good idea of where the Holy Spirit is leading us, and what we should do in the meanwhile. 

We know that God directs human affairs today as he did when the Pharaoh drove the Hebrews out of Egypt, and when Cyrus sent the Jewish exiles to Jerusalem. As Christians we watch for, and often see, God’s active presence in the world. He is there in war zones of Russia and Ukraine, Gaza and Israel. He is there in the partisan feuding of Republicans and Democrats. We can hope God is speaking somehow through the pseudo-compassionate voices of those who promote abortion, euthanasia, and gender transitioning. We despise their goals, and suspect their motives, but we acknowledge their stated good intentions. Because we practice penance and confess our sins, we know how it is to be absolutely sure of something that is absolutely false. 

But more importantly, we know the Holy Spirit’s presence when we worship the Lord in this church, when we care for our elderly neighbors, teach the young our faith, honor our spouses, parents, and children, and participate in public discussions. He has promised, “I am with you always, even to the end of time;” and so we have no fear about what is happening around us. 

Coming at the end of the Easter Season, Pentecost celebrates our birth and rebirth as a Church. And we know the Holy Spirit is with us because we’re here today, and God is alive in our sad, beautiful, sinful world. 

Saturday of the Seventh Week of Easter

Lectionary: 302

It is this disciple who testifies to these things
and has written them, and we know that his testimony is true.
There are also many other things that Jesus did,
but if these were to be described individually,
I do not think the whole world would contain the books that would be written.

Perhaps Saint John's closing remark is not hyperbole. As we view the vast universe above below, and within us; as we ponder this mysterious creature, the human being; as we discover the presence and power of God in our daily life: we have to agree this small planet could not contain every marvelous account of God's wonderful works. 

As I read the Fourth Gospel with a Bible Study group this past spring, the "disciple whom Jesus loved" spoke more clearly to me. He is the witness who has not died. The Word and the Spirit still generate witnesses in every age and every generation. We're still here, and the Lord still lives and loves with us. 

John 21 ponders the mystery of the Church. In the first verses we find the disciples fishing in the Sea of Tiberias. Peter is still the leader. Nathaniel, one of the first to follow the Lord is there; as is Thomas who finished the Book with his new title for Jesus, "My Lord and my God!" Zebedee's sons are there, James and John. The latter, we assume, is the one whom Jesus loved. "And two others," which brings the number to seven. The Gospel began with an account of seven days. Seven is a fulsome number, implying completeness. We're all here. 

But the disciples seem aimless, as if they've nothing better to do than go fishing; and they're frustrated as they catch nothing. The thrill is gone.  

The story begins when Jesus appears on the shore. The mystery, adventure, revelation, and movement resume. 

But the mood remains sober; and the focus is on Peter, the man who denied knowing the Lord. After the Lord provides a breakfast for the seven, he and Peter take a walk apart from the group. The others seem okay with that; Jesus and Peter often consulted privately, out of their hearing. 

But today's Gospel concerns only Peter's question about the beloved disciple, "What about him?" Jesus does not reply; and we're reminded the Lord is still in charge of the Church, and owes no explanation to his right hand man. 

If the thrill is gone, the commands remain, "Feed my sheep!" and "Follow me." Enthusiasm is great fun and very productive, but obedience is more important. We have seen its importance as we watched Jesus march from the River Jordan to Jerusalem. 

And this spring I noticed another astonishing act of obedience, Lazarus's escape from the tomb. When he heard that voice, the dead man (four days!) sat up, got up, and came out, although he was still tightly bound by his burial clothes. If Jesus's resurrection is far beyond comprehension, this act of obedience is not far behind. 

Where did he find the willingness after lying four days in the dank darkness and fetid atmosphere of a tomb? It was there, silent, unexpected, and unknown until he heard the voice of his friend and Savior. 

I suppose he forgot himself. His sickness unto death, the grief and disappointment of dying, his idleness, inertia, and lack of Spirit: none of it mattered when he heard the voice. He might not have even said, "I'm coming out!" for there was no ego to make such a remark. That was not restored to life by the Voice of Command.

Peter, John, and the other five knew that obedience when they spotted him standing on the short; and even more so after he had prepared their breakfast of fish. Peter knew it when he realized the Lord had not only forgiven his denials but had recommissioned him to feed my sheep and tend my lambs. 

I hope that I am as obedient when that day comes. That will certainly be another Marvelous Work of God. 

Friday of the Seventh Week of Easter

 Lectionary: 301

"Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?"
Simon Peter answered him, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love you."
Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs."

Several times in the past I have reflected upon this last conversation between the Risen Lord and his right hand man, Peter. I have noted especially the evocative power of charcoal to remind Peter of his denial of Jesus. He and another disciple had followed the arresting mob from Gethsemane into Herod's courtyard. They certainly had no plan; they could not prevent whatever was going to happen. 

They might at least have admitted they were Galilean associates of the Nazarene, and were concerned about what was happening. But, when accosted by a girl about their accents, Peter vehemently denied any association with him. The other disciple -- whom we suspect was John -- remained as silent as ever. 

If nothing was said to either of them about the thrice denial when they returned to the Upper Room, it remained nonetheless as a shameful regret. Everyone certainly remembered Peter's loud declaration that he would stand by the Lord regardless of the danger. But no one had acted courageously -- the Spirit had gone out of them and left them defeated, hiding, and terrified in the Upper Room. Perhaps they quietly admitted there was nothing they could do. Nothing could have stopped what happened, but that did not excuse their cowardice.  

Peter's loud denial certainly came back to hit him like a speeding freight train when he smelled the charcoal fire by the seashore. And beyond the smell of charcoal was the Lord's question, "Do you love me more than these?"

This recalls another unfortunate incident: 

"Peter said to him, “Even though all should have their faith shaken, mine will not be.” Mark 14:29

He declared himself superior to everyone else. We can imagine how that remark went down with the others. After all the years of Jesus's training, his teaching about humility, and about aspiring to be the least of all and servant of all, there was Peter putting himself above the rest with that demeaning boast. 

When the Lord appeared by the Sea of Tiberias, that remark had also to be recalled, and atonement offered. If we don't hear Peter admitting his sin and apologizing to the disciples, we do hear his remorse after the third question: 

Peter was distressed that he had said to him a third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”

Atonement may come easily when a mother catches her four year old child misbehaving. He has only to settle down, or take a nap, and all is forgiven. But it's not so easy between adults. Sometimes, if the incident really is no big deal, it can be dismissed with a simple fuggedaboutit. 

But insulting remarks like Peter's "though all should have their faith shaken, mine will not be" can resurface years later, especially when a similar incident occurs. Then we say, "They were always like that!" and suppose they never really changed at all. 

John 21 is a story of defeated, deflated disciples who have lost the spirit. They've got nothing to do but go fishing. When the Lord appears to them, he comes to inspire them, but they will also be reminded that, without the Holy Spirit, you were always like that. 

Our worse instincts don't go away because we've not acted that way recently. Without God's spirit they can reappear. We might not have the energy for the old sins, or even much interest, but the Self remains ever watchful to rise against the Lord's goad. 

We pray. We confess our sins -- the same old sins -- time after time. And ask the Lord to fill our sails with his Holy Spirit, for we are, and will always be, helpless. 

Thursday of the Seventh Week of Easter

Lectionary: 300

And I have given them the glory you gave me,
so that they may be one, as we are one,
I in them and you in me,
that they may be brought to perfection as one,
that the world may know that you sent me,
and that you loved them even as you loved me.
Father, they are your gift to me.

Which of us is not moved when they hear, "Father, they are your gift to me?" I may think highly of myself but to hear the Lord express such gladness and gratitude upon receiving the gift of myself from God the Father must overwhelm my self-esteem. It sends me into silent consideration. And if I am not given to self-admiration and assurance of my own worth, I hardly know what to think. 

This initial gift of which the Lord speaks -- fishermen, workers, and tax collectors -- has so far looked more like a bunch of bewildered hangers-on, and hardly impressive by the world's standards. And yet Jesus displays such appreciation and love for them, a love which he will prove on the morrow, far beyond all comprehension. 

What can we do but accept his affection? Psalm 18 recalls an astonishing demonstration: 

I cried out to my God.

From his temple he heard my voice;

my cry to him reached his ears.

The earth rocked and shook;

the foundations of the mountains trembled;

they shook as his wrath flared up.

Smoke rose from his nostrils,

a devouring fire from his mouth;

it kindled coals into flame.

He parted the heavens and came down....

and concludes with, "He saved me because he loved me." But the Lord's passion, death, and resurrection surpasses anything the Psalmist could imagine. 

So who am I not to embrace the same bewildered hangers-on, the Church? 

We have heard in John 17 the Lord's prayer that "they may be one," and we have seen how far he will go to insure the unity of the Church. He offers his life on the altar of the cross, and from that altar insists that we eat his flesh and drink his blood. We cannot be admiring onlookers. We cannot stand back and cheer for him, "You go, God!" 

Rather, we must eat and drink and prepare to make the same sacrifice. The Church's unity must be our passion as well. Facing any and every conflict in the Church we must pause, step back for a moment, take a deep breath, and discover within ourselves the Lord's own affection, admiration, and love for this person and these people. "...they are your gift to me."

This unifying impulse wants to be as generous, courageous, and far-reaching as the Lord's cross. It does not pause at the edges of any select group of human beings. They are all your gift to me. 

 

Wednesday of the Seventh Week of Easter

Lectionary: 299

Lifting up his eyes to heaven, Jesus prayed, saying:
“Holy Father, keep them in your name
that you have given me,
so that they may be one just as we are one.

As his final evening passed into night and the fatal hour approached, Jesus prayed to his Father for the Church, "that they may be one just as we are one." 

Perhaps the oldest and most fundamental question in philosophy concerns "the many and the one." If America is divided today between conservative and liberal opinions, much of the controversy concerns whether the nation stands together as one or finds its true mission in promoting individual liberties. Are we many individuals or one nation? If we must do both, how is it possible? 

The Roman Catholic Church also struggles with that question. Are we many disciples of Jesus or one Church?

I grew up in an era that leaned heavily toward creativity and the free expression of the individual. In the 1960's, my mentors, young priests, were breaking free of a rigid observance of the rubrics. Some regarded the Mass as a personal expression of their love of God, an artistic event which they offered before their congregations. 

Pope Saint John Paul II, coming from behind the Iron Curtain of Communism, called for greater discipline among the artistic priests; and the German theologian, Pope Benedict XVI, maintained that direction. But, as any teacher will tell you, it's easier to relax discipline than to tighten it, and energetic private devotions threaten to overwhelm the Church's liturgy.  

I cringe when a Mass presider offers two, three, or more homilies during "his Mass." Some speak at length, telling us what we already know, that today is Sunday. Do they think with many words they will be heard? 
Others lead as if the congregation is not in Church, finishing the Sign of the Cross with Amen, and even the greeting with, "And with your spirit."
I wonder, "Why am I here if you're going to take my parts?"

Still others like to throw in a Hail Mary during the Mass, or some other private prayer. It seems to me that this personal devotion, so much on display, gets in the way of his leading us in prayer. 

But anyone who has attended my Mass will certainly point out some of my own idiosyncrasies which have startled and bothered others. Even a strict obedience to the rubrics may be nothing more than a demonstration of one's slavish adherence to The Rules. 

Can one disappear among the many, and trust the Priestly People to worship God with one heart and mind and soul? At the end of his Seven Story Mountain, Father Louis, (known to the world as Thomas Merton) exulted in wearing the Trappist habit and being indistinguishable in a gathering of monks. But his individuality often stuck out like a sore thumb among his confreres.

There is always that tension between the liturgy which is the entire church praying as one, and devotion, which means nothing if it's not energized by personal energy and expression. Liturgy invites everyone to forget their personal preferences; they must find meaning and deep satisfaction in the words, songs, and gestures that others have made to express our faith. But liturgy can become overwhelmingly rote, and its meaning may be lost in the weeds of rubrics. Only the most devout will be edified while the majority is bored to tears. 

Beyond the issue of liturgy, there is also our belief. I like to remind people that, "Catholics don't have a choice; we are told what we believe." 

And we study intensely to learn our faith. If we discover something we disagree with in the Catholic tradition, we ask the questions and do the research to find out where we're wrong. We struggle to learn the deep truth which may be hidden to our cultural preferences. 

Yes, men and women stand equally before God, but without the differences which set them apart no one can complete the wholeness of their being. Similarly, there can be no Church without priests. Nor is the world saved if no one is set apart. 

The mystery of one and many is resolved only in the Trinity. The many become one by fidelity to, and love of truth It is a challenge, a threat, and a blessing as we hear the Lord pray, "that all may be one." 

Feast of Saint Matthias, Apostle

Lectionary: 564

Remain in my love.
If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love,
just as I have kept my Father’s commandments
and remain in his love.

Saint Matthias' feast falls every year in mid May, apparently because Pentecost usually occurs in May; and his election anticipated that day when the Holy Spirit descended upon the apostles like tongues of fire. 

Returning from the hill where Jesus had ascended into heaven, the Eleven knew only that they must restore the Twelve. Jesus had selected twelve disciples and called them apostles, apparently to indicate that his Church should be a "New Tribes of Israel." The ancient tribes were named after the twelve sons of Jacob, the grandson of Abraham. Despite their humiliation and poverty as slaves in Egypt, the Hebrews had retained that heritage for four hundred years; and, even during Jesus's lifetime fifteen centuries later, some families remembered their ancestral identity. 

Relying upon a traditional method of discovering God's will, Peter and the disciples cast lots and the lot fell to Matthias. (The above picture describes him holding a lot in his hand.) This was even before the Holy Spirit had come upon them at Pentecost. 

But the institution of twelve did not remain with the Church very long. When the Apostle James was beheaded, the Apostles fled the City and did not replace him when the Church reconvened some time later. They had other concerns in 49 AD as they met to discuss the influx of gentiles. Nor does Saint Matthias reappear in the New Testament. 

With no intention of disparaging one of Jesus's earliest and most faithful disciples, Matthias's real importance in Acts 1 is with the words twelve and apostles. Peter and the others agreed that they must maintain the Lord's twelve, because that word invokes the entire history of Israel from Abraham to Jesus. And, as Jesus is the Apostle of Truth, so the Church must be built on the fidelity and integrity of Apostles. 

If these men had misunderstood, misconstrued, or distorted the Lord's purpose and mission, our salvation would have been lost. Almost a century later, Saint John of Patmos attested to his faith in the Apostles when he described a New Jerusalem coming down out of heaven. 

It had a massive, high wall, with twelve gates where twelve angels were stationed and on which names were inscribed the names of the twelve tribes of the Israelites.... The wall of the city had twelve courses of stones as its foundation, on which were inscribed the twelve names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.

By his time, the Twelve and all the eyewitnesses of the Risen Lord had died, but the Church remained firmly built upon their teachings, as the martyrs were proving with their lives. Whenever we celebrate any apostle's feastday, we thank God for their fidelity. Although they were simple men -- fishers, tax collectors, etc. -- they knew the Truth and would not alter it for anyone. 

Monday of the Seventh Week of Easter

Lectionary: 297

They answered him,
“We have never even heard that there is a Holy Spirit.”

Today's first reading from the Acts of the Apostles suggest the confusion of the first century about the new opportunities that the Holy Spirit had opened. Two prophets had appeared in Israel; after many years of divine silence God was speaking to his people. They were messages of hope in the familiar language of rebuke for their sins, and the promise of salvation. 

Saint Paul found in the chaotic city of Corinth -- a port city given to cheap entertainment for sailors and travelers -- a small group of Jews who had been baptized by John the Baptist. The voice in the wilderness had promised redemption for those who confessed their sins and renewed their practice of the Jewish religion. John spoke in the language of Isaiah with an added dimension of messianism, 

...one mightier than I is coming. I am not worthy to loosen the thongs of his sandals. He will baptize you with the holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fan is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.

The Baptist promised that an individual -- a priest, king, or warrior -- would usher in the new age of divine rule. God's people would be vindicated as they assumed their rightful place as first among nations. Jerusalem would enjoy astonishing prosperity as the capital city of the new empire, and a hub of commerce. 

Caravans of camels shall cover you,

dromedaries of Midian and Ephah;

All from Sheba shall come

bearing gold and frankincense,

and heralding the praises of the LORD. (Is 60:6)

This messiah would also purify the people and make them worthy to be God's people,  

For he will be like a refiner’s fire,
like fullers’ lye.
He will sit refining and purifying silver,
and he will purify the Levites,
Refining them like gold or silver,
that they may bring offerings to the LORD in righteousness. (Mal 3:3)

The Baptist promised that they had only to confess their sins and wait for the Champion who would decree a new age and a new way of life. But the tetrarch Herod arrested, imprisoned, and executed John. His disciples scattered; his movement foundered and disappeared. The disappointed Antiochenes had heard the promise but knew nothing of its fulfillment in Jesus. 

Saint Paul found a ready audience in them with his news of Jesus, 

"...and when Paul laid his hands on them, the Holy Spirit came upon them, and they spoke in tongues and prophesied."

The Gospel must be announced by both prophets, John and Jesus, and we must hear both of them. The Gospels and Acts (Acts 1:5; 1:22; 10:37; 11:16; 13:24-25; 18:25; 19:3) maintain that vital connection between penance and forgiveness. We cannot be saved without acknowledging our sins, for they are precisely what render us helpless and available to God's mercy. To deny our sins is to deny the Truth, and refuse to hear God speak to us.  

The apostles and first missionaries freely admitted their sins wherever they went, and their dark stories appear throughout the Gospels, Acts, and New Testament writings. Because they were so ready to admit their foolish obstinacy, their message was all the more credible to decadent Romans and Greeks. 

The recent scandals that continue to rock the Church, amuse its critics, and validate its foes again invite us to hear John's angry rebukes, receive his Baptism, and welcome his Savior. 

Today's John the Baptists point to the institutionalization of evil, and its abiding presence in every system. Sister Helen Prejean explains how men and women are condemned and executed in the United States. The jury in a county court know their conviction will be challenged and may be reversed; a series of higher courts passes along their tentative decision to the governor, who does whatever the public demands. Finally, doctors kill the human being who has been held captive and rendered harmless for the past many years. No one takes full responsibility for the decision to terminate a human being. 

Something similar is happening to American children. I've recently heard this conversation between John Anderson and Dr. Helen Joyce. She describes the habitual affirmation of confused, distressed, and misguided young people. A series of professionals encourage their half-formed belief that they might be spiritual hermaphrodites, or trans -- an apparent new identity without historical precedent. 

Because no teacher, counselor, doctor, therapist, or surgeon dares to counter the prevailing trend, boys and girls are neutered, sometimes without their parents' knowledge or consent. There have been no serious studies to prove that these young people who have taken the chemicals and had the surgery are happier for the ordeal; but ideologies prevail over rationality in our brave new world. 

The same patterns are found when we address issues of poverty, war, racism, and pollution. It takes a million John the Baptists to stop these hellbound trains. A prophetic Church must challenge institutionalized evil. 

Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord

Lectionary: 58

While they were looking intently at the sky as he was going,
suddenly two men dressed in white garments stood beside them.
They said, “Men of Galilee,
why are you standing there looking at the sky?
This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven
will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven.”

Saint Luke’s description of Jesus's disciples "standing there looking at the sky" is intentionally comical, and all the more so because we can well imagine ourselves in that predicament. The horror of Good Friday was deeply troubling. Once he was buried, the disciples were left with nothing but desolation. 

But on the following Sunday his tomb was empty and there were sporadic appearances to some women and other disciples. Saint Luke suggests that he appeared repeatedly to them over a period of forty days. He was seen by no one else, nor were they telling anyone about it. If the world was ready for their good news, they were not ready to announce it. 

And then he was gone -- again. Saint Luke tells us, "...he was lifted up, and a cloud took him from their sight." He did not reappear. As he had told them: 

The days will come when you will long to see one of the days of the Son of Man, but you will not see it. There will be those who will say to you, ‘Look, there he is,’ or ‘‘Look, here he is.’ Do not go off, do not run in pursuit. (Luke 17:22-23).

He was gone; this time for good. But he had spoken of an Advocate whom he would send,

I tell you the truth, it is better for you that I go. (He said) For if I do not go, the Advocate will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you.

If this mysterious Advocate does not appear, the story is finished. They can go home and forget about Bethlehem, Calvary, and Easter. It was just one of those things, another false messiah. We’ve seen them come; we've seen them go. 

The Bible doesn’t tell us stories about Jesus and his resurrection, to convince us there is life after death. Or that He is God, or even that he has conquered death and sin. If we have not watched this good man die and then said, “Truly this was the Son of God” we cannot understand what he was about. 

Rather, Jesus rose from the dead and appeared to his disciples to commission them to go into the whole world and announce the Kingdom of God to every creature. They were to be his ambassadors, his representatives, and –more precisely – his witnesses to the ends of the earth, until the end of time.

But even after forty days, they weren't ready. That day of his ascension might have been like the day the young parents bring their first baby home from the hospital. Okay, now what? What do we do? Didn't this thing come with a how-to-raise-baby manual? They were like the graduate who doesn't have to attend classes anymore. I'm out of school; I’m free. But free to do what? 

The disciples had some experience of preaching. Saint Luke tells us that, on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus sent them two by two to all the villages he intended to visit. That's thirty-six teams spreading the word to every city, town, village, and hamlet where people were eager to hear about the so-called Messiah who was organizing a massive march on Jerusalem. 

But now he had been crucified, and raised up, and appeared to some people. Perhaps to as many as five hundred on one occasion. And yet, during all those forty days, he had not directed them to go anywhere or say anything. The disciples were flummoxed as they stood there watching the clouds take him from their sight.

Much as we are flummoxed today, when millions say they're hungry for spiritual food. But they want the Truth on their own terms. The message has to be interesting, relevant, entertaining, and immediately useful. It may come with a touch of mystery, but not too much because we're busy and don't have time to ponder deep mysteries. 

Nor should it shine any light on our past. We will not hear of our sins, or those of our ancestors. Let them lie in their graves. We don't need to feel any more uncomfortable than we are already. 

The disciples needed more time. And they needed something else; something they  could neither name nor describe. As they returned to Jerusalem and the Upper Room, they remembered his cryptic remark about an Advocate; and they remembered his last words on that fortieth day: 

...you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you,

and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem,

throughout Judea and Samaria,

and to the ends of the earth.”

As we prepare to celebrate Pentecost next Sunday, we ask God the Father to send that Advocate who gives us humility, wisdom, courage, and healing power. And then we will sing God's praises as we go into the whole world to declare that we believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.

Saturday of the Sixth Week of Easter

 Lectionary: 296

For the Father himself loves you, because you have loved me
and have come to believe that I came from God.
I came from the Father and have come into the world.
Now I am leaving the world and going back to the Father.”

Even as we hear the Lord speak of leaving the world, he assures us that he will not leave us. His name remains with us. And so long as we know, love, and serve his Holy Name, he lives among us. 

The Fourth Gospel especially invites us into that knowledge and constant awareness of communion within the Trinity of God. As he says, the Father and the Son make their home within our hearts. 

This is not a privilege reserved for those who have never sinned and never will. This is an invitation to those who acknowledge their sins and the fellowship in guilt. We are children of Eve, and we dare not suppose that we as Catholics or Christians are better than the rest of her children. Rather, each one must admit, "I am one of them." 

I saw this as the priest pedophilia scandal broke over the Church. I am one of them, a priest. No, I have no particular interest or fascination with children. My point is, I too have sinned and have neither earned nor deserved the mercies God has shown me. They include the kindness of my family, friends, friars, and people in general; and the relative freedom of movement in a nation which boasts of its civil liberties. Some priests have lost their freedom because of their crimes; and I too am a priest. I am one of them. 

But I can also repeat the last words of Saint Maximilian Kolbe before he was condemned to death, "I am a priest." He apparently believed that was sufficient explanation to the camp commandant for his kindness to a fellow prisoner. I am one of them, and I hope I am worthy of such companions. 

As God's people, we enjoy this communion with God the Son because he has embraced the entire human race and is not ashamed to call us his brothers and sisters. 

Friday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Lectionary: 295

...she no longer remembers the pain because of her joy

that a child has been born into the world.

So you also are now in anguish.

But I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice,

and no one will take your joy away from you.

Is it just me or has the news become more alarming recently? Wars, threats of war, plagues, droughts, floods, infestations, infrastructure catastrophes, partisan politics: they just keep piling up with no end in sight. The wars in Europe and the mid-East have been especially troubling -- perhaps because these are "white people -- but the conflicts in Africa and Haiti are also killing people and destroying nations. Those conflicts might also metastasize. 

I am sure the 24/7 news cycle contributes to our angst and I have often urged people to severely limit their intake of that entertainment. They are, after all, only using the news to sell products that we don't need, don't want, and can't use. Although amusement sells products, alarm and anxiety are more successful. 

Clearly, if we choose to respond, it should be with prayer and works of mercy. Fasting wouldn't hurt either, although the people who worry the most seem to be too old and too set in their ways to learn that healthy practice. 

But mostly, we should hear the encouraging words of Jesus and turn our attention back to him whenever we're sorely distracted. 

...your hearts will rejoice,

and no one will take your joy away from you.

People of faith grieve when it's time to grieve, and rejoice the rest of the time. Our good works, our courtesy, generosity, and courage are born of confident joy. So long as God is in charge, why should I worry? And when God is not in charge, we'll all be lost forever and there will be nothing to do about it. 

But that won't happen, so why worry? Even our grief is born of that confidence that we may cry to our heart's content and then, when it's passed, resume our self-sacrificing habits. 

Saint Paul demonstrates that confident joy in today's first reading. He had hoped to announce the Gospel in Rome ever since that day when, on the road to Damascus, he heard the Lord's voice. If the opportunity to get there as a prisoner, courtesy of the government, arose, why not take it? Other than his shipwreck in Malta, which proved to be a lark, it was a pleasant journey; and much good came of it. 

...your hearts will rejoice,

and no one will take your joy away from you.

Thursday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Lectionary: 294

Paul left Athens and went to Corinth. There he met a Jew named Aquila, a native of Pontus, who had recently come from Italy with his wife Priscilla because Claudius had ordered all the Jews to leave Rome. He went to visit them and, because he practiced the same trade, stayed with them and worked, for they were tent makers by trade.

I find a grave irony in today's first reading. It describes a tragedy and a sin which the Church has recently owned and for which the Church must atone. I speak of our relationship with Jews. 

Saint Luke tells us that the married couple Pontus and Priscilla moved to the Greek city of Corinth when the Emperor Claudius ordered all Jews to leave Rome. Apparently, the edict was not very successful for later, both Peter and Paul settled in the Eternal City and shared the Good News with its Jewish population. But this couple departed because, at that time, Rome did not recognize any distinction between Christians and Jews. Pontus and his wife might have been more troublesome to the authorities for proclaiming the Gospel. 

In any case, as adopted children of Abraham, Christians should always expect to share the fate of the Jews. Where they are suspected of deviousness and despised, we should be hated. For we love the same God and speak his name with the same reverence; and the world hates our God. If they don't hate Christians when they're persecuting Jews, we're obviously failing to prove our holiness. 

Today's eight verses from Acts 18 are ironic for they describe the initial separation of Christians from Jews, and Paul's outrageous words, "Your blood be on your heads!" The expression is echoed in Matthew 27:25 -- "And the whole people said in reply, “His blood be upon us and upon our children.”

But, more importantly -- and this is often overlooked -- its origin is found in Exodus 24:6-8

Moses took half of the blood and put it in large bowls; the other half he splashed on the altar. Taking the book of the covenant, he read it aloud to the people, who answered, “All that the LORD has said, we will hear and do.” Then he took the blood and splashed it on the people, saying, “This is the blood of the covenant which the LORD has made with you according to all these words.”

In this passage the altar represents God, and the blood which is poured upon the altar and the people effects their communion with God. They are united by the liquid life spilled over them.  

Ironically, the curse the enraged mob calls upon themselves, is a blessing! They want to share in the communion which Jesus will restore between God and his beloved people. 

I hope there is a theologian who can correct me if I am wrong, but it seems the Jewish-Christian dialogue has often overlooked Matthew's intentional irony. (Powerful people often have little sense of humor and irony goes right past them.) I do not find any reference to the Exodus passage in the Wikipedia article about the "Blood Curse." 

As Catholics renew our devotion to the Most Blessed Sacrament, we must ponder this dark mystery. We must join the mob in Jerusalem and invite his Precious Blood upon ourselves and our children. We do that when we eat his flesh and drink his blood. Adopted into the family of Abraham, we should be, like our Jewish brethren and sistren, despised because we love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength. 

Wednesday of the Sixth Week of Easter

Lectionary: 293

Everything that the Father has is mine;
for this reason I told you that he will take from what is mine
and declare it to you.

I have noticed in the last few years some articles in magazines and newspapers that wonder if our planet Earth might be better off without us. Perhaps this experiment in being aware wasn't such a good idea after all. This aware being seems deeply and irreversibly committed to self-destruction and the irreparable ruin of a lovely place in the universe. 

The articles play with the idea for a while, and then guide their readers to an optimistic conclusion. Or not. It depends upon who is writing and their purpose. An existential question demands an either/or solution; it will not be satisfied with maybe. 

Heidegger, the 20th century philosopher who described man as being aware of itself also believed there is no God. His system had no need for that hypothesis. During the murderous crisis that enveloped Germany and Europe he espoused and became the darling of Nazism. He could not answer the most important question of our time, "Why should I not kill myself?" 

The question human presence within the world raises a similar, more threatening suggestion for Christians: Can the world do without the Church, Christians, Jews, and God? Do we need the gospel, or is it just another self-perpetuating hoax humans have created against the vast emptiness of space and the futility of our existence. Should we tell our children about the Lord? Do they really need to know him when other things are more pressing, and life itself is threatened?  

Christians and Catholics find our purpose in Jesus. He is the apostle who comes from God with the assurances of purpose, meaning, destiny, and boundless mercy. He is the truth which anchors our life within a world which may be confusing but is both purposeful and real. We believe the universe was created. It doesn't merely exist and didn't simply happen. The created universe gives glory to God, and we find meaning, satisfaction, and delight in praising our Creator. 

That joy is all the more complete because we have seen the light of mercy penetrate the depths of our sin. If we were appalled as we peered into that darkness, we were also relieved and heartened by the mercy which shines like a candle in a subterranean cavern. The darkness was rendered powerless by the cross. 

The faithful also know that, without the Lord, human wisdom, ingenuity, and cleverness cannot outwit human evil. We need a savior. And to save us, he must die for us. 

Knowing the Lord, his supreme generosity, eager courage, and perfect devotion to his Father and his mission, how can I keep from singing? 

Today's brief gospel selection concludes with Jesus's statement: 

Everything that the Father has is mine; for this reason I told you that he will take from what is mine and declare it to you.

We have been given Everything. Our lives, our children's lives, and our planet are in our hands. We are responsible for the world we have made. The Gospel, too, is in our hands. We must not fail to speak it in the silence of our world; we must place our light on a lamp stand where it will be seen by all in the house.  We cannot fail because the Word of God does not fail:

...just as from the heavens
the rain and snow come down
And do not return there
till they have watered the earth,
making it fertile and fruitful,
Giving seed to the one who sows
and bread to the one who eats,
So shall my word be
that goes forth from my mouth;
It shall not return to me empty,
but shall do what pleases me,
achieving the end for which I sent it. Isaiah 55:10

Tuesday of the Sixth Week of Easter

The spillway at MSF after a heavy rain

Lectionary: 292

...because I told you this, grief has filled your hearts.
But I tell you the truth, it is better for you that I go.
For if I do not go, the Advocate will not come to you.
But if I go, I will send him to you.

When the Lord rose from the dead, his intent was not to prove there is an afterlife, or even that his goodness has triumphed over sin and death. His mission was to send his disciples on a mission to the farthest corners of the world. They should announce the Good News of God's kingdom, of his sovereignty over sin and death. They should demonstrate the freedom and joy of the gospel: a freedom which cannot be chained or imprisoned, and a joy which knows no fear. 

They should not grieve over his absence. And, remarkably, we find in the New Testament no nostalgia for the good old days when Jesus walked on water and fed the five thousand. Neither the eye witnesses of the gospel nor the second generation missionaries like Saint Paul expressed any regret about a missed opportunity. They had the testimony of the Spirit, and the Word of God, and that was proof enough for them. 

The Sacraments, especially the Eucharist, restore daily that newness and freshness. As we break the bread and drink the cup we know the Lord is present. Our conviction is sure and our mission is clear. Any Christian who hears the old spiritual question, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord," answers with complete confidence and utter simplicity of heart, "I was there; we were there. I remember; we have not forgotten." 

We know grief. We know its weight and depth and solid reality. But our faith enables us to engage and express our grief, for we know that we shall rise again after we have been enfeebled and prostrate. Without that hope-filled expectation, we might not let ourselves fall low enough to know real grief. That sadness never goes away. Whether we're grieving the loss of a loved one, the crucifixion of Jesus, or the harm our sins have done, we don't expect it to disappear. Rather, we learn to live with it and rejoice above it. Sad and dark memories are illuminated by hope, especially as we find comfort in the company of loved ones. Regret becomes wisdom when we share our stories and others find inspiration in them. 

Jesus describes that wisdom as an advocate who witnesses on our behalf before the Eternal Judge. Although God knows our sins and his judgments are severe, the Advocate speaks for us. He testifies to our innocence restored, and the merit of our good deeds. They have not only atoned for the past; they have integrated the horror of our sins into the gladness of a Gospel story. Just as no gospel is true without a crucifixion, so our lives have no meaning until our sins have been acknowledged, confessed, and atoned. As the ancient Fathers of the Church testify, there is no shadow in the cross. 

The Church ponders the Acts of the Apostles throughout the fifty days from Easter to Pentecost. We remember the courage, joy, and wisdom of the Apostolic Church, and pray that our faithful witness will be as radiant as theirs.