Memorial of Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Priest

Lectionary: 401

So Moses went back to the LORD and said,
"Ah, this people has indeed committed a grave sin in making a god of gold for themselves!
If you would only forgive their sin!
If you will not, then strike me out of the book that you have written."

In these few words from the Book of Exodus we see Moses as a type of Jesus. He offers to suffer the guilt and share the punishment of his foolish people despite his personal innocence. There were certainly moments when he was so weary of leadership and discouraged by their persistent discontent, that he begged to be relieved of duty. Even death seemed better than the charge of leading former slaves to freedom. 

But he found relief in sharing the burden with God; and in standing before God's presence as he demonstrated his courageous compassion. 

We see the same traits in Jesus, especially as he was baptized in the Jordan River. First, when he went down to the Jordan River he milled with the crowds and was baptized with them. He appeared in every way like an ordinary sinner, sharing the guilt, shame, and remorse of his ancestors and contemporaries. He did not hesitate to be washed clean in the muddy Jordan River. As Saint Mark tells the story, John the Baptist seemed not to recognize him, and would later send his own disciples to ask if he was the Messiah. 

He appeared guilty again, when he was arrested by the temple guards and hauled first before the High Priests, and then Herod, and finally the procurator Pontius Pilate. Despite all the loud accusations, he said nothing in his own defense. Who among us, under similar circumstances, would not protest, "You've got the wrong person. I've done nothing wrong?" 

Nor was he playing the hero. Not exactly, though we may regard him as heroic. Rather, he was humbly obeying the guiding Spirit of his Father. Although he was hated and despised by his opponents, he knew their hatred was for the God who created and loved them, the God whom he represented. They found nothing in his behavior to merit their abuse; he had no need to defend or explain himself. Rather, as he said to Pilate, he honored the authority they'd been given by God. 

He would endure God's wrath as he waited upon God's mercy. It would come -- but not till   the third day. He believed that. His reading of Abraham, Moses, and the prophets assured him, as well as the history of his people. Though God has been angry with us, he will forgive us. Moses knew that, as did all the prophets: 

In an outburst of wrath, for a moment

I hid my face from you;

But with enduring love I take pity on you,

says the LORD, your redeemer. Is 54:8

Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

A desert trail in Colorado Springs, Co

Lectionary: 109

The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field, which a person finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.

We can well imagine the ecstatic joy of the entrepreneur who stumbles across a buried treasure -- perhaps a forgotten gold mine or a pharaoh's tomb. It may be the next big thing like social media in 1997, Google in 1998, or the Cloud in 2006. A  buried treasure like lithium or rare earth may be too large to carry away, and so the entrepreneur  must purchase the entire field regardless of the expense or time involved. They may have to share the  joy with potential investors who buy in with them and create a company. 

When Jesus reveals the hidden Kingdom of God, we see his joy and know it’s trustworthy. We can see it in his persistent, damn-the-torpedoes march toward Jerusalem. He may be the only one who understands what will happen when he arrives there in time for the Pasch. But his enthusiasm convinces his followers this is pure gold, seven times refined! And his animated spirit urges us to go with him.

Today’s reading from First KIngs gives us a clue about this buried treasure/priceless pearl. Solomon called it "an understanding heart to judge your people and to distinguish right from wrong." This talent apparently is borne of the heart, rather than the head. As Blaise Pascal said in his Pensees, 

"The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing. We know the truth not only by the reason, but by the heart.”

This wisdom has an instinctive feel about it. As Christians we pray to the Lord for guidance and direction. Very often, we might engage in a path that is just wrong for us. It might not be by anyone's standards immoral or foolish. But it's wrong; it doesn't work.. A doctor's son follows in the path his parents laid out for him, until one day he admits he finds no joy in studying chemistry or anatomy. But he loves to discuss politics and history and, when he's elected president of the class, he changes his major to poly-sci. There was nothing wrong with medicine but God had chosen him to engage in the noble art of politics. 

A young woman dates a dozen charming men in as many months but in the thirteenth she opens her heart to an unpretentious fellow who loves to be with her.. They're meant for each other despite the skepticism of parents and the opposition of friends. The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing. 

Through the centuries the Catholic Church has studied the ways of God and created a science to discover the particular hidden treasure, that unique pearl of great price which the Lord intends for each person. Pascal wrote his method in his Pensees. Saint Ignatius described Rules for the Discernment of Spirits. Before either of them, Saint Francis asked his noble-born friend Matteo to twirl around like a child. In whichever direction the friar fell, that’s the way they went. (The rather dour Matteo, in the meanwhile, acquired a sense of humor.) 

We ask the Lord to put his finger on the choice we should make, and then to help us see how it glows while we pray.

Today’s consumer culture offers many solutions to the problems of our time. Some appear worthy of discussion, research, and experimentation. Others, like abortion, capital punishment, euthanasia and warfare are simple, neat, and wrong; and only make matters worse. Daily we hear on NPR or Fox television these banal suggestions. Some are taught in our schools and universities as modern, forward, and progressive. The next generation, we’re told, will certainly believe them! But these progressive thinkers overlook both the invisible hand of the Holy Spirit and the intelligence of young people. They’re not as stupid as they look! 

We must pray continually that the Lord will govern and guide our hearts. We dare not sell our souls to simplistic answers which lack the joy, courage, spirit, and dynamism of God. In constant prayer we study the scriptures, teachings, and history of the Church as we navigate the shoals of our time. 

We ask the Lord to give us “an understanding heart to judge your people and to distinguish right from wrong.” We want that joy which recognizes the buried treasure and the pearl of great price not only by reason, but by heart.

Memorial of Saints Martha, Mary and Lazarus

 Lectionary: 400/607

When Moses came to the people
and related all the words and ordinances of the LORD,
they all answered with one voice,
"We will do everything that the LORD has told us."

Today we celebrate a second holy family that appears in the gospels, that of Martha, Mary, and their brother Lazarus. We remember them as devout persons who welcomed the Lord to their home whenever he came to Jerusalem. If there was no room in the City, he always had a room, good food, and an eager welcome in their house. Mary might sit listening at his feet as Martha served his meals while Lazarus made himself useful for whatever needed doing. 

When their ancestors swore to Moses, "We will do everything that the Lord has told us." they affirmed their readiness to hear the Word of God and keep it. Martha, Mary, and Lazarus kept that oath as the Incarnate Word of God stayed in their own home. 

Recently the Surgeon General of the United States, a native of India and citizen of the United States, has called attention to the plague of loneliness in his adoptive country. I spent a weekend with a compatriot of his almost fifty years ago. The young priest was studying in Chicago and he told me the people of his village could not imagine the violence, crime, fearfulness, and unhappiness of that major American city. He told how the adults in his village watched out for the children even as they taught them how to get along peaceably. If their parents had died, they were not orphans for the village watched out for them. The same children would die in Chicago. 

As we celebrate today's memorial we remember that the Lord also knew loneliness like any human being, but he found comfort with this holy family. 

There is a brief, devastating sentence in the Gospel of Saint John. It describes both the hopelessness of our sin and growing tension as Jesus would soon be crucified. After the Sanhedrin had met to discuss the problem of Jesus, Saint John says, 

"Then each went to his own house." 

In the same Gospel Jesus says of his disciples, 

"Behold, the hour is coming and has arrived when each of you will be scattered to his own home and you will leave me alone." 

The dismissal at the end of Mass doesn't mean go home and hide again. Our gatherings in Church should be only the tip of the iceberg of our living community. Our choirs, sodalities, bible studies, third orders, prayer groups, volunteer and service organizations, and daily Masses offer us both escape from our loneliness and the experience of faith-filled solidarity. We love one another as God loves us. As Saint Francis said, "The Lord gave me brothers." 

We can provide for one another as the holy family in Bethany provided for Jesus. No Catholic should die of loneliness. 

Friday of the Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 399

In six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea and all that is in them; 
but on the seventh day he rested.
That is why the LORD has blessed the sabbath day and made it holy.

We model the behavior of our gods. The violent worship violent gods; the avaricious worship powerful gods. The frightened worship oppressive gods. Work-obsessed people, fearing failure, humiliation, defeat, and setbacks, work feverishly to please their god. They might pay lip service to the Father of Jesus but their hearts are elsewhere. 

The LORD who called Abraham from Ur of the Chaldees to settle in Palestine commands that we model our lives after him. We should be merciful, just, and endlessly patient. And we should take a sabbath rest. We are not slave of Economy, a false god if there ever was one. 

Our God is the God of Providence; meaning, he provides for his faithful people. Deuteronomy describes three major festivals each year when the Jewish people celebrate their faith. Everyone from the king to the slave, the alien, the orphan, and the widow will enjoy the feast. Between festivals they tithe in preparation for it. The Deuteronomic tithe is not to provide for construction or maintenance of the temple, nor for the priests and their families; it's for the three festivals. If they eat everything that was stored up during the festival, there will be plenty for the next one, for the Lord sets the table for his people. Like an Italian host, he says, "Mangia, mangia!" (Eat!)  

The LORD also provides for those who rest on the Sabbath. Work on the Sabbath betrays a failure to believe in God's merciful providence. 

From what I understand of American history, our workaholic ancestors never believed in that God. Especially, the slave owners of the South were slaves to their own fears in a cutthroat economy. Historians say the genteel plantations were always barely floating in an unstable market; theirs was a frontier economy of survival as they tried to provide the luxury products of cotton and sugar to the settled economies of the Northern states and Europe. Most plantations failed. Romantic memories of leisure in antebellum Dixie remember a past that never was. 

But the standard operating procedures of a slave economy -- the long hours, low pay, brief vacations, and mistrust of employees -- prevail to this day. A company is not comprised of companions. While most European workers take thirty days of vacation each year, Americans take ten, or less. 

Economy demands total sacrifice while promising much and delivering little. Those freed by their faith in God practice the Sabbath. 

Thursday of the Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 398

But blessed are your eyes, because they see,
and your ears, because they hear.
Amen, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people
longed to see what you see but did not see it,
and to hear what you hear but did not hear it.

In September I will have the rare (for me) privilege of officially witnessing the rite of marriage. I have not, in my 48 years of priesthood, presided over many weddings, and I look forward to this one. 

In my homily, I want to speak of that mystery which Jesus reveals to his disciples, a mystery vast, complex, beautiful, fascinating, and frightening.

Every human being suspects the truth about marriage, but only those with blessed eyes and ears can see or hear it. The mystery is given to the Church to announce to the whole world; or at least, to those willing to hear it. 

A Catholic knows certain obvious things about marriage. Of course it's monogamous, exclusively faithful, life-long, and eager to conceive children! Nothing else makes sense! Aren't we made for that? Isn't that precisely what every healthy person wants? But those obvious qualities are not obvious to many, nor even apparent. The mystery has not been revealed to them; they have eyes but do not see and ears that do not hear. 

I will remind the couple and the wedding guests that marriage is a public event. While there is much that is private in marriage, and should be private, the vows are nonetheless public. They are declared before God, the Church, the government, and the public; and by the vows one adds new depth to all those relationships. 

Marriage is not easy, nor is it meant to be. Nothing in human life is easy. Even our walking on two legs and holding our heads upright is difficult. It takes enormous courage to enter the sacrament and more courage to remain in it through its unexpected challenges and unforeseen consequences.

That courage is divine; it is God's gift to married couples. We understand God's courage because we have contemplated the Holy Trinity. The Father has surrendered everything -- all the majesty, power, truth, and beauty of Godhead -- to the Son. That is, to that which is Other, for the Father and the Son are not the same. Like a husband and wife, they reflect and complement one another but they are not the same. When the Father loves the Son and the Son loves the Father, they have only an assurance of their mutual love. It is given but it is neither automatic nor guaranteed. The cross shows us how difficult it is. 

As God the Father surrenders all divinity to the Son, a married man surrenders his life to his wife; and she, to her husband. And both must hope and pray that they will remain faithful to their vows and worthy of one another's surrender. 

Like the disciples who asked Jesus, "Why do you preach to them in parables?" we wonder why marriage must be like this. Isn't there some easier, more pleasant, more agreeable way to manage our sexual impulses? But, like Jesus who could neither turn stones into bread nor leap off the parapet of the temple, a married couple cannot turn away from one another. They are bound by the love of God. 

In today's first reading we heard how the Hebrews trembled as they beheld God's ominous, dark cloud over the mountain, and as they saw bolts of lightning and heard peals of thunder. But they were not allowed to flee from the presence of God. Like marriage, the LORD is fascinating, beautiful, delightful, and terrifying; and we keep coming back. We cannot tear ourselves away. Our covenant with God, so necessary and beautiful, binds us together. 

Memorial of Saints Joachim and Anne, Parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary

 Lectionary: 606

"Blessed are your eyes, because they see,
and your ears, because they hear.
Amen, I say to you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see but did not see it,
and to hear what you hear but did not hear it."

Children try to remember what their parents tried to forget." 

That adage was said of Protestant churches in the United States in the nineteenth century; it has become true of Catholic churches in the twenty-first century. I remember the apparent new age following the Second Vatican Council. Many familiar Catholic customs were erased, and many statues, pictures, and banners disappeared. 

Many explanations were given for these reforms, including: simplicity is more appealing than complexity; the old rituals lack relevance in a new age; only a select few know what they mean, or meant; and we should pour new wine into new wine skins with new rituals. 

But the day would come when old songs were reclaimed, bells re-rang, incense re-burned, rosaries re-beaded, and the Sacred Heart would reappear as the icon of Divine Mercy.  And children are asking their grandparents what they mean. 

This is especially true where grandparents still attend church while parents prefer illusive feelings and ill-defined spirituality over substance and religion. 

Many grandparents also have a unique way of making the truth appealing, reassuring, and credible, while parents feel obliged to render the truth as domineering, arbitrary, and invasive. Grandparents have learned that honey attracts more flies than vinegar. 

In the antebellum South enslaved grandparents were often entrusted with the rearing, teaching, and discipline of children. We're seeing the same in our time as many parents are enslaved to their careers or to substance abuse. Today's grandparents must adopt their children's children. 

Perhaps it's time to rename some "Holy Family" churches after Saints Joachim and Ann. The sainted couple reminds us that our faith is very ancient. It was old even when Mary was a little girl; and she taught her Son what they'd taught her about the patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph. Today, more than ever, children of faith must conscientiously practice a religion with prehistoric roots. They should understand Qoheleth's insistent remark, "There is nothing new under the sun." Even robots with human features cannot ignore, dismiss, or cover that fact of life. Nor can these fantastic machines enjoy the ever-ancient, ever-new privilege of belonging to the Lord. 

Feast of Saint James, Apostle

 Lectionary: 605

We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained;
perplexed, but not driven to despair;
persecuted, but not abandoned;
struck down, but not destroyed;
always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus,
so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body.
For we who live are constantly being given up to death
for the sake of Jesus,
so that the life of Jesus may be manifested in our mortal flesh.

If Saint Peter was spokesman of the apostles before the crucifixion, and leader afterwards, Saint Paul became the spokesman for the apostles as he wrote his letters to the several churches. In his writing we discover not only what he taught and how he felt about many issues, we also discover an intense intimacy which we share with every disciple as we know and love the Lord. 

That intimacy begins with the sacraments, especially Baptism and Eucharist. It is there also as we confess our sins, care for our sick, and experience both Holy Orders and Marriage. But we have the most personal experience of communion with the apostles, martyrs, and saints in our suffering -- and for that we can credit Saint Paul. He was never shy about his pain.  

Our encouraging intimacy comes especially with the astonishing discovery that we are not dismayed by inconvenience, grief, failure, weariness, illness, or pain. Despite these and many other miserable afflictions of body, mind, and soul, we're never alone in our pain so long as we turn to the Lord. Nothing happens to me that has not happened to a fellow Christian; and we soldier through it all with Saint Paul's indomitable, ever-ready spirit. As he says, "the life of Jesus is manifested in our bodies" when we're feeling the most wretched. 

But occasionally we're dismayed by disappointments, and complain, "I thought my faith was stronger." That apparent failure may come because we're not actually prepared for it. Anyone can declare they know the Lord but, if their practice of faith is spotty at best, that assurance will vanish in a heartbeat with disappointments. 

And the Lord will test us as he tested Saint Paul, and as the Psalmist says, 

You tested us, O God,

tried us as silver tried by fire.

You led us into a snare;

you bound us at the waist as captives.

You let captors set foot on our neck;

we went through fire and water;

then you led us out to freedom.... (Psalm 66:10-12)

These tests show us just how weak our faith really is. In those desolate moments we must make a very deliberate choice to turn to the Lord in prayer, even as we seek comfort and reassurance from fellow Christians. God uses these setbacks to strengthen our practice of faith, that we might be more ready for that Final Temptation at the hour of our death. 

The failure to turn to the Lord and the Church for comfort in desolation may be the final decision of our lives. Some people, suffering divorce, bankruptcy, or the loss of health, never return to the Church. Sometimes it's only a quarrel with the priest, a grudge which they repeatedly invoke year after year, whenever the subject of Church comes up. The consequences of that decision can be fatal as their children and grandchildren are not led to belief in God. 

Those who read Saint Paul's letters are not surprised by disappointments. They know that even the greatest of apostles suffered hardships of every sort. He was disappointed with his body, his friends, and himself. He was hugely disappointed that his beloved Jewish people did not flock into the Church, and some fought violently against it. 

But still he prayed, and still he carried his cross and soldiered on. With Paul as our guide, we too walk with the Lord, suffering our pain, and grateful for our Spirit. 

Monday of the Sixteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 395

Some of the scribes and Pharisees said to Jesus,
"Teacher, we wish to see a sign from you."

In his first letter to the Corinthians, Saint Paul observed that "Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom." 

Both were bartering with the Almighty and Sovereign God as if their Jewish piety or Greek rationalism should have some standing in God's presence. Skeptics of our faith still practice that posturing, but with even more impunity, as they want God to prove his existence! When the devout Descartes devised his cogito as a thought experiment, he never supposed atheists would build an empire of skepticism on such a flimsy foundation. In this new age of AI they might as well try to prove they exist, and discover there's some doubt about that. 

The Pharisees in today's gospel demand a sign of Jesus. Their reference is to the Mighty Works which their forebears witnessed. That is, ancient spectacular works like the parting of the Red Sea and the annihilation of Egypt's army of charioteers. Perhaps they had in mind a cloud's sudden appearance with a terrifying voice or, better yet, Jesus's rapid disappearance into heaven in a fiery chariot. A recent Broadway show wanted Jesus to "walk across my swimming pool." Their challenge on that ordinary weekday with its usual routines of unremarkable activities was obvious mockery. They neither expected nor wanted Jesus to do something unusual. 

Catholics, however, with eyes of faith do see great signs every day. I refer especially to the sacraments. In Baptism we see God's marvelous election of his people. When the newly baptized is an infant, we see salvation given to another generation. Even as we promise to raise the child in the faith, God confirms our devotion with an oath that will span a thousand generations to come. 

In the Eucharist we witness the passion, death, resurrection, and ascension of the Lord -- the pascal mysteries -- even as we listen to the Word of God, eat his flesh, and drink his blood. This sign might feel routine to those who ordinarily attend weekly or daily Mass, but there is nonetheless a Mighty Work being accomplished as our mulish, stubborn wills are reshaped and conformed to the will of God. 

The Sacrament of Reconciliation confirms the Eucharist as we repeatedly turn back to the Lord, admitting our sins. Recently we have seen personalities forced to publicly apologize for their wrongdoing, even as we privately doubt their sincerity. But within the secrecy of the confessional, there's no need for pretense. "I have sinned; I have done wrong," we can say, and it's not all that difficult. 

In Marriage we witness apparent opposites -- Martians and Venusians -- reconciled and complementing one another. If that everyday miracle isn't a Mighty Work, I don't know what is! 

In the ordination of bishops, priests, and deacons, we witness God's Mighty Work as the Church is bonded by the vowed obedience of our clergy. Is it really possible that people of all ages, speaking thousands of different languages and living in hundreds of countries in both hemispheres of the Earth, can be united by the doctrines of our Catholic faith? “For human beings this is impossible, but for God all things are possible.” (Mt 19:26)

Finally, in the Anointing of the Sick we see the Lord's assurance to the sick and dying. He will raise us up on the last day. Consider it done!

But a list of the sacraments is not an exhaustive list of God's Mighty Works. Any Christian can name dozens of incidents in their life when God's presence was palpable; and his mercy, manifest -- from finding a misplaced cell phone to the birth of a baby. With eyes of faith we see God's kingdom sweeping through our world, and we are glad. 

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 106

There is no god besides you who have the care of all, that you need show you have not unjustly condemned.
For your might is the source of justice; your mastery over all things makes you lenient to all.

You are good, all good, supreme good!" Saint Francis sang of God. More than God's truth, Francis was amazed and delighted by God's goodness. 

He didn't learn that goodness from his violent, avaricious father, nor from his warlike culture. Rather, he discovered it, and was initially confused by it, as a prisoner of war in nearby Perugia. 

The young Francis, like his buddies, was enamored of chivalry and knighthood, and eagerly entered the Assisan ranks to fight against Perugia. Although the two cities were within sight of each other, Assisi was allied with the German emperor while Perugia sided with the pope's Vatican states. However, the lad was captured and wasted a year as a prisoner of war, waiting for his wealthy father to ransom him.

A boy had left home; a changed man returned. His vigorous health and his chivalrous idealism were gone, as were his tastes for fine food, luxurious clothing, and raucous entertainment. But mysteriously, he had found strength and purpose in cheering his fellow prisoners and sharing their wretched condition. God was there. 

But, after returning home and recovering some health, he set out on another military campaign. Isn't that what aspiring young men of upwardly-mobile families do? He had not gone far before a voice in the night spoke to him, "Francis, is it better to serve the slave or the master?" When he replied, "The master," the voice asked, "Then why are you serving the slave?" 

Given his experience of war and captivity, I wonder if the divine voice didn't really mean, "What the hell are you doing? Did you learn nothing in Perugia?" Francis immediately returned home. 

Several more epiphanies over many months finally peeled him away from the idiocy of entitlement. Perhaps, Francis realized he'd been happier as a prisoner of war, assisting his fellow prisoners, sharing their prison rations, and singing medieval songs to cheer their spirits. Goodness, happiness, and freedom belonged to the Spirit of God, and not to excessive wealth!  

Today's reading from the Book of Wisdom says of God, 

"For your might is the source of justice; and your mastery over all things makes you lenient to all." 

Francis never doubted God's supreme power and authority. He saw it everywhere, and especially in simple pleasures like singing, walking, and prayer. The Spirit led him toward greater simplicity as he found satisfaction in less food, worse clothing, and poor shelter. The sky was his glorious roof; and the bare ground, a luxurious bed.

He saw in God's sovereign majesty that "Nothing is so strong as gentleness, and nothing is so gentle as real strength." 

He saw in Jesus's birth of a poor virgin, his upbringing in poverty, his exile and homelessness, his death on a cross and burial in a borrowed grave, the supreme strength and authority of Almighty God. Even the horror of sin, rather than diminishing God's justice, served as a foil to prove God's forbearing mercy. 

And the birds of the air taught him, "A sufficiency is enough." They have no need to build barns and store provisions for tomorrow because God provides for them, as he does for every living creature. 

Finally, Francis recognized and honored God's sovereign right to rule. He struggled with God against his own reluctance. When his body wanted food, warmth, or rest he chose hunger, cold, and vigilance in prayer. When he recalled the luxuries of his former life, he thanked God for deliverance. He invited God to burn the weeds of his vanity and arrogance and to store up whatever in him might be worthy in God's sight. He begged God for the privilege of poverty, like the poverty of the homeless Jesus and the widowed Mary. 

In our day, when millions deny God's very existence and sneer at God's right to rule, our faith teaches us to sing God's praises, own our sins, and continually turn back to the Lord. As this Sunday's gospel reminds us, the mystery of God's rule has been revealed to us and not to the world. If they look at the sky they see only numbers: distances, weights, masses, and amounts; watching birds they see only predators and prey. They count flowers by dollars and cents. We see God's goodness, pure and simple and superabundant. 

And we pray with Saint Francis, "O God, You are good! All good! Supreme good, living and true. 

Feast of Saint Mary Magdalene

 Lectionary: 603

Consequently, from now on we regard no one according to the flesh;
even if we once knew Christ according to the flesh,
yet now we know him so no longer.
So whoever is in Christ is a new creation:
the old things have passed away;
behold, new things have come.

"There's Jesus!" my three year old great nephew said, and my sister wondered what her grandson might have seen as they drove through Louisville. They made the same trip the next day and when he made the same remark she saw him point to a statue of a Shriner holding a child with one arm and the child's small crutch with his free hand. The boy has seen statues only in church and apparently supposes that all statues represent Jesus. 

In fact, he's not far wrong for the statue represents a compassionate man engaged in assisting a disabled child. And who can say what the Risen Lord should look like? The story of Saint Mary Magdalene gives us another image of Jesus. 

This woman disciple has fascinated artists, who tend to be both imaginative and passionate, for many centuries. She represents a human desire which might impel one's base nature into sin or one's spiritual nature into wonder. A sexualizing culture like ours would skew her love for Jesus and as if she sang, "He's a man / he's just a man / And I've had so many men before / In very many ways / He's just one more." (Jesus Christ Superstar)

After these many centuries, the Church attempts to right the wrong done to her, and to all women, We celebrate the Magdalene as disciple and apostle of the Lord. We know little about her, and speculation on that little is often fruitless. Magdala was not a Jewish town and this Jewish woman must have known the sad experience of minority women. Saint Luke (8:2) describes her as a woman relieved of seven demons. She appears as a spokesperson for the women disciples, as Peter was for the men. She is alone with the Lord only in the Easter story of his appearance to her. 

Sadly, it seems to me, that mysterious, wonderful, evocative story has been flattened by many two-dimensional pictures and a misreading of his remark, "Do not cling to me." Jesus appears to shun and rebuke the woman despite his coming to her in solitude. Why would he come to her at all if he must immediately avoid her passionate embrace? 

I prefer to think that he did accept her embrace in the same manner that he might have sat silently with the Samaritan woman in the same Gospel of Saint John. That first moment of bliss at the well was interrupted by the disciples' return with provisions; this moment is broken as the Lord must go to the Father and she must go tell the disciples. In both stories the women are remarkably successful missionaries. 

Nolo me tangere means, "Do not touch (or cling) to me." As a word of the Gospel, it reminds us that our encounter with the Lord -- in prayer, sacraments, and personal meditation -- is not a solitary gift for the isolated person. We must bring our passion, desire, and delight to the Church and then to the world. We must dare to let others see our joy in knowing, loving, and serving him. The secret should be proclaimed from the roof tops. 

More importantly, we must regard no one according to the flesh, as Saint Paul says. To sexualize or eroticise anyone is an abominable sin. The Christian must see every human being as a likeness of God who "made them male and female, in his own image." And every Christian must know a fellow Christian as a brother or sister in the Lord. Any violation of that reverence for others -- in marriage or anywhere else -- is incestuous. The vocation of celibacy, given to some, serves as a visible, forceful reminder to everyone that our relations must be chaste. 

In an age of much sexual confusion, when some people suppose they can choose their sexual preference and identity, the Church announces that men and women loved the Lord, each in their own way, and in a way appropriate to chastity. If he loved them all equally -- whatever that means -- he also regarded each one separately. 

In 2016, the memorial of Saint Mary Magdalene was elevated to a feast; she is celebrated like an apostle. She is no longer conflated with Mary of Bethany or the Samaritan woman; rather she is recognized as a significant disciple who played a leading role among the witnesses of his resurrection. We hope that this new appreciation of her can atone for twenty centuries of suspicion. 

Friday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 393

I say to you, something greater than the temple is here.
If you knew what this meant, I desire mercy, not sacrifice,
you would not have condemned these innocent men.
For the Son of Man is Lord of the sabbath.

As Saint Paul and the evangelists understood it, the Law of Moses represented more of an obstacle to the presence of God than a way to it. If anything it seemed to be a series of discouraging and sometimes damaging obstacles; and the pious pilgrim, weary and injured, must finally give up the journey.

Christians have certainly known that form of religion for it seems endemic to our faith. We are eager to please the God who has saved us but we can neither see his pleasant face nor hear his reassuring voice. And we wonder, "Is this enough? Can I rest from my sacrifices now? Ever? How much more do I owe in gratitude?"

To make matters worse, we draw our image of God from human authorities, most especially our own parents. But the godlike authority might also be a relative, priest, or teacher. If that person happens to be habitually unhappy, the child whose life depends upon that authority's favor, supposes that "God" is implacably miserable. And when that same human authority insists, "You made me angry!" or "You disappointed me!" or "Shame on you!" the child's self-image in the presence of a disfigured god suffers "moral injury." It may be a permanent spiritual disability. 

To save us from that false god Jesus offers himself as the ideal authority, "For the Son of Man is Lord of the sabbath." We may imagine God in the person of Jesus, for that is who he is. And we may suppose that his father is the God we should worship. 

As his disciples we study the manner of one who knows God. Jesus walks in the presence of his Father. He never hides from God, nor does he ever suppose that God is looking the other way, or that "God doesn't care what I say or do." He has no time off from God's oversight, but neither does he want such a hellish moment. 

As we follow the Son of Mary we understand that this man is no fool. He is not gullible around human authorities, supposing that evil or vicious persons might be well-intentioned. We learn to trust his judgment, and to believe in his God, as opposed to the one we've known. 

His God is trustworthy; Jesus shows us that. Even as he marches toward Jerusalem and drives the money changers out of the temple, we're sure he is acting in obedience, and on his Father's behalf. He knows what God wants. When he surrenders his spirit to his God, we want to go with him. 

As I follow Jesus, knowing he is not a fool, I come to know, admire, love, and worship his God, whom he calls father. I come to understand the godlike authority I once feared and tried to please was only an unhappy human being. I can regard that parent, teacher, or priest as a fellow Christian; and I can forgive them as a companion on the journey. My father is my brother; my mother, my sister. And I would not trade them with anyone for the world. 

We come to know that the Father of Jesus wants mercy, not sacrifice. We are agents of his benevolence, not victims of his arbitrary moods. Our sacrifices become merciful actions toward our fellow human beings; and we perform them in imitation of our merciful God. 

Thursday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 392

Go and assemble the elders of Israel, and tell them:
The LORD, the God of your fathers,
the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,
has appeared to me and said:
I am concerned about you...

We can easily imagine that some of the Hebrews in Egypt were not thrilled to hear that God was "concerned" about them. Some must have wondered, "What is that about? Who is this god you're talking about? Yes, I heard my grandmother speak of him but that's a long time ago, and she didn't know half of what I know about how the world works." 

The Book of Exodus recalls the reaction of some of the Hebrews after Moses' first visit with the Pharaoh, 

“The LORD look upon you and judge! You have made us offensive to Pharaoh and his servants, putting a sword into their hands to kill us.”

Even after the Pharaoh and his army were destroyed in the Red Sea and the former slaves were free to journey to the Promised Land they grumbled when they wearied of the monotonous diet,

“If only we had died at the LORD’s hand in the land of Egypt, as we sat by our kettles of meat and ate our fill of bread! But you have led us into this wilderness to make this whole assembly die of famine!” 

Under stress, they preferred the predictable life of drudgery to the uncertainty of freedom. Unlike animals in a zoo who seem content with security, humans need security and freedom. But they are polar opposites. This is the paradox of our existence. Our earthly nature wants security, our divine nature craves freedom.  

Religion is often about reassurance, as in today's gospel, 

"Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest." 

Religion, by its very nature, is conservative and reassuring; and our Judaeo-Christian tradition is no different. It must always remember and be guided by ancient memories of the patriarchs, apostles, martyrs, and saints. 

And yet Abraham's faith, which is received from the only God, is also adventurous because life never stays the same very long. We live on a dynamic planet; it is eternally in flux with continental drift, climate change, and human migration. The world has never seen as many migrations as are happening now. The tropical zones are becoming unbearably hot and billions must migrate to the temperate zones of North America, Europe, and Asia. Neither laws, walls, nor weapons will resist their coming as arid deserts consume arable land and coastal cities sink beneath rising tides. 

The Bible knows unpredictability and urges us to turn to One who knows the future, One who sees beyond our horizons. His heavenly throne is higher than the mast of a ship, a tower in Babel, or a GPS satellite. Our God is concerned for his people. 

And the same LORD commands us through the Bible, 

For the LORD, your God, is the God of gods, the Lord of lords, the great God, mighty and awesome, who has no favorites, accepts no bribes, who executes justice for the orphan and the widow, and loves the resident alien, giving them food and clothing. So you too should love the resident alien, for that is what you were in the land of Egypt. (Deuteronomy 10:17-19)

Is this plan which offers both freedom and security realistic? 

Remember the days of old,

consider the years of generations past.

Ask your father, he will inform you,

your elders, they will tell you. 

(Deuteronomy 32?7)

 

Wednesday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 391

Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened,
and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,
for I am meek and humble of heart;
and you will find rest for yourselves.
For my yoke is easy; and my burden, light."

Our readings today are great reassurance for the scrupulous and the anxious. The Exodus passage complements the gospel well, as we hear of the LORD's descent from the splendor of heaven to see the wretched condition of his people in Egypt. 

We have heard twice before of God's "coming down;" once to see the arrogance of the tower builders in Babel, and again to check out the situation in Sodom and Gomorrah, "to see whether or not their actions are as bad as the cry against them that comes to me. I mean to find out." 

This visitation is quite different; he has come down to deliver the children of Israel from Egypt. Several centuries before, he had sent Jacob's family, into Egypt to deliver them from a famine. But since that time, they had been oppressed by Pharaoh and were rapidly losing their memories of the Lord, and of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. They would not know who they are, and would think of themselves only as slaves.  

The Book of Isaiah, many centuries later, would again find the Israelites oppressed; this time in Babylon; and we hear again of God's coming down, 

Too long have we been like those you do not rule,

on whom your name is not invoked.

Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down,

with the mountains quaking before you,

Capitalizing upon that theme, Saint Paul described Jesus's presence as a coming down, a kenosis of humiliation: 

Who, though he was in the form of God,

did not regard equality with God something to be grasped.

Rather, he emptied himself,

taking the form of a slave,

coming in human likeness;

and found human in appearance,

he humbled himself,

becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.

These references to God's humble coming down and remaining with us should reassure us as we hear the Lord's invitation, 

Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened,
and I will give you rest.

For the Lord's coming among us is not for judgment, as Bernard Haring wrote: 

The first thing that Christ tells us cannot be a commandment, a stern demand or obligation laid upon man. For if that were the case man, through his wretchedness, would still be in the position of one who is trying to set himself up as the center of his existence. He would be unable to escape from the slavery of his loneliness and his egoism.

Man's life does not come from himself; so the most important thing for him is not what he should do with his life: the first thing is the word by which he lives. When the Word of God in person comes to us and encounters our life, we no longer live in the first instance under a commandment which oppresses and threatens us as though from outside.

The first thing which the incarnate Word of the Father has to tell us is the good news of the love which makes everything new, of the love which calls us to himself. So Jesus does not come to men first with a demand, but with a message of salvation, with the message of the redeeming kingdom of God. It is this that we must hear and take to our hearts; then we will understand the new voice with which the will of God speaks to us. [A Sacramental Spirituality. Bernard Haring C.SS.R Sheed and Ward, New York; 1962; page 5]

Finally, let me recommend that you read loudly, with drama, Psalm 18. It describes the Savior's heaven-shaking, earth-shattering response to one person's plea for deliverance: 

I cried out to my God.
From his temple he heard my voice;
my cry to him reached his ears.
The earth rocked and shook;
the foundations of the mountains trembled;
they shook as his wrath flared up.
Smoke rose from his nostrils,
a devouring fire from his mouth;
it kindled coals into flame.
He parted the heavens and came down,
a dark cloud under his feet.
...He set me free in the open;
he rescued me because he loves me. 

Can there be any doubt? 

Tuesday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 390

A certain man of the house of Levi married a Levite woman,
who conceived and bore a son.
Seeing that he was a goodly child, she hid him for three months.

Many American Catholic theologians in our seminaries, colleges, and universities are women. They have discovered, stressed, and celebrated the significant role of women in the Scriptures from Eve to Mary and beyond. It is no accident that the Risen Lord was first seen and reported by women. And God certainly planned that women would conspire against Pharaoh to save, foster, and bring to maturity the greatest prophet and lawgiver of the Hebrew people, Moses.

His father, Amram, appears only as a name in the genealogies of Israel, but Moses' mother Jochebed took the initiative to save the child. And then his sister Miriam, who just happened to be standing there in the bulrushes, coyly suggested to the Egyptian princess that a Hebrew woman should nurse the child. The princess, in her turn, surely knew the nurse was Moses' own mother. The three of them, along with the princess's maids, raised the Hebrew boy to manhood right under the pharaoh's nose. 

As Saint Paul would say many centuries later, 

Rather, God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise, and God chose the weak of the world to shame the strong, and God chose the lowly and despised of the world, those who count for nothing, to reduce to nothing those who are something, so that no human being might boast before God. (I Cor 1:27)

In our world the powerful rule. They can be bigger, louder, or meaner kids on the playground, bullying husbands, emotionally controlling colleagues, insufferable bosses, vicious writers and publicists, irresponsible wealth, or avaricious politicians. But if tyranny persists no tyrant survives very long. For, as Mary the Mother of God -- herself, a great prophet -- said, 

He has thrown down the rulers from their thrones

but lifted up the lowly.

Or, as Psalm 137 says,

I have seen a ruthless scoundrel,

spreading out like a green cedar.

When I passed by again, he was gone;

though I searched, he could not be found. 

And finally, as a comedienne might say, "Wait for it!"

We wait and watch as God guides our actions and assures us his protecting presence. 

Monday of the Fifteenth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 389

"Do not think that I have come to bring peace upon the earth. I have come to bring not peace but the sword.
For I have come to set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and one's enemies will be those of his household.

"Fulfillment centers" in the twentieth century are not churches, as the title might imply, and perhaps there is no intentional irony in Amazon's use of the word. A consumer culture co-opts words like fulfillment, redemption, and promise. Consumerism is a kind of spiritual cancer; it changes the meaning and context of everyday life. Even our tastes are altered by its insidious appeal. Consumers want what they want when they want it, and feel that they deserve it. The consumer economy knocks itself trying to deliver on their expectations. 

But Jesus was not speaking to consumers when he spoke of bringing swords of justice and mercy upon the earth. Those who expect his religion to have material rewards are invited to go elsewhere; they only get in the way of Jesus's passage to Jerusalem. 

After hearing one of my ominous homilies about our potentially difficult future, a fellow told me of his experience at a Catholic university. He was told to tone down his religious expressions because some students (i.e. consumers) might be offended by them. 

We are tempted, and often expected, to apologize for our faith. Let's not do that. We should neither apologize nor intentionally offend by our habitual references to holy things. But from the core of our being -- a place deeper than politics, nationality, race, or gender -- we belong to the Lord. Our baptismal names signify that. Anyone who doesn't know of our faith knows nothing about us. We're like consumers, no more than ciphers or statistics, to them. 

But we belong to the Lord and each one's charm -- such as it is -- invites others to know the Lord as well. The Spirit moving within us sees to that. 

Some will take offense at us, as Jesus said. There will be conflicts among neighbors, friends, and family. We needn't take it personally. Provided that our conscience is clear; and our thoughts, words, and deeds are not repugnant to reasonable people -- we can suppose their hostility is aimed at God. He will defend us when we should be defended, and give us words to speak if words might help. 

But God has no need of our defense. As my Baptist preacher friend said, "When the Lord needs me to defend him, we're all in trouble!"