Memorial of Saint Jerome, Priest and Doctor of the Church

 Lectionary: 459

Have you entered into the sources of the sea,
or walked about in the depths of the abyss?
Have the gates of death been shown to you,
or have you seen the gates of darkness?
Have you comprehended the breadth of the earth?
Tell me, if you know all:
Which is the way to the dwelling place of light,
and where is the abode of darkness?

The Book of Job ponders the moral/ethical dilemma: "Why do the innocent suffer?" We believe that God is good, just, and all powerful; and that God will reward justice and mercy while wickedness is punished. Anyone who believes in such a God must be distressed by many contradictory incidents and stories. Confronted with the unfairness of life we ask, "How is this supposed to make sense?"

After forty chapters of argument and discussion, the Divine Author gives us an answer, purportedly from God himself: "Who are you to ask questions? Do have standing in the court of God? Have you forgotten you are dust and to dust you shall return?" 

But we ask anyway, whether we have standing or not. And neither we nor our question goes away despite the divine bluster. 

Nor will the question disappear for those who simply deny God's existence, though it must have a different effect. For it challenges our human presumptions that we can manage our life. Only the fatally cynical can doubt that satisfaction comes to those who make the effort. Those who just quit face a pathetic frustration that borders on the comical. Somehow we must rally our resources daily and expect to find it was worth the effort. 

As we search for meaning no answer appears beyond faith in an all-knowing, all good, merciful, just, and powerful God, . 

In today's gospel, we hear the Lord Jesus threaten the cities of Chorazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum with destruction for their failure to welcome him and his Kingdom of God. 

The question of God doesn't merely stand at a distance fuming about futility. Sometimes it walks into our lives and demands attention. It is a question of justice and mercy. You will treat one another with mercy; you will appreciate the earth, its resources and limits, and your place in it; you will give God the praise, glory, and honor that is God's just due; and you will esteem yourself, a creature of mud made in God's image. Or you will suffer endless torment.

Saint Augustine, in a recent reminder from the Office of Readings, says,

God foretold hardship upon hardship in this world until the end of time. And you want the Christian to be exempt from these troubles? Precisely because he is a Christian, he is destined to suffer more in this world.  

The Book of Job, with its demand for meaning, purpose, and a divine apology, invites the Christian to do more than ponder this dilemma. We must embrace it in faith. If intractable, apparently meaningless, suffering arouses doubt, we respond with belief. Doubt is not the opposite of faith; betrayal is. With our demanding questions and our persistent prayers we remain faithfully in God's presence asking for justice for the whole world and mercy for those dear to us. 

Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, archangels

 Lectionary: 647

"Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil; May God rebuke him, we humbly pray; And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls. Amen."

Several years ago, reading about another shooting, I realized that, because I choose to live in the United States, I might die of gunshot. I might be shot by a thief, or an accidental discharge, or a wacko shooting at passing cars on the Interstate, or an anxious cop. If I am more likely to die of heart disease or cancer, there are statistics that point to the possibility of death by gunshot. 

I am less sanguine about the possible murder of a friend or family member. When Father Mario Ross was slain in Knoxville Tennessee several years ago, I was shocked and deeply saddened by the loss of a good friend. I am offended if I am rudely bumped in a crowded bus; being assailed so severely that my soul is shoved from my body -- it seems unthinkable! But given the number of people I have known and loved, I should not be surprised that one acquaintance was murdered in this trigger-happy nation of frightened women and men. it's clear that we are not willing to provide the protection one would expect of a civilized nation.

And so I join the Church in praying to Saint Michael: "...defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil." 

We look to divine powers for protection against external and internal enemies. And the Church persistently reminds us that the worse enemies are those within. My worst enemy is me. I am the one who lives in fear for my life. I am the one possessed with anxiety about my safety, my health, what others think of me, and so forth. I am the one who lacks the discipline of a healthy, balanced life. While there are many threats to my well being and peaceful state of mind, some can be avoided quite easily. 

And then there are the unexpected and undeserved threats, the random acts of violence. They might be physical, sexual, emotional, or spiritual. We ask God and his angels and saints for protection. Our prayers remind us that many things happen beyond our control. 

We walk by faith and not by sight, as Saint Paul said. There is neither need nor expectation that we should have complete control and command of every situation. To live is to take risk and the LORD has commanded us to live freely, generously, courageously, and joyfully. With the help of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael we join the heavenly choirs in grateful praise of God. 

Wednesday of the Twenty-sixth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 457

Job answered his friends and said:

I know well that it is so; but how can a man be justified before God? Should one wish to contend with him, he could not answer him once in a thousand times. God is wise in heart and mighty in strength; who has withstood him and remained unscathed?

Psalm 130 echoes Job's assessment of human righteousness before God's:

If you, LORD, keep account of sins,
who can stand? 

Job goes on to consider the LORD's sovereign majesty over all creation:

He removes the mountains before they know it;
he overturns them in his anger.
He shakes the earth out of its place,
and the pillars beneath it tremble.
He commands the sun, and it rises not;
he seals up the stars.

In Job's thinking, the LORD's authority to create the universe with its billions and billions of galaxies and stars by a single pronouncement -- "Let there be....!" -- more than justifies his authority to reward and punish humankind.   

Christians can never disagree with Job's wisdom but the Gospels give us something even greater than Job's testimony; and that is the Salvation given us through Christ's passion, death, and resurrection. 

Elephant shrew

He has destroyed the sin and death which held us in thrall. If we're fascinated by stars, galaxies, black holes, and supernovas somewhere out there -- which we read about, or hear of, from science reporters -- we're even more astonished by the freedom, willingness, courage, and generosity we discover within our hearts. We might be fascinated by total eclipses and gravity waves but discovering God's mighty works in our daily prayer gives us endless satisfaction and reassurance. 

We cultivate this sense of wonder. As astonishing as an elephant shrew might be, the darling animal is not amazed at himself. Wonder is another of God's gift. Take a deep breath and contemplate that. 

 

Memorial of Saint Vincent de Paul, Priest

 Lectionary: 456

Perish the day on which I was born,
the night when they said, “The child is a boy!”
Why did I not perish at birth,
come forth from the womb and expire?
Or why was I not buried away like an untimely birth, like babes that have never seen the light?

The Church today offers us two very different reflections upon death. First we hear Job's complaint as his successful career and comfortable, privileged life have suddenly disappeared. Despite his lifelong and exemplary fidelity, he has suffered catastrophic loss of wealth, children, health, and social standing. He's left only with his unsympathetic wife.  

Everyone knows goodness is supposed to be rewarded and wickedness should be punished. God is creator and ruler of the universe, and nothing happens which is not God's will. So why is Job suffering devastating losses for no apparent reason? Given everything that has happened to him, he wishes he were dead. He wishes he had never been born. 

Today's gospel tells of Jesus's resolution to travel to Jerusalem. He has only recently come down from the mountain of transfiguration where he conferred with Moses and Elijah. They "appeared in glory and spoke of his exodus that he was going to accomplish in Jerusalem."

During his brief thirty-some years Jesus had never been as prosperous as Job; but, as the only begotten Son of the Most High God, the humiliation of crucifixion would be infinitely worse. And yet he seems to treat his divine status as not worth the bother, as "so much rubbish." His trip to Jerusalem is like the prodigal son's trip "to a distant country where he squandered his wealth on a life of dissipation. 

The Church offers the Gospel of Jesus as an answer to Job. His losses were real; his humiliation is beyond comprehension. We are not surprised by Job's shock, grief, and anger; we would feel the same way. 

Most of the time, humans know life in a stable world of sufficient housing and food with a predictable future. We have built innumerable barriers and shock absorbers to shield us from famine, drought, and war. Only an act of God coming from left field might disturb our tranquility. And when such things occur to friends and loved ones, we are like Job's companions who remained silent for several days. We can find no words to console him. And then we might blame him for bringing the disaster upon himself. 

Addressing these real catastrophes, which are not as uncommon as they should be, is the equally convincing story of Jesus's resurrection and ascension into glory. This really happened! Here is God's promise that all things will be well, and all things will be well, and all manner of things will be well. 

If that promise of reconciliation, atonement, harmony, and final integrity -- the Kingdom of God -- seems beyond comprehension, we have our own occasional moments of consolation in faith to assure us. The Day of Lord will come.

For the vision is a witness for the appointed time,
a testimony to the end; it will not disappoint.
If it delays, wait for it,
it will surely come, it will not be late.
See, the rash have no integrity;
but the just one who is righteous because of faith shall live  (Habakkuk 2:3-4)

Monday of the Twenty-sixth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 455

One day, when the angels of God came to present themselves before the LORD, Satan also came among them.
And the LORD said to Satan, “Whence do you come?”
Then Satan answered the LORD and said, “From roaming the earth and patrolling it.” 
And the LORD said to Satan, “Have you noticed my servant Job?

Many people unfamiliar with the Bible and experiencing distress turn to the Book of Job. Regardless of its place in the Bible, it stands amid the greatest works of ancient literature, with Gilgamesh, the Iliad and Odyssey, the Aeneid, and Oedipus Rex. 

The unknown authors and the final redactor ponder questions that humans will always ask although they are never answered. Only those who live the answers are satisfied. When asked how they found their apparent contentment, these blessed ones offer words but no answers. 

And yet we turn again and again to Job,. His complaints echo our own. Neither the replies of his friends, nor the brash young Elihu, nor God's thunder satisfy anyone. For, although they are the Word of God, they are yet words, and we must find our satisfaction in a place beyond words. 

Recently I read that many Americans regret their liberal arts education. Some wish they had pursued a degree toward the more lucrative careers in STEM. Personally, I regret that I did not study more philosophy, history, sociology, and psychology along with my English major. (Alas, education is wasted on the young.) 

As important as STEM are for launching a career and maintaining an edge among competitive nations, we should at least know how to raise the questions of Job. "Why must the innocent suffer? Does life have a purpose? Do I have a purpose? Who decides my purpose; and do I have anything to say about it? Would the Earth and the Universe be better without human life? Is God real?"

Not only do Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics fail to address these questions; they don't know they exist. These human studies are not designed to ask the deeper questions of life. Francis Bacon's scientific method was borne of philosophical questions, but many scientists and students of STEM have never heard of him. Because of that ignorance, they cannot imagine a world without their narrow definition of "science." Nor do they hear a question their sciences cannot address. 

STEM can create mustard gas, an AR-15, cluster bombs, nuclear weapons; it cannot tell us why we must never use them. Or why we might use them. It cannot teach us how to conduct a democracy. 

Why do the innocent suffer? Why are the wicked not punished? The Book of Job gives us the small consolation of knowing the questions have been raised. It's furious arguments, prolonged, well spoken, and yet unresolved connect our youth with our ancestors. When they ask us the questions we cannot answer, we can point to Job and say, "I received this from your grandparents, who received it from theirs."  

But, if the questions are never satisfactorily answered, we can never stop discussing them. One time several years ago, as I concluded what I thought was a satisfactory reflection about two types of prayer, liturgical and private, a fellow in the audience raised the question, "Why do the innocent suffer?' 

I tried to dismiss him. "Ah,the problem of evil." I said, as if it doesn't deserve my time. I later learned the man like many Americans, had not experienced much loss until he suffered several deaths in his family. He had fallen, perhaps fatally, from grief into the whirlpool of depression.

The Book of Job doesn't go away. Michael Minkoff, Jr.has an interesting reflection about the Tetragrammaton in the Book of Job. Reading the Hebrew original, he says that of all the characters in the book only the protagonist uses the sacred name. Job seems to have a particular relationship with the LORD that his friends do not share and cannot comprehend. 

Their explanations fail because they cannot comprehend Job's personal disappointment in the LORD. He wants to know, "How could YOU do this to me?" But without a similar kinship with God, they cannot understand his distress. 

The Book reminds us to comfort our friends in their grief with few words and shared sadness, even as the LORD comforts us. There are no words, not even in the Bible. But the LORD is here, and so are we. 

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 138

Thus says the LORD the God of hosts:
 Woe to the complacent in Zion!
 Lying upon beds of ivory,
 stretched comfortably on their couches,
 they eat lambs taken from the flock,
 and calves from the stall!

Anthropologist Agustin Fuentes, in his book The Creative Spark, speculates that economic and class divisions among humans began when we learned to corral animals and cultivate seeds, roughly 10,000 bce. Until that time, our ancestors gathered what plant food they could find as they followed migrating prey. 

With farming and breeding came settlements and cities, storage of food, and records. But keeping and reading records took time, effort, and study especially as different cities developed different forms of writing, and then compared their results. Very quickly a class of writers, readers and bureaucrats emerged. They developed methods for preserving and storing food; distributed it to the populace as needed; and, by the way, fed their own families first. Rivalries developed between city dwellers and rural folk; they depended on each other but neither class was always trustworthy. 

Languages were fluid as traders and armies carried words, ideas, and philosophies from place to place, but farming and breeding evolved more slowly. Rural knowledge was traditional, passed from parent to child; while urban fashions and cultures in the denser cities changed rapidly. Religion was more systematic in the city where people discussed their differences, while country people trusted the old gods without criticism or skepticism. 

By the ninth century bce, in Israel, the stratification of society was ancient and entrenched. Wealthy people lie "upon beds of ivory, stretched comfortably on their couches" while their servants toiled. In the three millennia since, the chasm has only grown deeper. Despite the romantic, uncritical dreams of nerds, new technologies only makes matters worse. We've seen little progress since the onset of the computer age, and social media has only heightened tensions.  

Critics declare, "This isn't right!" But, if the powerful must sometimes agree, they cannot compromise their own security -- which grows more rigid and brittle by the day. They cannot imagine a leveling of society by redistribution of resources, opportunity, education, and health care. 

In fact, there is a plausible theory that if all the world's financial capital were to disappear overnight, there would be only a temporary crisis. Within a very short time, because the skills and connections remained unequal, order would be restored quickly. The same people would be in their familiar places; with the wealthy again growing wealthier; and the poor, poorer -- as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.

The Hebrew prophets appeared along with the cities and the monarchy in ancient Israel. God's chosen people should be different, they said. God's holy city should welcome and provide for needy widows, orphans, and aliens. Jerusalem should be a beacon model to neighboring cities of how to conduct business equitably. There would be no violence for there would be no economic gap or class difference. And there would be neither famine, plague, or military threat for the LORD would provide complete security. 

Jesus's story of the rich man and Lazarus fits the ancient tradition of protest with a direct reference to "Moses and the prophets." He contributes only the ironic, "...neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.'"

After the world has seen the Son of God rise from the dead, there can be no further warning, for the final hour has come, and the death blow of sin has fallen. Our salvation is complete. The condemned might complain it's not fair, and that they were never warned, but the Judge has ruled: "It is fair and you were warned." 

The Spirit of God, given to the chosen people, is wise to human shortsightedness and vulnerability. That Spirit cultivates awareness, rationality, deliberation, justice, and mercy. It encourages trustworthy fellowships which think things through, anticipates consequences with the understanding not all can be foreseen, and acts confidently. If nine of ten actors trust one another, they can deal with the untrustworthy one. 

The wise learn from experience and do not forget the past. They especially remember the mighty works of God who is faithful to his promises and threats. And they listen to the One who has risen from the dead. 

Saturday of the Twenty-Fifth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 454

While they were all amazed at his every deed, Jesus said to his disciples,
“Pay attention to what I am telling you.
The Son of Man is to be handed over to men.” 
But they did not understand this saying;
its meaning was hidden from them so that they should not understand it, and they were afraid to ask him about this saying.

Today's gospel is worth serious and long reflection, but it might be summarized with a popular, current expression, "Denial ain't just a river in Egypt."

Very often, as Saint Luke says, we're afraid to ask what is the meaning of that remark, or this incident. We'd rather overlook the elephant in the room. We prefer not to see it or hear it. We ignore it and assume it doesn't mean what it obviously means. 

Or, if we simply cannot ignore it, we hope it goes away soon. A pandemic, a catastrophic thousand year storm downpour, a mass shooting, a collapsed bridge: can't we just say they shouldn't happen and move on? Must we respond to everything? 

"The Son of Man is to be handed over to men:" that sounds like really bad news for our merry men from Galilee. That sounds like something I should hear and acknowledge. Apparently, I'm being told this for a reason. 

But, thank you, no. Not today. I don't know what it means, and I cannot respond to anything so unthinkably awful. And I've got a lot on my plate right now. 

This 45th verse in Luke 9 is leading up to verse 51:

When the days for his being taken up were fulfilled, he resolutely determined to journey to Jerusalem.

 Those who travel with Jesus should know what they're getting into. 

A friend recently suggested I read a popular Christian book. I was startled by the publisher's one sentence summary of its message: "Change in your life is inevitable, but suffering is not." Perhaps the author and publishers should have told Jesus about that before he set out for Jerusalem. It might have made all the difference!

But perhaps that's precisely what his disciples thought when they heard, "The Son of Man is to be handed over to men.” Each one might have quietly assured himself, "Suffering is not necessary. There are other ways!" 

In their heart of hearts they disagreed with his statement and would not absorb what he was telling them.

After Luke 9:51 we understand Jesus will go to Jerusalem regardless of the warnings, and regardless of his obtuse disciples. The time has come! He goes obediently, willingly, eagerly, and generously; and with those inspired impulses he finds both freedom and joy. He will go with or without followers. They must make their own choice; his is made.

Memorial of Saint Pius of Pietrelcina, Priest

 Lectionary: 453

Then he said to them, “But who do you say that I am?”
Peter said in reply, “The Christ of God.”
He rebuked them and directed them not to tell this to anyone.

Vince Lombardi, the revered coach of the Green Bay Packers was known for praising his team's efforts when they lost; and sharply, ruthlessly criticizing them when they won. The young men knew they had won; they had their fans and a fawning press to tell them. Willing to learn from the master, they were also willing to receive his severe rebuke. 

There is a time for everything under heaven, and the wise have an acute sense of the time. Warren Buffett, investor, is also known for his timing; he buys as investors flee the market, and sells when they return. Wisdom's sense of timing often confounds fools.

As an avowed disciple of the Lord, one might expect praise for our spokesperson, Saint Peter, when he declares, "You are the Christ of God!" 

(Woohoo! Ain't I something!) 

But anyone familiar with the scriptures knows God's continual and frequent rebuke; the stories begin with Adam and Eve and continue through all Salvation History. 

Adults who practice the sacrament of reconciliation invite the Master's stern pronouncements. Fascinated by the Lord's holiness, beauty, and goodness, grateful to be in God's presence, delighted at the sound of his voice: they don't need an encouraging word 24/7.  

When the time is right, as Saint Paul said, 

"...he will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will manifest the motives of our hearts, and then everyone will receive praise from God.

Thursday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 452

Before the mountains were born,
the earth and the world brought forth,
from eternity to eternity you are God.
You turn humanity back into dust,
saying, “Return, you children of Adam!”
A thousand years in your eyes
are merely a day gone by,
Before a watch passes in the night,
you wash them away...

Saint Luke tells us today that, "Herod was perplexed" about Jesus and the stories he was hearing. In Luke's account, Herod was not given to superstition. He commanded the killing of John the Baptist and saw the prophet's head given to his step-daughter. That story was finished, but who is this new prophet taking the man's place? Will the Lord never give up plaguing this Roman puppet with prophets and messiahs who only disturb the peace and upset his superiors? 

I've just finished James Baldwin's The Fire Next Time. Published in 1963, it is no less prophetic today than when it was when written. The underlying spiritual issues remain. It is easy to point to technological developments and declare, "How far we've come!" But spiritual realities do not change so easily. 

Baldwin wrote: "White Americans do not believe in death and this is why the darkness of my skin so intimidates them. And this is why the presence of the Negro in this country can  bring about its destruction. It is the responsibility of free men to trust and to celebrate what is constant -- birth, struggle, and death are constant and so is love though we may not always think so -- and to apprehend the nature of change, to be able and willing to change.

I speak of change not on the surface but in the depths, change in the sense of renewal. But renewal becomes impossible if one supposes things to be constant that are not: safety, for example, or money or power. One clings then to chimeras by which one can only be betrayed and the entire hope -- the entire possibility -- of freedom disappears. And by destruction I mean precisely the abdication by Americans of any effort really to be free.

The passage of time and history may give today's readers, those who remember the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950's and 60's, a better sense of what America is and always has been. If a thousand years are but a day in God's sight, who should expect the world to be different after a mere sixty years? 

Jesus perplexed Herod because he knew he would die. He knew his ancestors Abraham, Moses, and David had died and he would take his place among them. The Word of God knows the movement of history, and the Spirit of God draws believers into its ever-rolling stream. Assured of our death and our place in God's presence, Christians don't cling to "chimeras by which one can only be betrayed."

The desperate hope of many white people -- on the face of it, insane -- was that African-Americans and other disenfranchised Americans might mysteriously become equal without a proportionate loss of status and freedom among European descendants. Technology would make it possible. Instead of sharing their wealth, wealth would appear among the disenfranchised and equality would occur painlessly. All the boats would be raised on an ever rising tide of prosperity. Beliefs like that explain why Americans fall for Ponzi schemes. 

The Spirit of Jesus welcomes opportunities to sacrifice, atone, repair, give -- and give more. Like John the Baptist, it is eager to decrease that others might increase. That impulse can only perplex the Herods of this world. They will always murder to defend their security; they will always disappear under the flood of God's wrath. 

Feast of Saint Matthew, Apostle and evangelist

 Lectionary: 643

The Pharisees saw this and said to his disciples,
“Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”
He heard this and said,
“Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do.
Go and learn the meaning of the words,
    I desire mercy, not sacrifice.
I did not come to call the righteous but sinners.”

Several years ago, I happened to watch a TV drama which described a conversation between a woman and her troubled, adult daughter. The younger woman had just broken up with her umpteenth boyfriend and the mother said, "I raised you to deserve better than this." As the drama unfolded, the daughter took the words to heart and began a new life. 

The advice sounded like the gospel to me. You deserve better than that. Jesus said as much to Matthew, his other disciples, the tax collectors, sinners, and critical Pharisees. Some get up and follow him; other remain in their sins. 

We've tried sacrifice endlessly, even the human sacrifice of capital punishment and abortion. But the gods of our violence, lust, and rage are not appeased. They want only more. And so we arm ourselves and sacrifice schoolchildren, shoppers, churchgoers, and jogging women. Police, too, are gunned down; while agents of the FBI and clerical workers in the Federal Archives are threatened. Members of Congress and Supreme Court judges are not safe. 

I desire mercy, not sacrifice. It's really not so difficult. Pope Francis urges the world, and Catholics in particular, to prefer mercy over justice. Could forgiving and seeking reconciliation with our enemies be worse than our present strategy of justice? As G.K. Chesterson said in his famous essay, "What's Wrong with the World:" 

“The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried.”

The Bible recounts the long sad story of human attempts to please God our way, even as the LORD insisted, "I desire mercy, not sacrifice." All our attempts to live righteously failed as we continued to neglect the widow, the orphan, and the alien. Not even the human sacrifice of the Lord could appease the gods of our fear. 

Critics of the Church will recount stories of bishops, cardinals, and popes, who used the harshest means of justice; but the Apostles, and Mary our Mother, and the Gospel, which is the soul of the Church, have never stopped saying, "You deserve better than this." 

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

Lectionary: 450

To do what is right and just is more acceptable to the LORD than sacrifice.

When I hear the first proverb in today's reading. I think of the Virgin Mary, who appears in today's second reading. With the second verse, I think of my harangues about those who regard their own opinions as infallible simply because it's how they feel. Have I written a harangue about the third verse? 

I've often recommended to my readers -- and hopefully to my own stony heart -- the readiness to make sacrifice, and even to do so courageously. I heard a grade school teacher say that if she wasn't acting courageously she wasn't doing her job. She spoke for all of us. Folk wisdom, if not common sense, says we must be willing to go the extra mile and lend without expecting repayment if we would accomplish anything. 

But today's third proverb goes beyond the suggestions of sacrificing and acting boldly. Our works must also be "right and just." 

So long as I get to choose what sacrifice I make, and how I might act boldly, there is something suspicious about my action. Where is it coming from? Whom does it serve? 

Feminist spirituality has rightly challenged my male assumption, that I cannot trust myself, for women are often told that. Women who read the challenge I issue to people like me might balk; they have always been urged to sacrifice for others and surrender their initiative to those of their parents, husbands, and children. I respect that objection, though I am not sure where to take the reflection from here. 

Doing the right and just thing is rarely obvious. If it is for a major decision, it should be all the more suspect. 

I sometimes refer back to my own original reading of the Fall in Eden. (An interpretation which again is suspect because it's my own. I've never come across this in traditional literature. Caveat emptor!) 

The Lord told Adam and Eve not to eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, and then drove them out of Paradise because, they had "become like us, knowing good and evil" His motive, in the same verse, is that they might eat of the other tree and live forever. 

But, the unhappy couple sampled the tree only once; their knowledge of good and evil is far from infallible. Had they and their children remained to snack on that forbidden tree daily, not only would we be utterly insufferable, we would also have no need for God's Guiding Holy Spirit. We would be Wise! If I could eat of that tree I could tell you how to vote, what food to eat for breakfast, and what's wrong with the way you tie your shoe! 

(I know some people who act as if they have eaten of it!)

But, ignorant as we are, with only a very fallible sense of right and wrong, and with a long, unfortunate history of guessing wrong, we need Guidance from Above. And not just once in a while. 

But we need more than that. We also need what God so wants to give, which is intimacy with God. And the LORD is so disappointed that we so often decline the offer. 

Those who receive the Spirit of Jesus, living in and breathing with it daily, have a deeper understanding of God's intent. They are like the spouse who can predict their partner's reactions and responses to any given question. That sense is not infallible but it is reliable. And given the willingness to be reviewed, challenged, and criticized by other disciples of Jesus, they move forward with confidence. 

Intimacy with God is worth far more than sacrifice. It is a treasure found in a field, a pearl of great price. 

Monday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 449

The curse of the LORD is on the house of the wicked,
but the dwelling of the just he blesses;
When dealing with the arrogant, he is stern,
but to the humble he shows kindness.

If the first part of that two part verse sounds pretty ordinary -- that the wicked are punished and the virtuous, rewarded -- the second part goes beyond the routine. Who would expect the humble to receive kindness? 

Why would they receive kindness if they were so humble they never asked for it, when louder voices demand it?

But both parts of this proverb assume something we often forget about God. The Lord is a person in at least the sense we understand person, which is to say, the Lord can and does make choices according to God's own design. (The word person is far from adequate to describe the ineffable mystery, but it's useful when we must be staggered by God's sovereignty.) 

Philosophers and statisticians remind us not to take anyone's decision for granted. So long as there is free will there is unpredictability. 

Plus, others take initiative, as God did when he made us in the first place. So the humble might be shown kindness despite their invisibility. The LORD who is hidden might seek and find the humble in their hiding place. 

Reflecting on good and evil, virtue and vice, I am reminded that the Lord wants his people to be holy, which is somewhat more than keeping our hands clean and our bodies out of jail. We're supposed to shine like the stars on a clear night; we should standout like a city on the hill, even when no one is watching and no one cares. 

Neither holiness nor humility demands recognition, but they deserve it for they are beautiful. And the LORD who is beautiful rewards the beautiful. 

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 135

First of all, I ask that supplications, prayers, petitions, and thanksgivings be offered for everyone, for kings and for all in authority, that we may lead a quiet and tranquil life in all devotion and dignity.

The doctrine of the "Divine Right of Kings" didn't appear until monarchs needed it to counter the rising demands of the middle classes in England, France, and other European nations. And it disappeared almost as quickly under revolutions in England, the United States, and France. Saint Paul never heard of the "right," and never thought of it. 

He accepted this passing world as it is. Kings and emperors were just as real as mountains and rivers and slavery. Fifteenth centuries would pass through innumerable upheavals before the Enlightenment would challenge aristocracy with the idea of self-government through democratic processes. It's an experiment that has yet to succeed but must not fail. 

Although the Church of Saint Paul's day was so small it was hardly noticed in the halls of power, the Apostle knew we must pray for kings and all in authority. We are, in a manner of speaking, responsible for them before God. And if we want peace, we should pray that they will manage the changes, developments, and continual motion of human life reasonably and for the benefit of all. 

It is human nature to take care of oneself first. Biology doesn't wait long. I get up, shave, and get dressed first. And then we take care of family and friends, and finally our duties. Politicians can be expected to promote and protect themselves first; their family, friends, and supporters second; and finally, their duties for the welfare of all. 

That being so, the odds are stacked against just government. History often attests to the promise of good government and its disappointment. But we absorb a certain amount of nepotism and corruption for the sake of stability and predictability, which we call peace. 

As Rabbi Heschel pointed out in his classic work, The Prophets, the Hebrew Prophets from Isaiah to Malachi denounced that corruption. It was unendurable in God's sight and must incur God's wrath against his own holy city and his chosen people. If they are holy as God is holy, the LORD will protect them against enemies without and the enemy within. 

Saint Paul's mission was not to denounce government corruption but to preach the Gospel to the whole world. Intent on that, he would not bother to condemn hypocrisy or malfeasance among public officials. Pray for them, he urged, while we announce and live by the Gospel. 

He must have learned that laissez faire attitude from his Jewish tradition in diaspora. Jeremiah, writing to the exiles in Babylon, had urged them to, "Seek the welfare of the city to which I have exiled you; pray for it to the LORD, for upon its welfare your own depends." Babylon was never a holy city, nor was Rome, Alexandria, or Tarsus. But they were the homes of Jews and Jews should be a blessed, prayerful presence among them. 

Many Christians regard the United States as another holy city. It should be a city on the hill, shining the bright light of democracy to an unhappy world of autocrats and tyrants. They have seen our democratic form of government admired and emulated by many nations. That is all the more reason why Christians must be a blessed, prayerful presence in our own country. 

We must pay attention to what is happening, gratefully pay our taxes, participate in local government, celebrate our loyalty, and demand of all levels of government policies of both justice and mercy. Our government should recognize and protect the dignity of every human being just as we do in our churches and assemblies. In fact, by our respect for every member from least to greatest, we model how it's done. 

When certain policies seem more generous than the Church's, we should feel embarrassment and reconsider our practices. Some churches remain reluctant to accommodate wheelchairs long after city governments have shown the way. 

Our governments don't have to be perfect for us to "lead a quiet and tranquil life in all devotion and dignity." But we dare not suppose that they intend to be just or merciful. That is the intent of neither the government nor the millions they govern. The Gospel will always be a minority opinion, and a quiet voice of conscience to the world. As Christians, we challenge and contribute to a world destined to be worthy of our presence. 

Franciscan Feast of the Stigmata of Saint Francis

Readings for the Franciscan Feast of the Stigmata of Saint Francis

For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. What profit is there for one to gain the whole world yet lose or forfeit himself? 

We must be reminded rather often of the two-edged sword which is the gospel;

Indeed, the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating even between soul and spirit, joints and marrow, and able to discern reflections and thoughts of the heart.

Medieval knights imagined they were fighting for the gospel with their cross-shaped broadswords, but the Roman sword had no guard between the blade and the hilt. Saint Paul would not have made the connection. When he spoke of the gospel, he addressed adults who understood his metaphor. The gospel was never an instrument of violence, nor an excuse for it. 

Today Franciscans throughout the world celebrate the stigmata of Saint Francis. His biographers tell us that he was blessed with these painful wounds on his hands, feet, and side two years before he died. He showed them to no one and only one other friar knew of them, the nurse who cared for him. However, upon his death, they were discovered and revealed to many people, especially to Saint Clare and the "Poor Ladies," before he was entombed in the basilica under construction. 

We regard the miracle as a sign of God's purpose to restore the cross to its central place within the heart of every Christian. At that time the most powerful institution in "Christendom" was the Roman Catholic Church; and lesser institutions civil and religious conformed to its appearance. She had political, economic, academic, and social prestige. Even the continual warfare of the middle ages was conducted in God's name, as if violence could serve the Gospel. 

The life  of Saint Francis with its heavenly seal of approval, the stigmata, reminded the ecclesial and secular authorities that righteousness belongs to the poor and humble of heart, and not to the violent. 

Should anyone suppose they serve the Lord by simply avoiding evil and doing good when it's convenient, they miss the cutting edge of the Gospel. Without personal sacrifice, without frequently pouring one's energy and resources into an apparent vacuum of futility, they can hardly expect they are living by the Gospel. 

Anyone who expects to "do well by doing good" courts disaster. The two-edged sword will not lead anyone to this world's prosperity. The gospel demands that we go the extra mile and give our shirts when they ask only for a jacket, We don't want or need success; rather, we want to hear the invitation of Matthew 25: 

‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me....

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

 Lectionary: 447

Lord, when your glory appears, my joy will be full. (Psalm 17)

In today's first reading, Saint Paul assures his distressed disciples in Corinth that those who believe in Jesus will be raised up as he has been raised up. We can speculate on what heaven might be like while skeptics scoff at our fantasies, but with our memory of his rising, and the Spirit that drives us, our hope is unsinkable.

In today's Gospel Saint Luke describes what Americans, many centuries later, would call a Utopian society. Under his pleasantly demanding authority, men and women walked the dusty roads of Palestine together with only the occasional quarrel about who was the most important. 

Last month, as I read Leszek Kołakowski's book Is God Happy? and shared some thoughts with readers, I railed against the ideology of Determinism which predicts the future and would direct us toward it. With a religious fervor they denounce traditional religions as abusive and violent, even as they engineer the mass extermination of millions of people. 

Christians cannot predict the future; we cannot imagine the Kingdom of God. It is often very difficult to imagine how the present crises might be resolved. But we sing nonetheless, "Lord, when your glory appears, my joy will be full." We have, as Saint Paul said, the first fruits of the Holy Spirit, those marvelous virtues include: "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control." (Galatians 5)

Paul describes the Holy Spirit as a down payment toward the satisfaction we are promised. It is "the first installment of our inheritance toward redemption as God’s possession, to the praise of his glory." (Ephesians 1:14)

Martyrs like Cornelius and Cyprian demonstrate the joy we should practice and the way we should walk. Where some self-styled martyrs cause enormous suffering as they would create their Utopian society, true martyrs take up the cross of Christ and endure the violence. In their spirit, which is the Spirit of God, we joyfully offer our sacrificial lives. 

Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows

 Lectionary: 446/639

...and you yourself a sword will pierce so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

Oddly, the Church follows the elated celebration of the Exaltation of the Cross with the very sad Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows. It is, perhaps intentionally, a reminder that we must still walk that lonesome valley; we still live in a vale of tears. 

Born in the post-war forties and fifties when the world struggled with economic depression, but educated in the sixties and seventies when the promise of prosperity blanketed the world, I remember the shame-faced, guilt-ridden prayers of the pre-Vatican Church and the apparent liberation that followed. 

And I have seen the collapse of promised prosperity as the gap between wealth and poverty resumed its growth. The expectation that united nations might create a stable, balanced, and just economy disappeared. Like generosity, the arms race now begins at home in a nation that boasts of more guns than citizens. (393 million guns, 329.5 million people).

And there is much sadness. Neither Facebook, nor Disney World, nor the Wide World of Sports can lift the pall that hangs over us. Where kids in the 1960's used alcohol and drugs to get high, today's youth drink and shoot up to relieve their distress. If we expected to build the Kingdom of God in the sixties and seventies, we cremate the victims of the twenty-first century. 

For comfort we turn to Our Lady of Sorrows. Her heart was pierced that the thoughts of our hearts might be revealed. 

Like her Beloved Son, Mary remains with us in our grief. She does not urge us to cheer up, or just forget about it. She does not distract us with an assurance of eternal gladness in the Great Beyond, a happy Elysian Field that is promised to everyone regardless. 

By her remaining at the foot of the cross throughout that long ordeal, we learn that sorrow too is good. It cannot be explained. Celebration seems hardly the word; memorial might be more fitting. 

There is comfort in her company, and she teaches us to stay with one another. We should neither deny the grief nor distract from it. 

Like the Virgin, the Church remains; we're not going away. We cannot flee. Not because grief is inescapable but because we belong here. 

Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

 Lectionary: 638

With their patience worn out by the journey,
the people complained against God and Moses,
“Why have you brought us up from Egypt to die in this desert, where there is no food or water? We are disgusted with this wretched food!”

Saint Paul introduced "the wisdom of the cross" to our vocabulary. On this exultant feast, we do well to reflect on the foolishness that seems so natural, and wisdom that comes from God. 

Somewhere in his dense, inspiring book, Lonergan and Spirituality, Towards a Spiritual Integration, Tad Dunne, S.J. suggests that "common sense" remembers only the recent past and has little sense of history. Common sense, "This is they way it's always been!" though it's not been this way very long at all.  

For instance, common sense might say that women should stay at home to raise the children while men go to work and provide for the family. Hasn't it always been that way? Didn't God intend that to be the natural obvious way? It's just common sense! 

But this invaluable common sense doesn't remember that, until the Industrial Revolution, men, women, and children worked together on the farm or in a cottage industry. They were first separated as each found a position in the factory. 

After much suffering, socialism, unions and the Labor Movement demanded a forty-hour work week with a "living wage" for (some) workers. It also forced children out of the factories and into schools, while (some) women were relegated to maintaining the home and hearth. Women entered workplaces on an "industrial scale" first as nurses and teachers, and then as secretaries. There is still resistance to nurses' and teachers' organizing, and they have yet to receive equal pay for equal work -- which should be "common sense." 

I think of Father Dunne's remarks about common sense when I hear today's first reading and the Hebrews' complaint about their sojourn in the Sinai peninsula. Common sense would return to Egypt and its fleshpots. They might have said, "We came out to worship God. Okay, that's done. Now let's go home!" 

The LORD, whose wisdom sees far beyond the horizon, would not permit their return to slavery. 

As the Church remains in the Egypt of this world we remember Saint Paul's wisdom of the cross and its Exaltation. We rarely know where the Lord is leading us; we only know we must keep our eyes fixed on the cross, and regard common sense -- the "wisdom of this world" -- skeptically. 

Memorial of Saint John Chrysostom, Bishop and Doctor of the Church

 Lectionary: 444

When the Lord saw her, he was moved with pity for her and said to her, “Do not weep.”
He stepped forward and touched the coffin; at this the bearers halted, and he said, “Young man, I tell you, arise!”
The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.

I notice two things about this miracle story, and neither concern the young man. The first is Jesus's compassion for the widow. Her only child had died and there was no one to assist her in her old age.

Secondly, the people of Naim understand, "God has visited his people!" They don't lavish affection and congratulations on the young man. His good fortune seems secondary to the story.

Rather often, I have to be reminded, "My life is not about me." 

Jesus knew his life was for others, and that gave him the freedom to move about from town to city to village; and to preach, heal, scold, and console God's people. 

The social pendulum has swung as far as it can go toward individual liberties, and we find the whole concept of freedom has become a caricature. Civil rights for African Americans is largely dismissed as every other self-identified minority rushes through the pried-open door. Consequently, Black Lives Matter rises up in protest, and that too is co-opted by a dozen other minorities -- and a pathetic majority.

When everyone universally and loudly declares, "I am somebody!" no one is anybody again, and we're back where we started. 

As a pastor in an African-American church I was often impressed by the lack of interest in the isolated individual. More than a few women said to me, "Father, this is my granddaughter!" And forgot to tell me the child's name. The name seemed less important than the beautiful relationship, granddaughter. 

In today's gospel, neither the young man nor his mother is named; they're known by their relationship, including "widow," which implies a lost and redefined relationship. 

No one is saved alone. We belong to Christ and we belong to one another. 

We can be oppressed by skewed assignments, as when families, companies, or society appoint us to responsibilities for which we have neither talent nor ability nor interest. The oppression might reflect their ignorance of us, or their indifference. They just don't care who we are or how we might contribute. 

But sometimes the need is great, there is no one else, and we generously step up to the assignment, learning the skills and attitudes to make it work. The Spirit is there and the flesh learns. 

The Jesuits like to say, "ad maiorem Dei gloriam!"  (All for the greater glory of God!) In today's Gospel, Jesus restores a young man to a needy woman and the locals recognize, "God has visited his people." 

Now wouldn't that make a nice epithet to my life?