Memorial of Saint Jerome, Priest and Doctor of the Church

 Lectionary: 455

"Naked I came forth from my mother's womb, and naked shall I go back again.
The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD!"

In all this Job did not sin, nor did he say anything disrespectful of God.

Job's initial response to his troubles have been described as stoic, as if he had philosophically steeled himself to life's difficulties, and found nobility in his silent suffering. Philosophers of a similar mindset admire that kind of courage and would emulate it. 

But stoicism ignores the overall gist of the Book of Job, which points to the LORD's sovereign rule and Job's acquiescence. "Life Happens" does not recognize, or even admit, the Hand of God in human affairs.

Scholars tell us Job is the most complex book in the Bible. It comprises several different documents, written by several different authors, and probably pieced together by more than a few editors. The initial story of Job's trials is followed by more than thirty chapters of his arguments with the sages who said he should quit complaining and accept his punishment. 

Not many readers are satisfied with the denouement of the last chapters when the LORD rebukes Job's complaints and then rewards his piety. They argue that Job's complaints remain unanswered, and are unanswerable. 

But most readers recognize the wisdom of the proverb, ""Naked I came forth from my mother's womb, and naked shall I go back again. The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD!" Plus a second proverb heard in the second chapter, "We accept good things from God; should we not accept evil?" 

Job's remarks find resonance in the Lord's parable of the wealthy farmer who paid his laborers the same agreed-upon amount whether they'd worked all day or only a few hours. In that story, the landowner replied to only one laborer, "What if I wish to give this last one the same as you? Am I not free to do as I wish with my own money? Are you envious because I am generous?’

And finally, Jesus transforms Job's apparent resignation into an enthusiastic response to life's sufferings. His attitude reflects a kind of resurrection, as if he died to himself long before his death on the cross. 

Saint Francis, whose feast day is three days away, also demonstrated a joyful acceptance of pain and suffering as he composed his Canticle of the Sun during the last months of his life. He had practiced with all the enthusiasm of an Olympic athlete, for the test of his final days. Despite his painful blindness and the constant ache of the wounds on his hands, feet, and side, and his body so damaged by his medieval asceticism, he submersed himself among the creatures of the universe -- the sun, moon and stars, earth, wind, water, and fire, and the staggering mystery of death -- and sang, 

Most High, all-powerful, good Lord,

Yours are the praises, the glory, the honor, and all blessings.

To You alone, Most High, do they belong,

and no man is worthy to mention Your name.

Stoics hope their courage will be praised; they do not praise God with enthusiasm.  Their resignation falls far short of gratitude, joy, and delight in the presence of God. Nor does anyone simply change their attitude and adopt that of Jesus and Francis and innumerable saints. Rather, we practice it as life offers many opportunities for satisfaction in disappointment, gratitude in grief, and modesty in success. In all things we remember that He is all. 

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 137

If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off...
And if your foot causes you to sin, cut if off...
And if your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out....

As a chaplain in the VA hospital I met more than a few patients waiting for the surgical amputation of toes, feet, and limbs. Few were reluctant. Severe, relentless pain had persuaded them the time had come. 

But Americans don't like to amputate their rights. We are continually told we can have whatever we want without sacrifice, and without discipline. "You have a right to it; you deserve it, you have earned it, we want you to have this!" And then a doctor comes into our rooms and says, "We'll have to amputate." Or, "Here's the best therapy we can offer under the circumstances." 

In the spiritual discussions I conducted with Veterans in the VA, in the substance abuse rehab program, I often asked the Veterans, "What do you want freedom from? And, "What do you want freedom for?" Everyone answered the first question easily. They wanted freedom from alcoholism and drug addiction. But what did they want to do with their freedom? 

Most answered they wanted the freedom to do what they want. That's all they wanted. But I would remind them, "That's why you're here! You wanted alcohol, and you wanted drugs, and you got what you wanted! Why do you want to be free? What will you do with your freedom? If freedom is doing what you want, you will come back to rehab continually."

Some, when pressed, would answer they wanted to be there for their wives and children; but they were not the majority. Many had been pursuing their own needs, desires, and impulses for so long, they could think of nothing else. Their freedom was aimless, without purpose or meaning. And their people had given up on them a long time ago. 

Freedom comes with a price. It often entails a series of amputations. I enjoyed smoking pipes for many years. I never felt like I was addicted; I didn't need the substance, but I enjoyed it occasionally. Tobacco is not evil. But the day came when I knew it was time to let it go. I took several pipes, a package of pipe cleaners, an expensive pipe lighter, and some old dry tobacco; and threw the whole package in a dumpster. I knew I would regret it, and I do. But I regret the loss of many things, good and bad. So what? 

I say, "It was good while it lasted." I used to enjoy jogging too, and tennis and racquetball. I won't even try pickle-ball. My back won't take the pounding; it was good while it lasted. 

Saint Paul described the sacrifice with less graphic language:

When I was a child, I used to talk as a child, think as a child, reason as a child; when I became a man, I put aside childish things. (I Cor 13: 11)

As we follow the Lord to Calvary we learn to carry less stuff. We let go of material things, and opinions, attitudes, resentments, and habits that no longer serve our purposes or God's. We prepare for that day as we remember the words of the wise man: 

Naked I came forth from the womb, and naked I shall return again. We accept good things from the Lord, and should we not accept the bad. The Lord gives, the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord. 

Saturday of the Twenty-Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Filipino martyrs in Japan

 Lectionary: 454

Remember your Creator in the days of your,
before the evil days come
And the years approach of which you will say,
I have no pleasure in them;
Before the sun is darkened....

For the amusement of young listeners and the thoughtful consideration of older folks, Qoheleth poetically lists the complaints of old age, including his failing eyesight, weak arms and hands, stooped back, useless teeth -- those few remaining -- and poor hearing. The "caper berry without effect" -- for those who are curious -- might be supplanted with Viagra. 

I remember a dear old friend. At 97, the man who had been very tall and tipped the scales at 300 pounds was bent and thin. He said he was only comfortable when he lay in bed. 

Facing 76 next month, I should have no complaints; I am alive after all, and I know many my age who aren't. But I can grumble like Qoheleth, and then be edified by today's patron saint, the young Filipino martyr who died in Japan. 

The poet concludes his lament with, 

...the dust returns to the earth as it once was,

and the life breath returns to God who gave it.

Vanity of vanities, says Qoheleth,

all things are vanity!

But I also draw inspiration from Eleazar, the old man in 2 Maccabees. Threatened with death if he did not eat pork, he refused. When his tormentors offered a compromise for the sake of his old age -- he could pretend to eat pork while eating something else -- he still refused. He would not give scandal to the young Jews who might suppose he had betrayed his faith for the sake a few more years. 

At our age it would be unbecoming to make such a pretense; many of the young would think the ninety-year-old Eleazar had gone over to an alien religion.

If I dissemble to gain a brief moment of life, they would be led astray by me, while I would bring defilement and dishonor on my old age.

Even if, for the time being, I avoid human punishment, I shall never, whether alive or dead, escape the hand of the Almighty.

Therefore, by bravely giving up life now, I will prove myself worthy of my old age,

and I will leave to the young a noble example of how to die willingly and nobly for the revered and holy laws.” (2 Maccabees 6:24-28) (The divine author of the four Maccabees chronicles was rather prolix.) 

Today the world faces an epidemic of suicide, especially among the young. This is a choice which should not be considered, and is never necessary. It's not on the table for the Lord's disciples. But many young people, scandalized by the suicide of a grandparent and suffering a romantic breakup or a failing grade, take their own lives. That should not happen, and the blame is partially on the cowardly elder who should have set an example of courage and patience for his grandchildren. 

We might mumble, "Vanity of vanities, all things are vanity" as we rouse our weary flesh and disturb our noisy knee, back, and elbow joints in the morning but in obedience we can still Rise and Shine! for the young who need to see our love of life and delight in serving God. 

I hear the young saying to one another, "Get over yourself!" We were told a long time ago, that we must take up our crosses daily and follow in his steps. And the same Lord would certainly tell Qoheleth and his sympathizers, "Get over yourself!"

Memorial of Saint Vincent de Paul, Priest

Lectionary: 453

He has made everything appropriate to its time,
and has put the timeless into their hearts,
without man’s ever discovering,
from beginning to end, the work which God has done.

Time weighs heavily, and sometimes treads heavily upon us as we witness its inevitable, irreversible passage. There are moments, blessedly rare but precious nonetheless, when we wish time would stop for a while. "Please, just stop! And let's stay here for a while, and not go anywhere, and not do anything but be here and breathe and let it be."

I think of that moment when Jesus said to the woman at the well, “I am he, the one who is speaking with you." There should have been a moment, a caesura, when they both gazed at each other and wondered, "What just happened?" That saw one another, and they saw themselves together; and like God in the beginning, they knew that what they were seeing is good. 

Saint John says, "At that moment his disciples returned...." But perhaps the moment was long. Perhaps it was ten minutes, or thirty, or an hour. For that moment the Lord gazed upon his people with love and affection and delight; and his people wondered that they could be so loved, and admired, and trusted with a knowledge of an infinite moment in time. But she did not think such thoughts, for that is time consuming, but they -- she -- simply wondered. 

Saint John also says, "...and they (the disciples) were amazed..." They too were caught in wonder though they read it differently. "Where did she come from?" some thought. And others, "Oh Lord, You can't be seen with her!" 

But, the evangelist adds, "...no one said, “What are you looking for?” or “Why are you talking with her?” They were in awe of the Master to start with; perhaps they knew something sacred has happened, or is happening, and they just waited in respectful silence. Until, finally, "The woman left her water jar and went into the town."

Whatever had happened had passed, and the moment was gone forever. But it wasn't gone because it was an eternal moment and the Lord and his people remember it, and return to it often, even to this day. 

As Qoheleth said in today's first reading, "He has put the timeless in our hearts." Moments of timelessness are clearly God's gifts. He gives them to human beings, and we are capable of receiving them. They seem fragile, and so brief, but we never forget them and return to them occasionally. 

They remain especially for those who grieve the passing of a loved one. We don't get over grief; we don't even want to. We live with it, and grow to love it though it came like an intrusion. And grief invites us to go back and revisit our loved ones in those sacred moments, and wait there for their return. For the resurrection of the dead. For the bliss that was and remains and is promised to us. 

Thursday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 452

“John I beheaded. Who then is this about whom I hear such things?”
And he kept trying to see him.

Herod, tetrarch of Galilee and nephew of King Herod, raises the question which demands an answer. Having raised the question, Saint Luke presents several answers.

The crowds say he is “John the Baptist; others, Elijah; still others, ‘One of the ancient prophets has arisen.’ 

They are correct in identifying Jesus as a prophet. But their notion of prophets is stuck in the past. They suppose he is a dead man returned: John the Baptist (recently executed); Elijah, the ninth century BC prophet spirited into heaven on a fiery chariot; or another ancient prophet. 

Peter, speaking for the disciples, eagerly declares, “The Messiah of God." Good! Very Good! But he has much to learn. Like popular understandings of prophets, Peters's preconceptions about the Messiah are badly conceived. 

When Jesus replies to Peter, he names himself as "the Son of Man," a title he clearly prefers. The expression appears 28 times in Saint Luke's work; the last time being as Saint Stephen dies, “Behold, I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God.” Son of Man refers to the prophet Ezekiel. But it's also describes the man who appears as one standing before Almighty God in the Book of Daniel. Oppressed by foreign invaders, the people of Israel could hope for:

One like a son of man
When he reached the Ancient of Days
and was presented before him,
He received dominion, splendor, and kingship;
all nations, peoples and tongues will serve him.
His dominion is an everlasting dominion
that shall not pass away,
his kingship, one that shall not be destroyed.

"Who then is this about whom I hear such things?” The question is existential; and the answer we give defines our existence. Jesus is more than a prophet. And those who know the One-who-is-sent are themselves sent to the nations. Peter's response sets us apart from the rest of humankind and assigns us a role and responsibility.  

"...you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, throughout Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

But before we set out we must receive the Spirit, and that will come with disappointment, satisfaction, elation, and more understanding. It concerns both the Lord's and our identity; and its best description is found in Jesus's prophetic words, 

The Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed and on the third day be raised.

The disciples seem to think Jesus is talking nonsense. Is he kidding us? He must be speaking metaphorically, and probably hyperbolically. He can't be serious! 

But if we don't want to know what he is saying, it's because this is an existential question. It's answer involves us, and it will cost us. As Jesus explains, 

"If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it."

I find reassurance and challenge in his word, daily. We live this identity day by day, and daily life rarely comes to a life-and-death crisis. We're not action heroes who face death in mortal combat and survive fifty times a day. But we do make that many decisions every day, and they concern our identity. What kind of person am I? Am I acting like one who believes in Jesus, or like someone whose life belongs to something or someone else? 

Readers familiar with Saint Mark's sandwich motif might have suspected Saint Luke was setting the same device in this ninth chapter incident. Many things will occur before it is resolved, and Herod's curiosity will not be satisfied until the 23rd chapter: 

Herod was very glad to see Jesus; he had been wanting to see him for a long time, for he had heard about him and had been hoping to see him perform some sign.
He questioned him at length, but he gave him no answer.
The chief priests and scribes, meanwhile, stood by accusing him harshly.
[Even] Herod and his soldiers treated him contemptuously and mocked him, and after clothing him in resplendent garb, he sent him back to Pilate.
Herod and Pilate became friends that very day, even though they had been enemies formerly. Luke 23:8-12

 

 

Wednesday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 451

Two things I ask of you,
deny them not to me before I die:
Put falsehood and lying far from me,
give me neither poverty nor riches;
provide me only with the food I need;
Lest, being full, I deny you,
saying, "Who is the LORD?"
Or, being in want, I steal,
and profane the name of my God.

Christians find the Gospel with references to Jesus, the Holy Spirit, the Church, the Sacraments, Mary, and many others in all the books of the Old Testament. And we also find the wisdom and good sense that is common to our human nature and basic decency. 

The Book of Proverbs shows little of the apocalyptic anxiety and expectation which pervade the New Testament. It presents the Jewish and gentile wisdom of any and all nations. Some of its sayings might predate Abraham. The scholars who collected them listened to seaborne merchants from all parts of the Mediterranean basin, and to nomadic traders from all parts of Asia and Africa. Jerusalem was on the road to just about anywhere. There were also peripatetic wise men who wandered from capital to capital, looking to found schools where they might teach the young. 

Proverbs received the best sayings, adages, and proverbs that the world had to offer. Despite the rants and accusations of the Hebrew prophets, the Jewish religion believed in the essential goodness of these poor, bare, forked animals created in God's image. 

Put falsehood and lying far from me. 

Anyone of good sense would agree with today's first plea, whether it's addressed to God, one's neighbor, children, or spouse. Please, just tell me the truth as you understand it, simply and without exaggeration, spin, slant, or bias. It's impossible to make good choices with bad information. Nothing good can come of falsehood and lying. 

Granted that the truth can destroy even entrenched, systemic falsehoods that may be incorporated into the policies, laws, and infrastructure of our daily life, we're better off knowing the truth. We can take down the "whites only" signs when we recognize the basic dignity of every human being, regardless of the cost. While it's true that many of our children are profoundly confused by the mixed messages of a desperate, consumer economy, and that women have been ill served by a violent, power-hungry culture, they won't be better served by an ideology: "Put falsehood and lying far from me."

...give me neither poverty nor riches;
provide me only with the food I need;

We do well to recognize the contentment that many find in simplicity; and the anxiety, greed, and obsessive competitiveness which amasses great wealth. Winning isn't everything, nor is it the only thing, If winning causes rancor, resentment, and division among the parties, it's not worth it. No security accompanies inequity; it's chronically unstable and cries for justice. If the violence doesn't find you, it will find your children. Good sense knows that. 

That piece of wisdom would appreciate the more recent adage: "Hard times create strong persons; strong persons create good times; good times breed weak persons; and weak persons create hard times." 

Can we break the cycle by avoiding success, trusting others, and cultivating wisdom? It can be no worse than the mess we've made of our world. 

Tuesday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 450

He said to them in reply, “My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and act on it.”

Saint Luke has featured Mary of Galilee in his infancy narrative of Jesus of Nazareth. Her ready willingness to bear the Messiah despite her humble origins; her travels to Jerusalem to see the sign of Elizabeth's pregnancy; and her journey to Bethlehem her "bringing forth the infant" and wrapping him in swaddling cloths; her anxious search with Joseph for the errant twelve year old: all bespeak her readiness to "hear the Word of God and act on it." 

The Evangelist offers Mary as the model of discipleship, one to admire and emulate. We too should become Christ-bearers (Christophers) and God-bearers (Theotokos.) By our attitudes, words, and deeds we bring forth the Savior and share him with others. We are as eager to speak of him as any mother is to speak of her child. No matter what may be said or reputed of her children, a mother believes in them and knows their tender fidelity to her. We know the Lord in the same way. 

As Catholics we learn to bring the same consideration, regard, and tender patience that we've practice with our parents to the Church. Although many Americans go through a stage of rebellion -- it's a cultural thing and not innate -- as adults we put that behind us. We bear patiently with our leadership, and regard skeptically whatever is reported of the Church in the secular press. (They have their own issues and axes to grind, and must sell their stories regardless of their accuracy.) We can no more distance ourselves from Church than we can disown our parents. 

These bonds are our faith; they are the Spirit which bind the Lord to his Church, and God the Father to God the Son. That spirit does not shop for churches or the priest and deacons who spoon feed us with palatable, reassuring messages. We hear the Word of God first from the lector who reads the Scriptures, and secondly from the homilist. 

Should anyone in the Church evince uneasy feelings about their reliability or integrity, especially around children or vulnerable adults, we show the same concern as we would for a parent or relative. The Spirit of fidelity will not let us dismiss these concerns. If it seems necessary, we can approach ecclesial or civil authorities about those suspicions. 

Saint Luke knew and worked with Saint Paul; both Apostles understand that every human being belongs to a family. Although Paul wrote nothing about his own parents or family, he demonstrated a paternal regard for his disciples and their families, and for Aquila and Priscilla and several other married couples. The Church has never suffered the American belief in individualism. 

If some people must escape their families to find salvation in the Church, we provide them with a new family, and eagerly introduce them to "my mother and my brothers and sisters who hear the word of God and act on it."

Memorial of Padre Pio (Pius of Pietrelcina) Priest

Lectionary: 449

Take care, then, how you hear.

Christians begin each day with prayer. We expect to meet any number of opportunities, challenges, and problems amid a tsunami of information, and so we ask the Lord to give us a discerning mind and heart. We will have to sort out the irrelevant; decide yes or no about the pressing; and not yes about what may require a decision later. 

We must take care how we hear. We're selective about our speaking, listening, looking, reading, and intuitions. Even our thinking is subject to Grace, which may steer us away from certain thoughts. "Garbage in; garbage out." We avoid both. 

It helps to hear that battle cry of the Lord as he faces our enemies, "Be still and know that I am God; supreme among the nations; supreme on the earth." (Ps 46:11) We cultivate stillness in our hearts. 

We take our position behind the Lord like Naomi Watts, in the part of Ann Darrow, when she found her comfort zone behind King Kong while he fought the giant lizard. It's just better there. 

Or as my preacher friend said in Louisiana, "When the Lord needs me to defend him, we'll all be in very serious trouble." We can choose our battles, and retreat from most of them. 

There is also helpful advice in today's gospel concerning privacy. 

For there is nothing hidden that will not become visible,

and nothing secret that will not be known and come to light.

Privacy is one of those man-made rights that have appeared in modern times. It represents the expectation most people have about their life amid the giant apes and lizards of governments and corporations. We should be able to opt out of their intrusions when we're minding our own business. They should not be imposing themselves on us continually since they are -- essentially -- only conglomerates of other human beings with their own interests, needs, and fears. The federal government -- which represents me and several million others -- may have a legitimate interest in my gun -- if I had a gun, which I don't -- but should not search my closet for it. 

But concerning privacy, the Lord frankly warns us, "Every story will be told sooner or later. There is nothing hidden that will not become visible." Can you imagine someone stepping into the Lord's scenario in Matthew 25:31 -- the Judgment Scene -- and saying, "Now just one minute, Sir! You're invading my privacy?" I don't think so. 

So live your private life with the same scrupulous concern that you present to the public. In the long run there is no difference. Public and private are human coinage and neither is worth a huge investment. 

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 134

But they did not understand the saying,
and they were afraid to question him.
They came to Capernaum and, once inside the house, he began to ask them,
“What were you arguing about on the way?”
But they remained silent.

If the Gospels had been written from the perspective of the apostles and disciples of Jesus we might call them Clueless. The Lord's followers really did not get it at any point during his ministry, and only began to understand after his Resurrection. But even that understanding did not come over them like a realization of "Oh my God, yes, of course! I should have seen it all along but couldn't figure it out!" 

They didn't know it all along, nor did his resurrection suddenly explain everything. All four gospels describe the Lord's disciples as slow to understand the mysteries of God; and even after his resurrection they could not believe what they were seeing. Our faith has mysteries on mysteries that are not solved like an old fashioned whodunit. 

And it's not because they were stupid. It's because they did not want to understand. Despite their best intentions, there were dark places in their hearts and minds, and within their habits, customs, cultures, systems, policies, laws, and institutions that did not want to see the light of truth. 

Why are the disciples silent about their conversation on the way to Capernaum? They were embarrassed. They could answer his question but they didn't want to. 

Jesus heard them quarreling about which of them is, or should be, the greatest. They knew he disapproved of that conversation; but they could not imagine why. Perhaps he didn’t like that kind of talk because it meant he would die, or go away; and someone would take his place. Perhaps the Master, like most people, didn’t want to think about surrendering power, or his own death. 

But the mystery of Jesus was far beyond their comprehension. Although Peter had spoken for them all when he said, “You are the Messiah,” they had never asked, "What price will the Messiah pay for his authority to heal, teach, and save his people. Nor had any of the disciples asked what “What price will I pay when his authority to heal, teach, and save is handed over to me?”

They had heard him say 

“The Son of Man is to be handed over to men

and they will kill him,

and three days after his death the Son of Man will rise.”

They didn't believe it. Regardless of the conviction and authority with which he spoke – an authority they'd seen tested and proven on many occasions – they didn't believe it. It seemed to make no sense. 

First of all, power does not relinquish power. Whoever heard of a powerful man in the prime of his vitality and youth, at the height of his power, mastery, and popularity, surrendering his authority and walking away from it? Quite the contrary, power plans, schemes manipulates, threatens, cajoles, promises, and works continually to get more power. It watches allies and enemies for any sign that they might threaten its power. Dictators routinely murder their own henchmen and surround themselves with sycophants to cement their position. If anyone is foolish enough to think or say he'll take the boss’s place some day, he dies, by accident, or firing squad, or suicide.

That's the way it's always been and the Lord's disciples knew that. They had seen their own fathers and grandfathers lord it over their families; rabbis lord it over their synagogues, and priests pontificating in the temple. They watched Roman governors disappear political enemies, and centurions punish their own soldiers. The disciples never doubted what everybody knew. Power does not surrender power. Why should Jesus be any different?

So when Jesus spoke of being arrested, tried, tortured, and crucified upon arriving in Jerusalem, he was either talking nonsense or metaphorically about something else that would happen. He could not mean he was going to Jerusalem to die.  

Patiently, Jesus explained it to them in the simplest possible terms. 

“If anyone wishes to be first,

he shall be the last of all and the servant of all.”

Taking a child, he placed it in their midst,

and putting his arms around it, he said to them,

“Whoever receives one child such as this in my name, receives me;

and whoever receives me,

receives not me but the One who sent me.”

If you would be powerful in the manner of Jesus Christ, you aspire to be the last of all and the servant of all. 

Several years ago, when I was in a retreat house in Prior Lake, MN, our guardian announced he was leaving and would be replaced. I wondered if I should ask for the position, and I spoke with my spiritual director about it. She had been the abbess of her small monastery – perhaps a dozen women – and she told me, “Ken, leadership is nothing but a cross.” 

Fortunately, I was passed over on that occasion, but I had to pay my dues later on – when I did become a pastor in Louisiana, and the director of retreats in Minnesota. It was nothing but a cross. No glory, no extra pay, no perks, not much gratitude, and even less satisfaction. 

Saint Francis taught his friars about leadership. He said a leader should be like a corpse. You can lift it out of its coffin, put a ring on his finger, a robe on his shoulders, and a crown on his head. You can place him on a throne, and have everyone sing praises about how wonderful he is; but he is no happier with all that nonsense than when you left him alone in this coffin. Francis knew that from personal experience. 

“If anyone wishes to be first,

he shall be the last of all and the servant of all.”

The price of leadership is everything you think you own, believe, or control; every right, privilege, perk, and presumption. It costs your soul, but it has its rewards; they're called good; not fun, pleasure, or privilege. It’s a good thing. 

Young parents reluctantly discover they cannot be children anymore; it’s their children’s turn to be children, and they must be adults. Parents of teenagers must guide, discipline, and sometimes oppose the sharpest, fastest, most savage device in the entire universe – a teenager’s brain – with nothing more than their limited experience and common sense; and they cannot renege on that responsibility. They must be more adult than young adults. That’s a good thing, and goodness is its own reward.

The disciples, when they died, were not clueless. They understood that the cross with its disappointment, suffering, and sadness is a good thing. Glory comes with the Lord’s resurrection, and we can wait for that. It will come after a crucifixion. 

Feast of Saint Matthew, Apostle and Evangelist

Lectionary: 643

I, a prisoner for the Lord,
urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received,
with all humility and gentleness, with patience,
bearing with one another through love,
striving to preserve the unity of the Spirit
through the bond of peace....

Amid all the presentations of critical analysis about the settings of the New Testament authors, their situations, audiences, and so forth, I don't remember much about the Roman jail. I don't suppose it was a very pleasant place although it was apparently more open to the public's coming and going than the county and city jails I've visited in the US. I understand that the prisoners depended upon their friends and family to bring them food and provisions. Someone provided Saint Paul also with pen and ink and then managed to deliver his letters to the many cities he addressed. 

But he surely mastered the art of living with "humility and gentleness, and patience, bearing with one another through love, (and) striving to preserve the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace" among the rough characters in the prison gang. They had to get along with each other somehow, just as prisoners do today. 

When I visited the jails in Louisiana, finding some familiar neighbors and parishioners, I didn't hear many complaints about their companions. It was noisy, with televisions and radios blaring, and no sound absorption whatsoever; but they were used to noise at home. They complained about being in there, and many sorely missed their families. But the locals knew each other well, and most of them had been there before. They might have welcomed a sociable, intelligent, and well-traveled comrade like Saint Paul. 

And he brought the skills he'd learned in church to the jail. They were just as varied a lot as any congregation. Many were related to one another -- so you don't say nothing about nobody. Some were educated, many were illiterate. (Most Christians and Catholics can read but don't, which amounts to the same thing -- illiterate.) Some were interested in the new guy; others avoided strangers. You go along to get along. 

Churches are different from jails mainly for their apostles. Where the prisoners are sent to jail, the pastors are sent to their parishes. (The word apostle means sent.) Today we celebrate Saint Matthew, while we read Saint Paul's letter. Apostles form the nucleus of the church as we receive the Word of God from them. We gather close enough to hear them speak, and to know them as fellow human beings. 

There is no church without people and apostles are people too. We get used to their accents, mannerisms, prejudices, and expectations. We pay attention to their likes and dislikes even as we eagerly soak up from them whatever they have to say about the Lord, his saints, his Church, and his teachings. And it's often necessary that we understand their shortcomings. Nobody's perfect; we're all vessels of clay. We care about those sent to us, and sometimes care for them. I see a lot of that caring as my aging companions retire into positions of assistant pastor or pastor emeritus. Saint Paul never retired but he did need a lot of assistance while he was jailed, and he had at least one health crisis, apparently about his eyes. 

The Catholic Churches repeatedly celebrates the apostles. Our faith is built on their credibility, because they provided the connection of virtually all believers to the ministry, teaching, and story of Jesus. He commanded them to "Do this in memory of me!" We would not do that had they not kept faith. His memory and its saving impact would be totally lost. We still depend upon the credibility of those sent to our parishes, schools, hospitals, and jails. 

The many feast days of apostles also remind us that, to be faithful, we must be faithful to them and to one another. No one knows the Lord in isolation. We too must 

...live in a manner worthy of the call (we) have received, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love, striving to preserve the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace....

Memorial of Saints Andrew Kim Tae-gŏn, Priest, and Paul Chŏng Ha-sang, and Companions, Martyrs

Lectionary: 447

If Christ is preached as raised from the dead,
how can some among you say there is no resurrection of the dead?
If there is no resurrection of the dead,
then neither has Christ been raised.
And if Christ has not been raised, then empty too is our preaching;
empty, too, your faith.

In a recent conversation with a fellow priest, we both admitted that we find little interest among the laity for eternal life, heaven, the resurrection of the dead, or "the hereafter." Not many families want a Mass for their loved ones; it's not unusual that devout elderly persons who attended Mass daily are not honored with a funeral Mass. Their children, "former Catholics," are willing to pay for only memorial and graveside services. I've sometimes conducted the only service for deceased persons, at the graveside, with one or two others; and we didn't know the deceased well. 

On the other hand, I do remember one fellow who was overwhelmed with grief and practically begged me to assure him there would be a resurrection from the dead -- for his dog. He said the passing of his parents and other relatives had not crushed him as much as the loss of a pet. 

Heaven and hell are the settings for many jokes and occasional skits, short videos, TV programs, and movies. They are described vaguely with clouds or dark, overheated caverns. But -- despite our weekly assertion that we believe in "the resurrection of the body and life everlasting" -- the modern imagination cannot comprehend endless living as a human body. The body we know with all its disabilities and limits does not lend itself to that scenario. Nor can we envision a risen body which is freed of those restrictions but nonetheless human, gendered, and subject to the cycles of day and night. Given their constant feeding at the heavenly banquet, and singing God's praises when their mouths aren't full, do the saints ever sleep? 

We rely on the scriptures, especially the Letters of Saint Paul and Revelation, to insist upon some form of endless life-after-death. The Apostle insists, 

"If there is no resurrection of the dead, then neither has Christ been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, then empty too is our preaching; empty, too, your faith."

The Catholic practice of venerating saints and martyrs, and calling upon their patronage when we pray, reminds us of eternal life. Some, like Saint Therese of Liseux, have promised to spend their eternity praying for us. Christians in Rome urged their martyrs-to-be to greet their loved ones on the other side. I've not encountered that practice among my fellow Catholics, though I personally requested it of dying Veterans when I was a chaplain in the Louisville VA hospital. 

And yet few of us can imagine ourselves dead, or our loved ones surviving us. Asked if Vladimir Putin is grooming a successor, a Russian reporter said, "He doesn't intend to die." 

Perhaps many people find this life endlessly dreary, boring, and uninteresting; and so they prefer not to think of an endless resumption of the same monotony on the other side. They're satisfied with the good life they've had, and their accomplishments, such as they were. They regret some things, of course, but regret does not summarize their life or experience. Some might say they're ready to discover further adventure.

Personally, I suppose we'll still need the courage to be. The American theologian Paul Tillich described God as One who defies Nothingness by his being, and out of that defiance the universe is created. But God's defiance is loving and generous, not angry. (Anger would not suffice.) God dares to be happy, and dares to share his happiness with his creation -- superabundantly! But nothingness does not disappear, and it haunts his creation with the specter of death, annihilation, and pointless futility. 

Human beings, unlike all other creatures, know of nothingness; we apprehend death though we cannot comprehend it. It's there; it's real; we're helpless before it. But we can hope, and our Christian belief in the Resurrection of Jesus grounds our hope. If he was not raised, then neither will we be raised up. And if we're not raised up to eternity, then why do we even bother to live? (And it is often a bother!) 

God gives us the courage -- call it the Holy Spirit -- to live, love, and laugh in the face of death, and before the prospect of endless death. God gives us the courage to risk, lose, and sacrifice even our own lives, if it comes to that. As the martyrs have done; as Our Lord has done. In obedience to the Courageous Spirit of God, we live, and move, and have our being. And it is good. 

Thursday of the Twenty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 446

When I entered your house, you did not give me water for my feet,
but she has bathed them with her tears...
So I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven; hence, she has shown great love.
But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.

Everyone who takes our faith seriously discovers the wonder, joy, and privilege of knowing the Lord through the mysteries of our Christian religion. They are "open secrets;" but that's an oxymoron.

Our faith is not common sense, which is something everyone in a given culture with little knowledge of history knows. Common sense remembers little more than what a person learned from others during one short life span. But our faith has a much longer, far more complex history. 

Nor does our faith agree with every doctrine of all religions. Since reading Steven Prothero's God is not One,The Eight Rival Religions That Run the World, I don't believe there is a common definition of religion; much less one belief or attitude to bind them all. "Spirituality," whatever that is, is not a universal belief.

Given the challenge of continually learning about our Catholic faith, and the satisfaction that comes with that investment of time and energy, we're apt to look askance at those spiritual consumers and cafeteria Catholics who presume to make themselves right at home in the church. Some of them would define the undefined, explain the inexplicable, and unscrew the inscrutable -- to the wonder of some and the amusement of others. 

But deeper understanding of our faith also comes with its dangers, as today's gospel suggests. The Pharisee who graciously welcomed Jesus to his home and board, and appeared eager to learn more of the Teacher's doctrine, was evidently not prepared for what the Lord taught him. He was upset when a woman with a seedy reputation crashed the evening with her display of emotional piety. He had heard of the Teacher's wisdom and prophetic insight, but Jesus didn't seem to know what everyone knew. Nor was the Lord's nose repelled by the atmosphere that accompanied her. Rather, he welcomed the intruder with every sign of gracious kindness. 

Under such circumstances, most respectable congregations would utter an audible Harrumph. Someone might say, "This won't do!" loudly enough to be heard by the leaders. 

But the Lord is nothing if not a prophet, and the woman is obviously responding to the Lord under the influence of a prophetic spirit. She may be, despite her reputation, a prophetess like several other women in Luke's Gospel. 

The Pharisee who thinks he knows something of our religion must be prepared to listen. And, fortunately, he steps up to the challenge. When Jesus said, “Simon, I have something to say to you.” he replies, “Tell me, teacher!” 

He goes beyond that and plays the part of Plato's Hippias to Jesus's Socrates. When the Lord poses a riddle, he answers with common sense. And Jesus affirms his answer but reads it into the immediate crisis, as he says, "Do you see this woman? I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven; hence, she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little." 

Becoming a Catholic is a lifelong, endless process. It is not like reading and comprehending an encyclopedia from A to Z; nor is it the skills of a craftsman who is always learning to use new and better tools, and sometimes creating his own. Rather, the Lord's mysteries draw us into those dark, guarded places within our hearts that discourage willingness and scorn curiosity. We may want to know the Lord but we don't want to know the enormity of our own sin. 

If the prophet in this story doesn't reveal it, the prophetess does. Nor will she be denied. Shoved from the room, she would leave a soupçon of her presence. 

Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway was disappointed that news of Septimus' suicide -- a man she had never met and had no interest in -- had disturbed her dinner party. She had spent the entire day preparing for it, right down to the careful choice and placement of flowers, and the story was like a rank odor. Why should someone else's tragedy be her concern? 

"Life," as John Lennon said, "is what happens when you're busy making other plans." 

Grace teaches us to be gracious hosts to intrusions. Because, very often, Truth is intrusive. 

 

Wednesday of the Twenty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 445

Love is patient, love is kind.
It is not jealous, love is not pompous,
it is not inflated, it is not rude,
it does not seek its own interests,
it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,
it does not rejoice over wrongdoing...

By the time Saint Paul has said what love is not, I'm not sure he knows what love is. He says a lot about what it's not, and his few positive statements  --...rejoices with the truth.... bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things" -- are rather vague.

I think he'd cheerfully reply like many of us, "I know what it is when I see it." But that certainty is not always reliable as trusted loved ones fail, abandon, and betray us. Many people survive these disappointments and learn to love again. They decide with the poet, Alfred Lord Tennyson, 'T'is better to love and lose than never to love at all." 

Few believe that "Love means never having to say I'm sorry." If the Bible says anything about love it insists that we must continually say, "I am sorry for all my sins," The faithful repent, turn back to the Lord, and welcome everyone else who has also sinned and returned -- seven times a day! All four gospels begin with the preaching of Saint John the Baptist and his "baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins." Even the sinless Jesus repented because he is one of us and shares our guilt and its punishment. There is no love without atonement and forgiveness. 

When love is forced to deal with the realities of failure, abandonment, and betrayal it resolutely refuses to "brood over injury" or "rejoice over wrongdoing." But, because love embraces truth, it does not forget sin. History can be neither changed nor ignored, and it should not be forgotten, but it can be blessed. Even a cross can be a memento of sin, forgiveness, and grace.

We know that forgiveness begins with God's gracious mercy to us, and our bearing all things, believing all things, hoping all things, and enduring all things is nothing more than imitation of God's actions. In dealing with us, He has borne all things, believed all things, hoped all things, and endured all things. 

We do well to think on these things, for even the thought of God's sacrifice for us teaches us the meaning of that mysterious word, and brings us to penance. 

Franciscan Feast of the Stigmata of Saint Francis

Collect for the Feast of the Stigmata of Saint Francis:
Almighty God, you renewed the marks of the sufferings of your Son in the body of our holy Father Francis in order to inflame our hearts with the fire of your love. Through his prayers may we be conformable to the death of your Son and thus share also in his resurrection. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever.

Reading for the Stigmata of Saint Francis

From now on, let no one make troubles for me; for I bear the marks of Jesus on my body. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit, brothers. Amen.

The Catholic world had never imagined, much less seen, anyone marked literally with the wounds of Jesus. The Catholic memory carried many stories of martyrs; with rare exception all of the saints were martyred. Up till the thirteenth century there was no other way to be recognized as a real saint. But no one supposed saints would be marked with wounds on their hands, feet, and side as Jesus had been. 

When Francis received the wounds, following an extraordinary vision, he allowed no one to see them. Only a friar who acted as his personal nurse could cleanse, treat, or bind the wounds that persisted and refused to heal. He could not walk with the wounds in his feet and so he was carried about on a stretcher. Only after he died did the world discover his secret. 

But he was soon buried and his body hidden, and prelates argued whether the stories could be true. How was it possible that this man -- although he was recognized as a saint even before he died -- would be marked with the wounds of Jesus? What precedents were there? Which other saint or martyr had ever been singled out like that? 

Since then innumerable stigmatics, including Saint Pius of Pietrelcina ("Padre Pio") carried similar wounds. Some were marked for life; others, only temporarily. Some were severe; others, less so. And some described invisible stigmata. Skeptics still argue about it. Some posit a disease like leprosy, a nervous or psychosomatic disorder, or self-inflicted fake. But medieval believers were no more credulous than we are today. I prefer to be amazed with my ancestors, and I respect their intelligence and integrity as I hope they respect mine. 

Medieval scripture scholars found a precedent in Saint Paul's Letter to the Galatians. They supposed that Saint Paul was boasting of the same physical wounds on his hands, feet, and side: "...for I bear the marks of Jesus on my body." 

Saint Francis's stigmata are similar to the scars, disfigurements, and traumas of people everywhere. The main difference is their nature as a most extraordinary gift. Everyone is familiar with scars and many people have lost fingers, toes, and limbs to severe injuries; not to mention the long term effects of psychic injuries. A momentary incident can persist in the form of trauma, and millions of people describe their psychic and spiritual wounds. Doctors call it post-traumatic stress disorder. These wounded people also bear the wound marks in their minds and sometimes, like Saint Paul, boast of them. 

Francis's stigmata remind us of the Lord's insistence that his disciples must take up their cross and follow in his footsteps; and few attain the age of forty without some physical, psychic, and spiritual wounds. We too bear the brand marks of Jesus though we might be more ashamed than proud of them. We learn to share these painful memories and recognize them as the indelible signs of our human frailty. No one must have, or needs to have, a beautiful body, mind, or spirit. If we live the Imitation of Christ, we share with him the disappointment, sorrow, and persistent hurt of all humankind. 

And we are modestly grateful for them. We need not boast of them, except perhaps when someone insinuates that we have never suffered as they have. Even then, we might let it go as not pertinent. (What parent has not heard their teens complain that they were "never in love like I am," and "never suffered as I do?") 

Franciscans boast of the unprecedented stigmata of Saint Francis. Saint Bonaventure believed they were divine proof of his holiness, a "seal of approval" from God. The Assisi's body had been impressed as hot wax on a sealed document is impressed by a signet ring. 

And finally, we remember that Jesus suffered with us. Before Saint Francis, crucifixes did not depict a suffering or dead Messiah. The Poverello taught us to recognize Jesus as a man like us in all things but sin. As Isaiah had predicted, 

...it was our pain that he bore,

our sufferings he endured.

We thought of him as stricken,

struck down by God and afflicted,d

But he was pierced for our sins,

crushed for our iniquity.

He bore the punishment that makes us whole,

by his wounds we were healed. (Isaiah 53:4-5)

 

Memorial of Saints Cornelius, Pope, and Cyprian, Bishop, Martyrs

Lectionary: 443

They approached Jesus and strongly urged him to come, saying,
"He deserves to have you do this for him,
for he loves our nation and he built the synagogue for us."

Catholic spirituality understands that "grace builds on nature." They are not opposed to each other. Grace finds welcome in nature as water finds its place in a cup; they are designed for each other. 

The gentile centurion in today's gospel does not have the same access to grace as his Jewish friends, but he can use the resources he has, especially his authority as a centurion in an occupied region, and money. In the same Gospel (Saint Luke) Jesus speaks of money:

I tell you, make friends for yourselves with dishonest wealth, so that when it fails, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.

By building the synagogue for the Jews, this gentile can hope to find welcome in eternal dwellings. 

The Lord continues that useful advice:

The person who is trustworthy in very small matters is also trustworthy in great ones; and the person who is dishonest in very small matters is also dishonest in great ones.

If, therefore, you are not trustworthy with dishonest wealth, who will trust you with true wealth?

The centurion has proven himself trustworthy by his friendship of the Jewish elders and his financial support of their synagogue. Like many educated people of that time, he apparently admires the monotheism of the Jewish religion. Though it is demanding and in many ways uncompromising, it cultivates among believers a single minded integrity and essential reliability. Believers mean what they say and say what they mean; their word is better than money in the bank. As the American rabbi, scholar, and author Abraham Joshua Heschel said of the monotheist,

God is of no importance unless He is of supreme importance. A religious man is a person who holds God and man in one thought at one time, at all times, who suffers harm done to others, whose greatest passion is compassion, whose greatest strength is love and defiance of despair.

The centurion not only admires that character of Judaism, he cultivates it within himself and, presumably, among his soldiers. As the rabbis tell Jesus, "...he deserves to have you do this for him." 

There are many places in the Gospels, especially that of John, where we encounter the all-or-none demands of God. But we also find in the Bible many passages that include a "great multitude, which no one could count, from every nation, race, people, and tongue." (Revelation 7:9) The Gospel's describe the Lord's many encounters with people who don't seem to belong to him or his people, but he is hostile only toward those who oppress others with their adamantine opinions. The greatest testimonies of his divinity come from a gentile centurion and a skeptic. 

What is certain is that no one but God will determine -- on the last day and not before -- who is worthy and who is not. In the meanwhile, we let our judgments about people remain in silence until they evaporate and are lost forever.