Thursday of the Fourth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 247

“If I testify on my own behalf, my testimony is not true. But there is another who testifies on my behalf, and I know that the testimony he gives on my behalf is true. You sent emissaries to John, and he testified to the truth. I do not accept human testimony, but I say this so that you may be saved.

Who owns the truth? The question is as old as the human race, and as current as today's social media. 

The Russian state, taking a page from the American tobacco industry, discovered they could control millions of people by simply denying truth. There is none, they say; there are only opinions. And one is as good as another, but you'd better pay attention to what Putin says. Any defense of the truth for truth's sake may cost your life. 

I've seen more than a few discussions end abruptly when someone, realizing their beliefs were nonsense, left the room saying, "You've go your opinions and I've got mine." 

As the Covid-19 pandemic subsides, we might ask if people are responsible for their opinions. Are anti-vaxxers responsible for the death of millions? For reasons of their own, which are known only to God, they refused to be vaccinated and argued loudly against the science despite their frank ignorance of the scientific method. Notoriously, some campaigned against the vaccine even after they had taken the reasonable precaution and gotten all three shots. Can they be blamed for the frustration, exhaustion, burn out, and death of many health care workers?

Clearly, they cared nothing for the truth. If they have committed no crime by human laws, are they nonetheless responsible for their statements and actions and the consequences?

Jesus, as we meet him in the Fourth Gospel, demands of family, friends, strangers, and enemies belief in him. He speaks the truth and is more than willing to pay the price, even of crucifixion and death. He invokes John the Baptist, the Scriptures, and the voice of the Father. All testify to him. 

He will not argue from "scientific proofs" since there was no such philosophy in the first century Roman empire. But, as our polarized era has shown, postmodernism also dismisses the scientific method. We either accept Jesus at his word, or we face the consequences of John 3, verse 18: 

"... whoever does not believe has already been condemned, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God." 

Nor is Jesus, who is the Incarnate Word of God, divorced from the truth of vaccinations, the Big Lie, the Holocaust, or climate change. There is only one truth; at the heart of all reality is the Truth made flesh who dwells among us. While individuals can differ as to what the truth of a matter might be, they must agree there is a truth which must be discovered or revealed. To declare there is none is to surrender to insanity, inanity, and the tyranny of the strongest. 

Those who love the truth strive to live in the truth; to speak always the truth: and to listen to the truth especially when they don't like what they hear. Truth owes  no apology to fragile egos. 

To answer the question, "No one owns the truth. We pray that the truth owns us." 

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 246

Amen, amen, I say to you, whoever hears my word
and believes in the one who sent me
has eternal life and will not come to condemnation,
but has passed from death to life.

We could spend our lives contemplating the mystery of John 5, in which the Lord describes his relationship to God the Father. If traces of the doctrine of the Holy Trinity are found on every page of the Old and New Testaments, it is manifest in these words. 

But this is not an explication of a dry, apparently irrelevant teaching of Holy Mother Church. Rather, this chapter invites us to know the intimate, intense, and very personal love of the Father and the Son, that love which is the Holy Spirit. If we do not find ourselves immersed in reassuring, empowering life we're missing the point. 

But the revelation comes with violence. For many it will be no worse than the breaking of an eggshell. For others the truth will smash and destroy; they will fear for their sanity  as they realize they have pursued madness. For all their struggle, sacrifice, and accomplishment in this world, they have given birth to wind. 

The Gospel of Saint John describes the clash of encounter between God and his people; Jesus continually demands faith even as he explains the truth in the plainest possible language. But his explanations mean nothing to those who refuse to follow his argument, who will not recognize him. He comes from the God who is their God and his God, but because they have lost sight of their God they cannot know him. They have built an ideological temple of laws, statutes, and decrees which does not afford space to the Holy Spirit. They feel secure within their temple but do not hear the fierce, outer storm which will leave not one stone upon another. Like every other human construct, it will disintegrate as history marches over it. 

Security, of course, is their god, as Caiaphas will remind the Sanhedrin. After Jesus had called Lazarus out of the grave, 

...the chief priests and the Pharisees convened the Sanhedrin and said, “What are we going to do? This man is performing many signs. If we leave him alone, all will believe in him, and the Romans will come and take away both our land and our nation.” But one of them, Caiaphas, who was high priest that year, said to them, “You know nothing, nor do you consider that it is better for you that one man should die instead of the people, so that the whole nation may not perish.” 

The Sanhedrin had forgotten under the pressure of Realpolitic that their only security is the LORD. 

Passing through this world as we do, with an eye always to the real world that is the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, we know our security is built neither of weapons nor of bank accounts. Our religion, so despised by the world, assures us the Lord knows where this world is going even as it reels from crisis to crisis. If we cannot see that end, we're assured our God does. We need not buy into its securities or its apparent wealth. Our aim is not security but service; our freedom is welcoming others into our world and providing the supports they need to live here. 

This freedom is the work Jesus describes in John 5:

For the Father loves the Son

and shows him everything that he himself does,

and he will show him greater works than these,

so that you may be amazed.

For just as the Father raises the dead and gives life,

so also does the Son give life to whomever he wishes.

 

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 245

The angel brought me, Ezekiel,
back to the entrance of the temple of the LORD,
and I saw water flowing out
from beneath the threshold of the temple toward the east,
for the façade of the temple was toward the east...

Based on this verse and others like it, the Church has a predilection -- an orientation -- for the east. When the priest and congregation faced the same direction, with the altar in front of them, they faced the rising sun. (Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger argued strongly for retaining that tradition based on this liturgical orientation.) The congregation might watch the growing light of dawn through stained glass windows above the priest and altar. Stained glass windows proclaim the gospel in light. 

From the east comes the new day, new opportunities, and new hope. As the Church spread westward across the Roman empire, and eventually to the Americas, we would turn eastward, remembering Jerusalem, whence we came. But the Church, advancing in apostolic times eastward to India looked eastward, for that is the way of our mother planet Earth. 

Saint John certainly had today's aqueous passage from Ezekiel in mind as he described Jesus's coming to the Pool of Bethesda. And he was familiar with this morning prophecy of Jeremiah:

But this I will call to mind;

therefore I will hope:

The LORD’s acts of mercy are not exhausted,

his compassion is not spent;

They are renewed each morning—

great is your faithfulness!

The LORD is my portion, I tell myself,

therefore I will hope in him. (Lamentations 3:21-24)

The sick man that Jesus found at the Pool of Bethesda had apparently lost all hope. After thirty-eight years he was a fixture like the buildings, the pavement, the crowds, and the water. He was known only to other residents who had nowhere else to go. His family would be long forgotten as people usually forget about their institutionalized kin, whether they're in asylums, prisons, or nursing homes. Life goes on! The gentleman of John 5 had his own certain spot like daily commuters in city buses or beggars on their street corners. He had watched the sun rise, the seasons change, the years pass, and  had learned to expect nothing. 

And then Jesus, the East, the rising sun, came. He brought new life and opportunity to a hopeless man. 

Struggling as we are to maintain our hope amid several relentless epidemics, horrifying news of war in Europe, and polarized politics in America, we turn to the East, to the Lord, and hope for a rebirth of wonder. 

Monday of the Fourth Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 244

Thus says the LORD:
Lo, I am about to create new heavens
            and a new earth;
The things of the past shall not be remembered
            or come to mind.
Instead, there shall always be rejoicing and happiness
            in what I create;
For I create Jerusalem to be a joy
            and its people to be a delight;
I will rejoice in Jerusalem
            and exult in my people.

In the first and last chapter of the Book of Revelation, we hear the Lord declare, "I am the alpha and omega." In the alpha book of the Bible we encounter God's pleasure in creation; and in the these omega days we hear again, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”

I met a fellow, a former Catholic, who described his religion as "politics." He kept tabs of several news media and collected the pearls of wisdom and insight so readily cast by politicians and pundits. The poor fellow appeared harassed and unhappy, and I wondered why he'd lost faith in God.

Despite it all, our God is pleased with everything he has made, and wants us to be pleased also. The truest form of penance is being happy. Here in the middle of Lent, practicing awareness of our sins and profoundly aware of Original Sin as it manifests itself in public and private, the Lord reminds us of his satisfaction. 

"It is finished!" Jesus said with his dying breath. If we have not seen that wholeness of healing yet, nor the reconciliation of enemies, nor the completeness of creation, they are assured. We have God's word for it. 

We have arrived in the latter half of Lent; most of the gospel readings will be taken from Saint John. We will be continually reminded of Jesus's uncompromising demand, we must believe in him. We must take him at his word. His teachings are reasonable to believers but incomprehensible to skeptics. 

Several years ago, I was informed of a crisis in my family. Far from home and powerless to do anything, I poured out my anguish to a counselor. She said, "Ken, you have a choice. You can be optimistic or pessimistic. You don't know what will happen; it could go either way. Which attitude feels more comfortable to you?"

It was an easy choice. The crisis resolved eventually, several years later. And no one was the worse for it. 

We have God's word: "It is finished." and,

The things of the past shall not be remembered
            or come to mind.
Instead, there shall always be rejoicing and happiness
            in what I create.

 Why not be happy? 

Fourth Sunday of Lent Year C

 Lectionary: 33

Whoever is in Christ is a new creation:
the old things have passed away;
behold, new things have come.
And all this is from God,
who has reconciled us to himself through Christ...

Reading the New Testament, we're often reminded of social institutions and status in the Roman Empire. As I understand most of the people living within its boundaries, from Spain to India, North Africa to southern Europe, were slaves. Because they were the majority, their bondage was not half so savage as the slavery of antebellum North America. They married and had children; some owned money and property; some were well educated. Some were quite influential. 

But they did not have the status of sons, especially the first born sons of a household. These scions grew up expecting the responsibilities of headship. They would manage their family estates, organize the labor of slaves and contractors, participate in local government and religious festivities, and prepare their children for a predictable future of Roman rule. 

Daughters and other sons had lesser expectations. Their duties, apparently, were less well defined. Their status within the family depended upon the first born. Slaves, of course, had legal protections but little entitlement. 

Life being what it is, the laws, customs, and expectations often failed. Slaves and children broke free; firstborn sons mismanaged or died; women resisted their customary restrictions, and sometimes took charge. 

Impelled by the Holy Spirit, the disciples of Jesus challenged all expectations. Whether they were favored sons or ill-used slaves, women, handicapped, or imprisoned, they knew the freedom of the Holy Spirit. 

But we would be mistaken if we thought the freedom of these early Christian meant license to do as they pleased. Rather, they volunteered as slaves for Christ. In the opening of his Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul named himself as "a slave of Christ Jesus."

We might imagine an individual who has known nothing but slavery to an arbitrary and distant master. He has learned the rules and how to get around them. He has learned to conform to all expectations in the company of others; and to do as he pleased when alone. If he had authority over other servants, he took advantage of the opportunity and made sure they treated him well, even as he kowtowed to the boss. He didn't mind stealing what could not be traced; he managed to find secret places where he could be his own man with a solitary kind of freedom. 

Now suppose this fellow is handed over to another owner who treats him far better. Now he is well fed; well dressed; and honored as an equal, in certain respects, even to the Master. His new owner is basically very happy; and he governs his estate, his responsibilities, and his people with optimistic enthusiasm. There are no limits to his generosity. 

Our slave might find himself very confused in this new place. He has no need to steal, cheat, or lie to survive, but old habits die hard. He has every reason to trust the thoughtful generosity of his Master but suspicion is bred into his bones. Given certain responsibilities, he must learn to ask for the equipment and training he might need. But past experience tells him precisely the opposite, that he should neither ask for what he needs nor expect satisfaction. Under this new regime, the slave must "become a new creation."  

Saint Paul and his fellow missionaries understood slavery and they were delighted to serve their new Master Jesus. The burgeoning church met astonishing success because, under the impulse of the Holy Spirit, thousands of people -- both slave and free -- got it!  

When we speak of freedom today, many people don't understand because, like the Pharisees who argued with Jesus, they think they're already free. What can the Lord offer them they do not have already? How would life in the Spirit be any different than the one they know? When we speak of our love of the Lord they hear bondage and restrictions. 

Many Christians suppose their enthusiasm will inspire others to join. But enthusiasts are a dime a dozen. Consumerism markets with enthusiasm. And they're gaga about just about anything, from mountain climbing to meditation. And like, latter day vampires, they need the fresh enthusiasm of newbies to sustain their own. 

Lately I assured one fellow, "You can find joy in yourself -- you can get back to your old self -- but your body will always be in pain." 

As we take up our crosses each day and follow in the footsteps of the Lord, we find the freedom of the Sons and Daughters of God; not even pain can enslave us. 

Saturday of the Third Week of Lent

  Lectionary: 242

But the tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed, ‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’

In the VA hospital, for many years, I facilitated the "spirituality discussion." I was never too sure what they meant by spirituality, since Catholics know dozens of different forms. Franciscan, Jesuit, Benedictine, Carmelite, John of God, to name a few. The VA knows only one; they worry about 'the loss of spirituality" without ever saying what exactly they lost.

In any case, as facilitator of the philosophical discussion about living a good life, I asked the Veterans to "Tell me a story." I wanted to hear especially how their alcoholism, drug abuse, or habitual selfishness had plagued their lives and destroyed their essential connections to other people. They might find hope as a trajectory appears from their childhood and military service toward recovery and wellness. I said, Tell me a story!" so many times, some began to kid me about it.

Many who were just setting out on the road to recovery, had forgotten their past; they often deflected my pointed question with theories about how people should act. Often, when speaking of themselves they said you rather than I or me; and, as often as not, they failed to get the distinction when I pointed it out.  

While hearing confessions, I ask the penitents to, "Tell me a story!" Unfortunately, some have been told not to tell stories by their priests; they should talk about their faults. "Sometimes I get angry. Maybe I am proud, or suspicious, or fearful." And then there's the ifs: "If I hurt anyone, I'm sorry. 

Well? Did you hurt someone? When? Where? Who? Why? What did you hope to gain by it? Did you get what you wanted? Are you sorry now? Do you regret it? Would you give up what you gained in atonement for what you did?   

God cannot forgive if you did wrong. Or maybe or perhaps. 

If someone hurt you by a serious act of betrayal would you be reconciled by their if or maybe?  Would that make all the difference? 

As father confessor I say, "Tell me what you did. When? Where? To whom? Why? Was this behavior typical for you? What happened next? How did they feel? How did you feel? Did you apologize? Was your apology accepted? Did you ask, "How can I make it up to you?" How did you atone or make reparation for what you did? What did they do? Or what sign did they give that makes you think they forgave you?" 

"Okay!" Some people say, and then tell me a real story about something that actually happened. 

And then we celebrate the Sacrament of Penance. Often reparation has been made; forgiveness, given; and reconciliation, accomplished. We had only to celebrate the mercy of God, which is what the Sacrament is about. 

They leave the Penance Room floating on air, and THAT IS REAL. 

Jesus of Nazareth is the Son of God. He lived in the first century AD; he was crucified; and God raised him up. That really happened. 

We have always to struggle to make our practices of faith, hope, and love real and historical. They're not imaginary attitudes that we might have when we're our best selves. They must make a difference. In today's parable, both penitents went through the motions but only one went home justified; the other did not.

Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

 Lectionary: 545

“Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.
Behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall name him Jesus.

A friend of mine raised goats for their wool, milk, and meat. Her husband was not terribly reliable and she managed to put food on the table with this cottage industry.

She told me that local folks were eager to buy her cheese. Learning she'd recently acquired another female yearling, one lady asked how soon she might have milk. 

My friend replied that the doeling would have to mature, be impregnated, and have her own baby goats. The nanny would then produce milk. 

"Oh!" She said, "I hadn't thought of that." 

Nor can we celebrate the Virgin Birth of the Savior if there is neither conception nor gestation in the Virgin's womb. And so we celebrate the Annunciation.   

It's perhaps shocking to some people that the Son of God should be born of a woman, that the Lord should have to go through the messy, uncertain processes of conception, gestation, and birth. What's more: the Messiah's mother is not afforded the best natal care humankind can offer. In fact, she is a poor young woman, betrothed but unwed, living in perilous times. There is social unrest, economic instability, and political upheaval as an insanely jealous King Herod governs the region. 

Wouldn't it be better, some people think, if God were just to appear, stage the drama of passion, death, and resurrection, and then ascend back to his secure seat at God's right hand? Without all the drama?

Often, when I have met former Catholics in the VA hospital, I have wanted to remind them of something they might have never known: our teachings are so beautiful! I have seen the images hurled by Hollywood, television, and the Internet. I have heard gorgeous music sung on the Metropolitan Opera stage. None of that is half so wonderful, fascinating, darkly mysterious, or pleasing as the doctrine of the Incarnation. It is matched only by companion mysteries like Grace, the Trinity, and the Humility of God. 

It is necessary that Our Savior should be a human being, born of a woman, born under the law. It is necessary that he should endure our weakness, frailty, and vulnerability; and that he should perish at our hands like so many other victims of crime. He must surrender to his enemies that we might worship his Father. 

Without the Incarnation, we might know the story -- the legend of Jesus -- but it would have no power to save us. People would say, "I'll try to be like the hero Jesus." But they would lack conviction for, without the Incarnation, it is only a story. One's human spirit might be willing but without the Divine Spirit the flesh could not be bothered. 

In the Incarnation, we discover we can do the impossible. We forgive our enemies; we give more than we can afford; we go the extra mile. As Gabriel explained to Mary in today's gospel, "...nothing will be impossible for God.” 

There is a RUSH in this grace and I'm pretty sure it's infinitely superior to winning the lottery, racing a Harley-Davidson or discharging an AR-15. Its satisfactions confound the wealthy; its freedoms surpass the flight of a swallow. 

More importantly, this grace empowers us to wait with confidence as the gestation of human history moves toward rebirth. It might be a very long time but it's no wait at all, as Saint Paul said:

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are as nothing compared with the glory to be revealed for us.

For creation awaits with eager expectation the revelation of the children of God;

for creation was made subject to futility, not of its own accord but because of the one who subjected it, in hope

that creation itself would be set free from slavery to corruption and share in the glorious freedom of the children of God.

We know that all creation is groaning in labor pains even until now;

and not only that, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, we also groan within ourselves as we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies.

Thursday of the Third Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 240

Thus says the LORD:
This is what I commanded my people:
Listen to my voice;
then I will be your God and you shall be my people.
Walk in all the ways that I command you,
so that you may prosper.

Today, I complete my service to the Catholic Veterans in the Louisville VA Medical Center. I celebrated the last Mass yesterday; I'll hand in my keys and pass card, collect my belongings, say farewell to many friends among the staff, anoint and bring Eucharist to some patients, and drive home in late afternoon. Today I begin a new life as elder priest and friar, "retired," in a manner of speaking. 

I do not expect to pastor another church, I do not expect a position of great responsibility among the friars. I certainly admire those men, older than me, who carry those burdens, but I believe the Lord is calling me, as he called the Judge Eli, to step down. 

Today I hear the Lord's oft-repeated command, "Listen to my voice." We heard on Mount Tabor, "This is my beloved son. Listen to him." We learned the shema from our Jewish ancestors, "Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord alone." 

Each day of our lives, whether we're preparing for work or leisure, should begin with the eager silence which wants to hear God's voice. It says with the boy Samuel, "Speak, Lord, your servant is listening." 

Often, in the morning recitation of familiar prayers we hear a word, phrase, or an entire sentences which breaks through the routine. In that moment, our responsive spirit says, Amen. It might be the plea, "thy kingdom come:" or, "pray for us sinners." It might be, "God, come to my assistance." Or, "I will be your God and you shall be my people." 

We remember who we are, the people of God sent to live among the nations as a blessed presence, as prophetic voice, and as ambassadors of peace. 

In today's gospel, we hear a familiar passage which seems to belong to the United States, “Every kingdom divided against itself will be laid waste, and house will fall against house." America's rising star in 1858, Abraham Lincoln, invoked that metaphor as the nation debated the question of slavery. Though not a churchgoer, he knew the scriptures and his neighbors well enough to suggest the United States is one nation and one imperiled house. The states would not take the plural verb, are; rather, we should use the singular, is. 

Two centuries later disparate forces still challenge our unity. Is it time yet that the issues which nearly dismembered the nation in the mid-19th century would finally pull us apart? Does freedom still insist that we stand together? Can we find agreement on issues of equality, abortion, and guns? 

Agreeing to disagree doesn't seem to work anymore. 

The Catholic Church, as an international presence spanning centuries, testifies to the strength and beauty of unity. We have been assailed by nationalism, scandals, and heresies and remain united. Catholic bishops, priests, and lay folk remain in union with the Roman pontiff even as denominations and sects appear and disappear.   

As I begin retirement I leave the secular world of the VA, with its preference for amorphous spirituality over solid religion. I want to withdraw into the substantial bosom of the Church. I hope to offer from that secure place of sacraments and liturgy spiritual direction and pastoral guidance to God seekers. I am told many people are hungry for solid food, as opposed to the pap they find in the History Channel and social media. Rather than attending to passive patients who might want a chaplain's visit, I hope seekers will look for me. I am grateful for the opportunity to be there for them. 

Wednesday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 239 

“Therefore, I teach you the statutes and decrees as the LORD, my God, has commanded me, that you may observe them in the land you are entering to occupy. 
Observe them carefully...

Like our Jewish ancestors and their descendants today, Christians are a People of the Book. We worship the Word of God. But there are differences. In his book, God Is Not One: The Eight Rival Religions That Run the World--and Why Their Differences Matter, Stephen Prothero suggests that Christianity is a religion of faith, and Judaism is a religion of observance. Devout Jews faithfully observe the "statutes and decrees" the Lord gave them through the Prophet Moses.

Christians faithfully cling to the son of Mary, Jesus of Nazareth. We believe this historical figure is the Word of God Incarnate, a mystery revealed by his miraculous birth of a virgin and by his astonishing resurrection. His new religion, born like Eve from Adam out of the wounded side of Judaism, does not have a very clear code of statutes and decrees beyond the Ten Commandments. 

Catholics, like our Jewish ancestors, have a strong liturgical tradition; but many Protestant denominations prefer systems of prayer which reflect and respond to the immediate concerns of the present congregation in all their ethnic and socioeconomic diversity. However, Protestants agree with Catholics that keeping the faith is vitally important; and they do that in many and varied ways.

Because we are born of Judaism, we revere many of the Hebrew Scriptures. We have collected the most important of those books, especially those which foretell the coming Messiah and called them  "the Old Testament." While all Catholics are encouraged to read the Bible, we do not suppose that anyone can read it in isolation. Our readings occur publicly at the beginning of every Mass -- on weekdays two selections; and on Sundays, three -- and are followed by a homily, which should explain and interpret what we have heard. 

Unlike the sacred readings of some religious traditions, the scriptures are marvelously accessible and approachable. Everyone should devoutly read them daily, exploring the more difficult passages with study and discussion. The last thing we need is wild-eyed misreadings that only insult the Word of God and alienate fellow Christians.  

Clinging to the unity which Jesus insisted upon, Catholics hold to the infallibility of the Scriptures; but superficial readings of difficult passages should not be taken at face value. Like all Christian denominations we interpret the Bible, first with translations approved by our bishops, and then with explanations that appreciate their historic and prehistoric origins. The very best translations are, after all, just translations. 

Finally, we recognize that the Bible contains the Word of God but the Word of God is not contained by the Bible. Gathered by our love for the Word, we pray for inspiration and guidance as we navigate the challenges of our time. Neither Moses nor Jesus could imagine electrical appliances, automobiles, or social media. Their spirit, however, is God the Holy Spirit, an ever present and infallible guide who teaches us to observe in every age all the statutes and decrees. 

Tuesday of the Third Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 238

Peter approached Jesus and asked him, “Lord, if my brother sins against me, how often must I forgive him? As many as seven times?”

Catholics defend against withering criticism their belief in Purgatory. The doctrine recognizes both the necessity and the opportunity for atonement to those who repent. They will participate in the suffering of Christ as the Lord has suffered their unkindness and cruelty to others. They will participate in the complete and satisfying atonement which He accomplished as he descended into Hell. 

Atonement is that reparation which must follow every cruel deed. We cannot expect the Beautiful and Good God to accept imperfect, halfhearted offerings; they only insult God's ineffable dignity. A shameful history must be purified and cleansed; it cannot stand for all eternity. 

Some Americans, recalling our sorry history of slavery, segregation, and endemic racism, have been pondering ways of making reparation for those historic crimes and their continuing consequences. 

The necessity of reparation is broadly suggested in today's gospel, "Then in anger his master handed him over to the torturers until he should pay back the whole debt." If we cannot understand how torturers might extract repayment from the suffering wretch, we can recognize the angry demand that repayment be made immediately. 

If reparation, or atonement, has suddenly appeared in our conversations about the gracious presence of African-Americans in the United States, it must also gather into an ever-widening net the abuse of women and girls, the attempted extermination of Native Americans, the benign neglect of impoverished children and their parents, abortion, an unjust system of justice, and the heartless exploitation of our Earth's natural resources. 

The list is endless, where do we begin? 

This Purgatory business threatens to encroach deeply into Eternity; it may have an eternal life of its own!

Eve Ensler, in a powerful TED talk, describes her experience of healing by imagining her deceased father saying precisely what he never said before he died. I hear in her talk the necessity that wrongdoers be confronted first by their victims, and then by the full horror of their evil deeds. Finally, if sinners are to enjoy eternal bliss, their victims must forgive them. 

Or should we expect of traumatized victims that, upon entering paradise, they will automatically forgive and forget? Surely God's mercy must address victims first and then, perhaps, their tormentors. They must be healed. (Some people suppose God automatically and immediately forgives anyone who turns to him. Nothing happens automatically in God's world. God is not a machine.) 

The Catholic doctrine of Purgatory says, "Hold on there, pal! Forgiveness is not that simple." No one should expect to waltz into Heaven because some people bothered to eulogize them. Nor should anyone expect the sorry history of crime and cruelty in the United States to be forgotten by the victims and their ancestors. With all due apologies to Walt Disney, Leigh Harline, and Cliff Edwards, wishing on a star doesn't make it happen.

Atonement for our sins has been completed in Christ. Our faith insists upon that. But our willful belief that the Lord has given anyone a get out of jail free card, insults the suffering of our Savior. Our faith also insists upon our full participation in the atoning passion of Christ. Our willingness to confess our sins and make reparation to our victims accomplishes much. Thank God for that. 

Monday of the Third Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 237

When the people in the synagogue heard this, they were all filled with fury.
They rose up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill
on which their town had been built,
to hurl him down headlong.

Today's gospel appears in the first chapters of Saint Luke's Gospel. It describes the angry reaction of Jesus's kith and kin as he returned from the wilderness and the encounter with Satan. 

We might wonder where this furious anger comes from. Clearly, he set them off but he had apparently walked into a powder keg of combustible distress. They were, to quote Howard Beal from the movie Network, as mad as hell and weren't going to put up with it anymore.

Saint Luke gives no clue as to what they were upset about, but the incident in Nazareth -- which seemed to blow over as quickly as it erupted -- presages the climactic riot in Jerusalem. But that far worse incident also evaporated like the morning dew; it seemed forgotten until Saint Peter confronted the capital with its crimes fifty days later. 

That scene in Network described the mood of many Americans in 1976. A year some might now remember as the good old days, comfortable, peaceable, and predictable. How should our mood today be portrayed? What would happen to Jesus were he to approach a political rally or a Sunday morning service and announce his mission to 

...bring glad tidings to the poor. ...to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord?

Jesus's people were in no mood to hear the Gospel. In Luke 9, he will tell his disciples to "leave that town, (and) shake the dust from your feet in testimony against them.” There's no need to meet anger with anger or insult with insult; there's no reasonable expectation that your calm reasonable explanations will prevail. Just walk away. 

But aren't those angry people condemned by their decision? Haven't they missed their one opportunity to hear the Gospel and be saved? So it would seem. 

In another apocalyptic age, in the earliest days of the Church, Saint John of Patmos wrote, 

Then I heard another voice from heaven say:
“Depart from her, my people,
so as not to take part in her sins
and receive a share in her plagues,
for her sins are piled up to the sky,
and God remembers her crimes. (Revelation 18:4)

During Lent, by prayer, fasting, and works of mercy, we withdraw as far as possible from the angry mob around us. We do not welcome their violence; if they would join us they should leave their weapons and weaponized righteousness somewhere else. 

Lent demands silence if we would hear the Lord speak. Turning off the incessant cycle of 24/7 news, we listen to Good News of God's mercy. 

Third Sunday of Lent Year C

Year C; Lectionary: 30

God spoke further to Moses, “Thus shall you say to the Israelites: the LORD, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob,
has sent me to you. “This is my name forever; thus am I to be remembered through all generations.”

Several years ago, Pope Saint John Paul II publicly apologized to the Jewish people:

"We cannot know how many Christians in countries occupied or ruled by the Nazi powers or their allies were horrified at the disappearance of their Jewish neighbors and yet were not strong enough to raise their voices in protest. For Christians, this heavy burden of conscience of their brothers and sisters during the Second World War must be a call to penitence." (We remember: A reflection on the Shoah)

The statement was controversial and not well accepted among both Jews and Christians. It seemed, at best, a half-way apology for endless historical violence against a minority people. It might be called a beginning, but much remains.

Yesterday, as I reflected on Saint Joseph, I scanned some recent documents that celebrated the Year of Saint Joseph. The second reading of the solemnity was taken from Saint Paul's epistle to the Roman and concerned Abraham, "our father in faith." Despite that direct liturgical link between Abraham and Joseph, I found no references to Joseph's Jewishness among the Church's laudatory remarks. What religion did the boy Jesus learn from Joseph and Mary; what scriptures did he read; what songs did he sing, whose dietary laws did he observe throughout his life except those of his Jewish ancestors? And yet that side of the Lord is politely ignored.

Every Sunday Catholics hear a reading from the Hebrew Scriptures; they remind us of Jesus's heritage and the deep roots of our Christian religion in Judaism. Without that "Old Testament" there could be no "New Testament." Without the knowledge of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob we could not know the God who led His Chosen People out of Egypt. As Saint Jerome said, "Ignorance of the Bible is ignorance of Christ."

Were the Jewish people to disappear altogether, Christianity would wither and die. Perhaps this is the threat we hear of in today's Gospel:

‘For three years now I have come in search of fruit on this fig tree but have found none. So cut it down. Why should it exhaust the soil?’

Saint Paul explained our mysterious dependence upon the Jewish people as grafting, like an arborist who grafts the branch of one tree onto another. His metaphor also comes with a threat: 

Hence I ask, did they stumble so as to fall? Of course not! But through their transgression salvation has come to the Gentiles, so as to make them jealous. Now if their transgression is enrichment for the world, and if their diminished number is enrichment for the Gentiles, how much more their full number.

Now I am speaking to you Gentiles. Inasmuch then as I am the apostle to the Gentiles, I glory in my ministry in order to make my race jealous and thus save some of them. For if their rejection is the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance be but life from the dead? If the first fruits are holy, so is the whole batch of dough; and if the root is holy, so are the branches. But if some of the branches were broken off, and you, a wild olive shoot, were grafted in their place and have come to share in the rich root of the olive tree, do not boast against the branches. If you do boast, consider that you do not support the root; the root supports you.

Indeed you will say, “Branches were broken off so that I might be grafted in.” That is so. They were broken off because of unbelief, but you are there because of faith. So do not become haughty, but stand in awe. For if God did not spare the natural branches, [perhaps] he will not spare you either.

"Do not boast against the branches!" Saint Paul warns. Christians who consider themselves better, more fortunate, or more blessed than Jews are fools, for they do not support the root; the root supports them.

During Lent the Church ponders her history of sin. This takes courage, willingness, and frank curiosity. We want to know the truth about ourselves and our ancestors. We want to correct and amend the injustices of the past. The Shoah has pointed to a very deep, terrifying truth about the world we have created. It is not in our nature to hate, and yet we do. No good can come of teaching children to despise Jews and yet Christians have done it since the Day of Pentecost. 

If faith in Jesus is better than observance of the Law of Moses, as we devoutly believe, we must prove it by our imitation of Jesus. We must demonstrate the humility of the Lamb of God. Our silent reverence for Jews and our remorse for criminal acts, beliefs, and traditions should be as startling as the ashes we wear on the first day of Lent. Our respect for their customs, beliefs, traditions, and history should grace every encounter with the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. 

For their God is our God and he has witnessed our affliction and heard our cry. 

Solemnity of Saint Joseph, husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary

 Lectionary: 543

He is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into being what does not exist. He believed, hoping against hope, that he would become the father of many nations, according to what was said, Thus shall your descendants be. That is why it was credited to him as righteousness.

In today's New Testament reading from Saint Paul's Letter to the Romans, the Apostle boldly declares that Abraham, the patriarch of the Jewish people, is "our father in the sight of God." By his fidelity and God's gracious generosity, he has become "the father of many nations." 

He insists that "It was not through the law that the promise was made to Abraham and his descendants..." Rather, the promise comes to us by our faith in Abraham's son, Jesus of Nazareth. If some Christians would build an alternate "Judaism for Gentiles" with constricting laws about food, dress, and social customs, Saint Paul confronts them with his doctrines of grace and faith. 

On the Solemn Feast of Saint Joseph we can view Mary's husband as another binding connection to the Jewish people. While Jesus is certainly the necessary, essential link to God and God's people, we dare not claim him as Our Savior without acknowledging his people as our people, and his faith as our faith.  His Mother Mary, his foster father Joseph, and a cloud of witnesses welcome us into the assembly. (In Hebrew, qahal; in Greek, ekklesia; meaning "a called out group.") 

The Christian complaint against the Pharisees was their maniacal obsession with observing all the rules and regulations of the Mosaic Law without the least regard for the joyous freedom that comes with the Law. They were unhappy men and women determined to make everyone else equally unhappy. They seemed to believe that an angry, arbitrary, capricious God would be appeased by their persistent, willful misery. (Catholicism has seen the same thing among Jansenists.) Why this moody, belligerent deity should care about their state of mind, whether unhappy or not, was never explained. 

Fortunately, no one regards Saint Joseph as an unhappy man. Despite his platonic relationship to the Virgin Mary, the conundrum of her inexplicable pregnancy, and all the trouble this woman and her child cost him, he was faithful, earnest, and assiduous in fulfilling his role as husband and father. We remember how, he "rose and took the child and his mother by night and departed for Egypt," abandoning his family, social connections, and career to save the Infant.
We can well imagine him dismissing all this personal sacrifice as "No problem at all! Happy to do it!" 

This free, happy fidelity is also our spiritual connection to the Patriarch Abraham. He too abandoned his "land, relatives, and father's house" to receive as his heritage "a land that I will show you." 

At the beginning of this century, Pope Saint John Paul II encouraged us to "set out for the deep" in the spirit of Abraham, Joseph, and all the saints.  

In the Spirit of Abraham, our Jewish father in faith, of Saint Joseph, and Saint John Paul II, we celebrate the freedom of our fidelity. It is guided but unrestrained, eager and disciplined, expectant and focused as we anticipate next week's Solemnity of the Annunciation. 

Friday of the Second Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 234

Israel loved Joseph best of all his sons, for he was the child of his old age; and he had made him a long tunic. When his brothers saw that their father loved him best of all his sons, they hated him so much that they would not even greet him.

Israel, better known as Jacob, was Isaac's son and Abraham's grandson. He had ten sons by his first wife Leah, and two by Rachel. However, he had always preferred Rachel. He had married Leah unintentionally, when his father-in-law, using a heavy wedding veil, switched the elected bride with her less desirable sister. 

A more generous or more stoic gentleman might have regarded Leah's son with the same indifferent affection as he regarded Rachel's, but Jacob was never a generous man. He is remembered as a conman who got conned with his first wedding and lived with it. (No reasonable shepherd would complain about such a fertile wife!) 

Joseph, Rachel's first son, was Jacob's favorite son and he made no secret of it, much to the discontent of Leah's sons. With the proliferation of serial polygamy in our post-Christian society, no one should be scandalized by this biblical story. DNA tests are revealing far stranger stories. 

We might add that this theme of preference, or election, runs through the Bible. Abel was preferred to Cain, Isaac to Ishmael, and Jacob to Esau. The prodigal son was the second son and the heartbroken father loved him more because of his profligacy. 

The Enlightened principle of equality not only defies ordinary experience, it is not found in scripture.

But election remains a sticking point for some people. Why should Jews be the chosen people; or Christians, preferred by their baptism? Why should Mary be the only Immaculate Conception; or Jesus, the Beloved Son of God? Shouldn't God love everyone equally? And no one especially? 

Calvinism appeared in the late history of the Church to suggest that not only are some elected for God's mercy, by the process of double election some are predestined for damnation from the get-go. There's no need to show kindness to these lost souls. We should only shore up our assets to make sure we don't fall among them, like the middle class who fall into poverty; and drug users, into drug addiction. 

Some Christians renounce their faith over this issue. They suppose that God loves everybody equally and, regardless of their behavior, with divine unconditional love. Doesn't his sun shine on the just and the unjust? They also renounce the responsibilities that come with election. They choose the wider gate and the more traveled road.  They dismiss Jesus's command to make disciples of all nations since disciples have no particular privilege and it's a lot of trouble anyway. 

But, to be sure, they do elect for themselves and their children all the opportunities of education and advancement. They will not hesitate to abort less favored (non-elected) infants, especially if there are indications of birth defects. 

We who remain accept the blessings and the duties of election. We are not content to be Catholic without doing works of charity. We believe in God; that is, we rely on God to support us as we do his bidding. And we are delighted that some people are more blessed than we are. Isn't the Lord's favor to Mary, the martyrs, and saints wonderful? 

The Jewish doctrine of election, which Christians have inherited, is the stumbling stone oft mentioned in the New Testament. However, we do not trip over it; on our way to salvation we stand on the Rock of Ages. 

Thursday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 233

Cursed is the man who trusts in human beings, who seeks his strength in flesh, whose heart turns away from the LORD.

I was rudely greeted by a fellow recently as I introduced myself. "I don't believe in organized religion!" he said. 

I held my tongue and did not ask the logical next question, if he believes in "disorganized religion." 

Chesterton posited that rural religion, the beliefs of the folk, is not systematic and feels no need for it. When they move to the city, however, and meet many different views about spirits and gods, they feel compelled to organize their beliefs into a credible system. They want to preserve the charm of both familiarity and accessibility. The gods should not be too remote, as their urban leaders are becoming. And they should be strong enough to do something when calamity strikes. 

It didn't work out in ancient Greece as cities grew larger and more sophisticated. Critical philosophers like Socrates and Plato mocked the human foibles of their traditional gods. Eventually their skepticism would build the secular society we know today.  

But the angry Veteran was in no mood for a discussion about rural religion and systematic theology, so I left him to stew in his unhappiness. 

The alternative to belief in "organized religion" is a vague image of a genderless God who is powerful but remote and indifferent to human affairs. Without religion we must rely on reasonable human beings.  

But that is the very crowd my angry patient despises. He wants no religion because he cannot abide the presence of other people. They want, expect, and demand too much. And now he is very upset that he must rely on others to prescribe medicines, advise therapies, and perform surgery on his failing body. 

He hates the authority of experts but still  believes with all his heart, soul, mind, and strength that money will insure his freedom. 

Unfortunately, money is a human invention. inflation soars, stock markets crash, and today's dime won't buy yesterday's penny postcard. When he is sent to rehab and then a nursing home his money will disappear. No one can afford today's medical care without insurance; that is to say, without other people paying the bill.  

He has forgotten that freedom is not money, freedom is what we give to one another. "Organized religion" gives us the symbols, beliefs, and basic confidence in universal goodness to work together. The rich man in today's gospel believed in his money, he could not be bothered with the God of Abraham or the Law of Moses. 

Personally, I'll believe in organized religion long before I believe in banks, insurance, and the stock market. The former has been around for two thousand years; the latter is also ancient but fails to inspire my confidence. 

In Jesus's story Lazarus, the poor man, trusted God. The rich man descended into agonized loneliness, the poor man enjoyed the solace of Father Abraham. The rich man's city disappeared in flames; the poor man's friends rallied to rebuild. 

Cursed is the man who trusts in human beings, who seeks his strength in flesh, whose heart turns away from the LORD.