Saturday of the Twenty-first Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 430

Consider your own calling, brothers and sisters.
Not many of you were wise by human standards,
not many were powerful,
not many were of noble birth.
Rather, God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise....

I have believed for a long time that faith and a sense of humor are closely related and may be the same thing, or different facets of the same mystery. Anyone who claims to have faith in God and confidence in the power and authority of God's word can relax, laugh, and go along for the ride. We not only expect great things, we see them happening in our own lives. The same lives which, by many standards, are frankly disappointing. 

I have attended many twelve-step meetings as a member, and I am familiar with similar programs. Those who attend such meetings, practice their methods, and enjoy their spirit frankly admit they are damaged goods. At some point, or at many points, we washed up on a barren reef, lost and friendless. We had uselessly spent our strength; everything that had worked for us failed and there was no place left to go except to this meeting of strangers. 

I found a group in Minnesota, a suburb of the Twin Cities. It seemed we should be meeting in the fourth subbasement of an urban tower, secretive, hidden from the public and every human authority. Who we saw there and what was said there should go unremarked and unreported. We could admit we had failed and there'd be no consequences beyond this room and these one-named individuals. 

But I felt better the next day for having attended the meeting, and my life rapidly changed after that. I had one purpose at least, to return to that group and share what I'd learned. Gifted with speaking ability and willing to listen to others, I remembered that I had some worth. 

Each one practiced some religion, but we had a saying, "Religion is for those who are afraid of going to hell; the Program is for those who've been there." (I prefer the word program to spirituality as the latter has lost all definition in today's conversation.) 

We could share the energy, purpose, and hope we'd found by practicing "these principles in all our affairs." Our conversation was not didactic; we did not teach. We shared, "How I work the program and how the program works for me." We confessed our failures, lapses, and relapses. No one was expected to return though we hoped everyone would. And many did not. Perhaps they'd found their way and prospered; perhaps they'd foundered and failed. We could not be surprised by either outcome. 

Not many... were wise by human standards,
not many were powerful,
not many were of noble birth.
Rather, God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise....

 We learned gratitude and gladness. We discovered faith and a sense of humor.

Friday of the Twenty-first Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 429

For Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom,
but we proclaim Christ crucified,
a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles,
but to those who are called, Jews and Greeks alike,
Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.
For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom,
and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.

On the first pages of his first letter to the Corinthians, Saint Paul addressed the quarrels his beloved people were having among themselves. The one Church had become factions, with each group taking pride in their opinions and hurling insults at each other. Despite the excitement of it all, nothing good could come of their partisanship. 

I remember a meeting I attended when a quarrel broke out among several priests. Suddenly the bishop, a retired Air Force colonel said, "Knock it off!" And they did. Saint Paul, even from the distance of Ephesus, demanded a similar respect from his disciples and, we can hope, his authority resolved their controversy. 

But he did so with his typical elegance and eloquence, with this simple formula about stumbling blocks and foolishness. In our time, I suppose the "Jews" are the hyper pious among us who are scandalized -- "Shocked! Shocked! -- at the human frailty of the Church. And "gentiles" are that pretentious faction who believe every mystery can be fathomed by human intelligence. They will not believe a revealed truth until it's explained thoroughly; and until all of their objections, doubts, hesitations, buts, and what-ifs have been resolved and finally the revealed word of God makes perfect sense to them. 

The hyper pious are dismayed to discover that respected leaders in the Church and society have feet of clay. Some people are distressed to learn that a pope smoked; others are horrified to find a photo of him wearing glasses. More often, they quit the Church when they meet a disgruntled pastor who refuses their requests or ignores them. Or, amid a controversy over church spending, they are overruled by his decision. 

Were they to ask what I think of the matter -- and they don't -- if they so easily walk away from the Church, they never had faith in the first place . They are that heavily walked path which loses the scattered word of God as soon as a light wind blows across them or a rivulet flows over them. They needed only an excuse to quit the Church and the revelation of human failing fit the bill. 

The wise are those pseudo-scientists who have not accepted the authority of God's word. They may be described as Hegelian after the philosopher Hegel. He defined a Christianity with all the trappings of a religion -- with sacraments, rituals, scriptures, and sacred images -- that appeals to the vanity of philosophers. His religion is more marketable than true faith since it explains sin as ignorance and misunderstanding; and only individuals can sin; there is no group responsibility.  

They feign an open mind to every new idea, no matter how weird. Their inclusiveness respects every opinion, and every opinionated person deserves a hearing. While I try to respect every person I meet, I feel no obligation to act like I agree with nonsense. One "scientist" told me that, because some bees become male drones while others become female queens, boys might grow up to be women; and girls, to be men. And the Bible is wrong for saying, "God made them male and female; in his own image he created them."

Our faith, like the Bishop's rebuke, begins with our respect for the authority of God. Without him we have only human wisdom and its bridges to nowhere.  The truly wise and pious welcome the wisdom of the Holy Spirit, and thank God for the revelation of the truth. 

Memorial of the Passion of Saint John the Baptist

 Lectionary: 428/634

He will keep you firm to the end,
irreproachable on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.
God is faithful,
and by him you were called to fellowship with his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.

As Saint Paul wrote his letters to the Corinthians he had already learned to expect challenges, trials, and insurmountable problems. He typically traveled from one Jewish enclave to another; Jews in the diaspora were always happy to hear news of Jerusalem and of other synagogues. But, even as the leaders recognized his credentials they were astonished by his message. Many had expected a Messiah to appear in their lifetime, but they were not prepared to hear of the messiah's crucifixion, death, and resurrection. And they certainly didn't expect to share in this mysterious character's life and death by a drastically altered liturgy. 

When a separation between ancient Judaism and this emergent Christianity became necessary, most Jews and their leaders took the wider path. They would stick with the familiar, predictable, and comfortable. Although Paul, the young, eager missionary, had expected all Judaism to enthusiastically welcome the Good News as he had, opposition and harassment persuaded him that the separation was inevitable. And if violence was never necessary, it was woven into the entire story. 

Today we celebrate the passion of Saint John the Baptist. The word invokes the more familiar "passion of our Lord Jesus Christ," and reminds us that, although Jesus had not yet been crucified or raised from the dead, John's death was in service of the Truth, which is another word for gospel. If he was murdered specifically because of his objections to the marriage of Herod Antipas's murder of his own brother so he might marry his sister in law, Herodias, John was nonetheless God's servant and prophet. He spoke the truth to power and that is never a safe path. 

The Catholic Church today finds itself in the peculiar situation of being powerful by the loyalty of millions of Catholics and the respect of many Protestants, while having little direct authority in the secular realms of government, business, the arts, or entertainment. The bishops can oppose the legalization of abortion, gay marriage, euthanasia, and nuclear arms but people in the pews follow their own advice. There are few single-issue voters who respond to every bishop's call to support one or another policy. And incumbents and candidates for office are like their constituents. Those who run on a single issue cannot expect to win elections or remain in office. 

And so the Church, immersed as it is in this world, also needs prophets and the message they bear. As Saint Stephen reminded his opponents, God has never stopped selecting courageous men and women to speak for him, and they have never been greeted with joy. 

“You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you always oppose the holy Spirit; you are just like your ancestors. Which of the prophets did your ancestors not persecute? They put to death those who foretold the coming of the righteous one, whose betrayers and murderers you have now become. You received the law as transmitted by angels, but you did not observe it. (Acts 7:51-53)

That prophetic spirit remains with the Church in many ways. Even the clergy's oaths of obedience to their bishops allows a place for prophecy, along with the freedom afforded by clerical celibacy and the bishops' ownership of all church properties. A bishop may support an unpopular pastor in a difficult parish if he believes the priest is speaking the truth. The parishioners, of course, may choke off their financial support or vote with their feet. They might decide to attend other Catholic churches, Protestant churches, or none at all. 

But so long as the Truth is served, a remnant will remain. If no one seems to win this contest, and the suffering is very real on all sides, we can hope that God's purposes are being served and the Truth will prevail in its time. 

It was not immediately clear that Saint John the Baptist had won the contest with Herod and Herodias. The ghastly appearance of his severed head during an evening meal might have spoiled a lot of appetites but how did it serve God's purpose? 

Many years later a triumphant church, able to build churches and declare feast days, could lift up the Saint (with his head restored) to celebrate his vindication and victory. As we do today. For God's truth will prevail, and "the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." 

Memorial of Saint Augustine, Bishop and Doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 427

For you know how one must imitate us.
For we did not act in a disorderly way among you,
nor did we eat food received free from anyone.
On the contrary, in toil and drudgery, night and day we worked,
so as not to burden any of you.
Not that we do not have the right.
Rather, we wanted to present ourselves as a model for you,
so that you might imitate us.

Controversy arose once again over the controversial athlete, Charles Barkley, when he declared, "I am not a role model!" Known for his enormous size and aggressive physicality on the basketball court, he was certainly a role model for aspiring high school and college athletes. But he explained his remark: kids should be taught to emulate their parents, not athletes or celebrities. “Just because I dunk a basketball doesn’t mean I should raise your kids."  

Not everyone was satisfied with his remark or his explanation. Kids do emulate their heroes, even if they're only movie stars, politicians, or pro athletes. 

Saint Paul knew that the Good News of the Lord's resurrection meant nothing if it was announced by an "old man." As one baptized in the repentance of Saint John and transformed in the Spirit of Jesus, he had to model the new man, Baptism is more than window dressing. If one acts in imitation of Jesus or a saint, the style and manner must come from a far deeper source than conscious imitation.  One does not try to be virtuous. 

In his letter to the Ephesians he wrote, 

...assuming that you have heard of him and were taught in him, as truth is in Jesus ...you should put away the old self of your former way of life, corrupted through deceitful desires, and be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and put on the new self, created in God’s way in righteousness and holiness of truth. (Ephesians 4: 21-24)

As the oldest child of ten, I remember how my parents had to learn that hard lesson. There were a few occasions when I copied their words, and was told never to speak that way again! Nor did I hear those delicious words again. They wanted above all to be good parents, as Mr. Barkley rightly observed, and so they had to alter their speech and manner accordingly. Their renewed minds came from the deep heart of their love of God, one another, and their children.  

So we pray that the truth of Jesus is within us, that his inspiration directs our thinking. And we practice this new way of life which requires all the deliberate attention of the young athlete who is learning to dribble a basketball, and of the musician learning the keyboard. One's desire to be holy means nothing if we're not taking lessons from holy people and practicing with some effort what we see them do, apparently without effort. We can expect to make mistakes but we should not be too patient with our mistakes. 

And we should realize that people, especially children, are watching. They want to know how one lives as a disciple of Jesus. They expect and deserve an answer to the question, "What would Jesus do?" Nor should they have to turn to the Bible to find it. 

On this feast of Saint Augustine, we recall histories first autobiographer. With the discipline of his own writing he explored the darkest places of his heart. He recalled the arrogance of a youth who thought he could understand the mysteries of God and the relief of discovering that God had known his foolishness all along. And  then he remembered the example of his mother Monica, who never ceased to pray for her wayward son. He could forgive himself as she had forgiven him, and because God had forgiven him. As a bishop, he urged others, especially the Donatists, to forgive as he had forgiven. 

Augustine's autobiography became known as "The Confessions..." because of his frank revelations of his sinful, misguided past, and for confessing his new faith in Jesus Christ. On the occasion of the 1600th anniversary of his Baptism, Pope Paul VI wrote, 

Indeed over and above the shining example he gives of the qualities common to all the Fathers, it may be said that all the thought currents of the past meet in the works and form the source that provides the whole doctrinal Tradition of succeeding ages. 

As we practice our faith, the Saint also reminds us that we must practice our faith as we study the history of our religion. We're then prepared to answer the reasons for our hope, as Saint Peter urged us, 

Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope, but do it with gentleness and reverence, keeping your conscience clear, so that, when you are maligned, those who defame your good conduct in Christ may themselves be put to shame. (I Peter 3: 15-16)

Memorial of Saint Monica

Lectionary: 426

We ask you, brothers and sisters,
with regard to the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ and our assembling with him, not to be shaken out of your minds suddenly, or to be alarmed either by a “spirit,” or by an oral statement, or by a letter allegedly from us to the effect that the day of the Lord is at hand.
Let no one deceive you in any way.

I remember a lot more concern about "the end of the world" during the closing days of the twentieth century. A nuclear war might human life, and perhaps all life, to an abrupt and sorry end. It would be a bang, very loud, and not a whimper. 

Although more nations now have nuclear weapons, and their use remains virtually certain, I hear less concern about such a catastrophic end. The more alarming threat today is the displacement of billions of people due to climate change. Some might argue its causes but no one can say it's not happening; and with it comes innumerable disruptions to everything that seems normal. The world as we knew it ended some time ago; and the world as we know it remains unknown and unexplored. 

During the first century of the Christian Era, Jews and their Christian heirs had a religious expectation that God's reign would soon overthrow the Pax Romana. For as long as anyone could remember, and as far as anyone could see, Rome was the center of an enormous empire. If there was turbulence at its extremities, it didn't concern most people and they were content with the way things were. If some Jewish radicals in Galilee plotted against Rome and its armies, they could be destroyed -- and were in the second century. 

But Jews and Christians remembered the promise of God's kingdom; they would not surrender that hope to the way things are. There is surely a better way; life as we know it is not what God intended. Sometimes, our discontent and expectation become so intense, we think God must certainly intervene now. And he does. But we're distracted and fail to notice it. 

On the road to Jerusalem the disciples repeatedly heard Jesus's prophecies about the eruption that would occur when they arrived. He would be arrested, tried, and crucified; and would be raised on the third day. But they would not hear it. Even with his appearances afterwards they struggled to believe it. 

Although they had followed him since the day they left their homes, effectively giving him their lives like so many blank checks, they struggled with this new Event. It was too deep, too difficult, and too challenging to everything they knew and believed. 

Only in retrospect, with the writings of the Evangelists, did it begin to make sense. The Divine Biographers told Jesus's story with many passages from the Jewish scriptures, the same passages he had so often cited. And then his virginal conception and birth in Bethlehem, his struggle, suffering, death, and resurrection, and his commission of disciples as missionaries finally made sense. 

The world had ended and a new world had been born from the tomb outside Jerusalem. The World as we know it has ended. Welcome to God's kingdom. It is within you. 

Monday of the Twenty-first Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 425

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites.
You lock the Kingdom of heaven before men.
You do not enter yourselves,
nor do you allow entrance to those trying to enter.

Pope Francis has taken a prophetic stand; he challenges the policies of business and government which cause real suffering to millions of people. And he has spoken forcefully about the climate change which seemed to come upon us suddenly. He has reminded us that poverty and pollution are created by the same careless, mindless attitudes that govern our way of life. 

We were warned by climatologists since the late 1960's. They foresaw millions of people fleeing their homelands as seas rise and arable land is flooded, or turns to desert. With better data and more powerful computers, their predictions become ever more frightening. But only the world's armies and their weapon suppliers prepared for the social instability which breeds today's unrest and war. 

Pope Francis has also frightened many in the Church with his willingness to listen to people and reconsider ancient policies about divorce and remarriage. Abandoned spouses who search for intimate companionship in the social wilderness of megacities often remarry and find themselves rejected by the only church they ever knew. Catholic to the bone, they find nothing attractive in the sterile religion of other Christian churches. Despite the eager welcome of those congregations, and their nonjudgmental attitudes toward alternate lifestyles, they want to remain in the Catholic Church. 

If the hardliners would risk a remnant church of a few devout souls and empty, abandoned sanctuaries, the Pope and his allies hear the cry of the poor and want to respond. They remember the Lord who looked on the crowds with pity for they seemed like sheep without a shepherd. (Matt 9:36)

We seem to be caught in a maelstrom of ideologies and reactionaries, each more righteous than the other. It is hard to find a quiet place even in one's own mind where we can think dispassionately about the issues and their partisans. Certainly there is suffering on all sides, and much fear as we see little relief in the near future. Earth's climate will grow more hostile toward the life it fostered. Cities will grow ever large with their bewildering panoply of lifestyles -- a 20th century neologism -- and traditional religions will adjust in any case. 

Our Catholic tradition is a conversation with ancestors of many generations, some prehistoric and others born into generation alpha. The conversation is nothing if not respectful as today's participants learn to listen to ancient ideas and are surprised by their relevance. The can speak to today's issues. 

At the core of our Catholic tradition -- aka the Magisterium -- is the Bible with its two testaments. We turn back to them often and must be silent as the divine Authors speak. Their words and their meanings are often clearer than we expected; and we know they cannot be ignored. The Truth issues its own promises for those who listen, and warnings for those who turn away. It is forceful and, when necessary, intrusive. 

Case in point: inclusiveness would like to alter the words of many passages in the Psalms. Very often the protagonist appears to be male, although they speak to and for many women. Should the words not be altered to include men, women, and those suffering gender dysphoria?

Tradition reminds us that we have long regarded the Psalmist's voice as that of Jesus. He is the one who praises God in the temple, fears his enemies, and suffers betrayal. That reading lends unexpected depth and force to God's word. With that understanding we allow the Lord to speak to us of his suffering, and we listen with compassion. He has taken upon himself the misery and distress of all humankind and we are grateful. If my own hurt at the moment is not intense, I can go the extra mile. I can empathize with the Lord and his people. 

Ideologies suppose they have thought a thought that no one ever thought before. Pharisaism suspects new ideas because they are new; it is precisely the opposite and equally foolish.  Tradition is an inspired conversation of the past with the present. It remembers the mighty works of God in the distant past, and recognizes his continuing work in the present. 

Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 122

As a result of this,
many of his disciples returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him.

It's fascinating: it is precisely the Lord's teaching about eating his flesh and drinking his blood that drove many of his disciples away. They said, "This saying is hard; who can accept it?” and they “returned to their former way of life and no longer accompanied him." 

For Jesus, this mass exodus must have been painful to watch. But we do not see him chasing  after them to explain, "No, no! It was only a metaphor. I'm talking hyperbolically! You know, it's Hebraic exaggeration! I don't mean to really eat my flesh, but I mean. 'Just listen to what I say and do as I do.'" 

He didn’t do that. He watched them leave. He let them return to their former ways of life, no matter how mundane, desperate, pathetic, stupid, or depraved they might have been. 

Everybody knows the most important principle of all religions: there are two ways: the way of good and the way of evil. If you do good and avoid evil you will be okay with God. But Jesus turned that ancient teaching on its head. Rather than simply do good and avoid evil, we must be holy and humble as God is holy and humble. The worth of each person is measured by that standard.

And finally – and this is really over the top – “You must eat my flesh and drink my blood.” This is how we belong to the Lord. This is an entirely new and unexpected way of life; we ingest his body and blood as he ingests us into himself. 

But something else happens when we receive this holy communion: we are also bonded to strangers who come from different social classes, races, ethnicities, and languages, with differing political opinions and lifestyles. To believe in Jesus is to belong to his church, and to the people whom he has gathered into his church. We do not choose who belongs to his body, or his church. He has chosen us.  

But he offers no alternative; no one can opt out. This is not a choice of Wheaties or Cheerios; vegetarian or meat. It’s a choice between life and death. Despite these extreme demands, we cannot go halves with the Lord; he does not do half measures, nor does he accept half-measures.  

After the crowd heard his demand and departed, Jesus turned to the few remaining and asked, "Will you also leave?" Peter spoke for the group; 

Master, to whom shall we go?

You have the words of eternal life.

We have come to believe

and we are convinced that you are the Holy One of God."

And Jesus replied with great satisfaction, ““Did I not choose you twelve?” But then he said, "One of you is a satan." Perhaps Judas still hoped half would satisfy God.

I have described the Lord's way as holy and humble. Although Jesus was invested with all power in heaven and on earth, he did not aspire to power. 

Although he was in the form of God, Jesus did not deem equality with God something to be grasped. (Philippians 2:6)

Some people are fascinated by power and authority, and want even more; some people amass great wealth so as to live invulnerable and untouchable.

But it is precisely for his humility that the Father surrenders all authority to Jesus. As Saint Paul says,

he humbled himself,

becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.

Because of this, God greatly exalted him

and bestowed on him the name

that is above every name….

And as we heard the creatures of heaven and earth sing in the Book of Revelation,,

“Worthy is the Lamb that was slain

to receive power and riches, wisdom and strength,

honor and glory and blessing.”

And so we study, ponder, and practice the humility of Jesus that his Father might love in us what he loves in Jesus. He can use our meekness as he chooses, as a quiet, unimposing, nonthreatening authority to heal, comfort, guide, and -- when necessary -- rebuke. When we do things His way, we do not expect to succeed.  We do not aspire to success. We want only to be faithful as he is faithful, for he will not betray us, and we must not betray him. 

When Saint Francis pondered the Eucharist he urged his friars to, "Look at the humility of God!"

O wonderful loftiness

and stupendous dignity!

O sublime humility!

O humble sublimity!

The Lord of the universe,

God and the Son of God,

so humbles Himself

that He hides Himself

for our salvation

under an ordinary piece of bread!

Those who walked away from the Lord were not disgusted by the thought of cannibalism. That was not the issue. They despised his humility. They would not receive the Eucharist because it is the humility of God. And they refuse to associate, or be associated, with people who are not powerful, beautiful, charming, entertaining, or attractive. They will not welcome the lowly, despised, sick, or needy. 

God is too strange, too odd, too unfamiliar for them. His holiness, his simplicity, and his purity remind the wicked of their futility and hopeless pretense. They see in the mirror of his simple humanity their own absurd desire to be like god. His homelessness makes their homes feel insecure, his poverty reminds them that their property, possessions, and positions can disappear in the twinkling of an eye. When they consider God’s wisdom they know their knowledge and experience will become useless, outdated, and forgotten. Their castles are houses built on sand. 

The wicked want a god like themselves, powerful and craving more power; domineering, demanding, insatiable, and unhappy. They cannot stay with a God who appears like a human being and aspires to nothing more than loving, caring for, and remaining among his neighbors. They want a god who owns the universe, and eats sumptuously every day,  and gives nothing but the scraps that fall from his table. A god like themselves. 

We follow Jesus, from Bethlehem, into Egypt and exile, on the road with pilgrims, to Jerusalem where we will eat his flesh and drink his blood as a sacrifice to atone for our sins and the sins of the whole world. We follow the Lord to Easter. 

Feast of Saint Bartholomew, Apostle

Lectionary: 629

"Come here.
I will show you the bride, the wife of the Lamb."
He took me in spirit to a great, high mountain
and showed me the holy city Jerusalem
coming down out of heaven from God.

Many people like to get married on Saturday. This fourth Saturday of August may be a bit late in the season, but today's reading on the feast of the Apostle Bartholomew fits the theme of weddings. Like Barnabas, we should be "as sheep in the midst of wolves, ...shrewd as serpents and simple as doves." 

Brides have that look of innocence and simplicity with, perhaps, a touch of shrewdness. And the gentlemen who accompany them also seem prepared and fit for whatever might come. 

Our omnipotent, all-seeing God -- who governs the world with mercy and justice -- has an ability far beyond human capacity: he can see us as the sinful people that we are; and beautiful, holy, and pure like falling snow. Meeting Nathaniel, the Lord recognized "a true child of Israel," and said, "There is no duplicity in him."

When the Father looks at Jesus he is pleased, and he sees us through the eyes of Jesus with the same pleasure. We are beautiful in God's sight.  

He also shares that vision with us. Parents see innocence and mischief on the sleeping faces of their children; and sometimes while they're playing. From the altar, a priest sees it in the congregation. Maturity in faith gives us that shrewd simplicity as we live with one another and make critical decisions. It is a gift which must be cultivated. 

As Saint Paul wrapped up his brief letter to the Philippians, he urged them, 

Finally... whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. 

Keep on doing what you have learned and received and heard and seen in me. Then the God of peace will be with you.

It takes patience and practice, determination and time. We have time; God in his mercy gives us that. 

Friday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 423

See! I will bring spirit into you, that you may come to life.
I will put sinews upon you, make flesh grow over you,
cover you with skin, and put spirit in you
so that you may come to life and know that I am the LORD.

In his book, The Courage to Be, Paul Tillich recognized the will which overcomes nothingness; God's command in silent emptiness erupts into creation. Suddenly the universe comes to be. If everything animate and inanimate wants to exist, the human creature stands alone in the recognition of a choice about existence, "I don't have to be. If someone chose to create me, I still have a choice. I don't have to be."

I faced that dilemma personally after my father died in December 1980. I had no idea he was so important to me, but my grief immediately descended into clinical depression. Despite my youth, energy, intelligence, and education, and the encouragement of friars, friends, and family, I struggled to get out of bed in the morning. After two years and  many hours of counseling and therapy, and after huge financial costs to the Church, I found my feet and the courage to stand upright and erect before the years that lie ahead. But that distress has never completely ended. 

Arriving at an African-American Catholic church in Louisiana, and after hearing many stories, I recognized the courage to be black in the United States. It is more than dragging oneself out of bed. It is a flourishing fountain of music, laughter, dance, and speech. It is also a willingness to lose, to remember, and to grieve; and the willingness to encourage, prod, push, and cajole others because we must stand together, we must resist, we must rejoice, we must be black in white America.

Son of man, can these bones come to life?

I answered, “Lord GOD, you alone know that.”

Israel, exiled from Judah and Jerusalem, with their land destroyed and the city razed, forced into servitude in Babylon, heard the prophets, especially Jeremiah and Ezekiel. But the Word of the Lord scolded them for their sin as often as it encouraged them to remember the Lord. They could not be victims without recognizing their failure to be God's holy people. Their hope of return, a privilege of every expatriate, came with the memory that they were slaves in Egypt before they were enslaved in Babylon. Because of their disobedience to God's Law, they had lost the freedom to govern themselves with their own king in their own land. The grace of Penance comes as a bitter pill. 

Americans today face the challenge of being, especially in its inexorable decline from the victory of World War II and the unsurpassed military, economic, and social power of the American century. Millions, following in the footsteps of parents who smoked and drank heavily, find solace in legal and illegal drugs. Or uninterrupted distraction in entertainment. Or the illusory relief of anger, resentment, and hate. Terrified, armed, and hopeless, their homes become fortresses as they prepare for an invasion of neighbors, aliens, or the federal government. They would make America great again without recognizing the costs of waste, violence, and excessive privilege. 

It happened in those days that Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized in the Jordan by John. Mark 1:9

Jesus, along with his compatriots, accepted a "baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins." He appeared among the crowds like any ordinary sinner.

Our salvation begins as we recognize and accept the guilt, shame, and grief of our sins. There is no safe place from God's wrath outside the hordes of penitents. We must follow the Lamb through confession and atonement to Calvary and Easter. The Spirit of God which animated, joined, and fleshed dead, dry bones in Ezekiel's vision gives us the willingness and energy to rise from the dead. Like Lazarus in his tomb, penitents hear that familiar, beloved, friendly voice and respond, "Here I am, Lord! I come to do your will." 

Memorial of the Queenship of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Lectionary: 422

I will give you a new heart and place a new spirit within you,
taking from your bodies your stony hearts
and giving you natural hearts.
I will put my spirit within you and make you live by my statutes,
careful to observe my decrees.
You shall live in the land I gave your ancestors;
you shall be my people, and I will be your God.

As a young priest, eager to preach but sometimes short on something to preach about, I discovered that Mary is a terrific example of every virtue, and is found in almost any text from scripture. She never fails to appear in the readings assigned to her memorials, even when they only follow the ferial readings of Ordinary Time. Today's reading from Ezekiel is typical. 

Our first readings this week are taken from Ezekiel, and describe both the purified virgin church and the pure Virgin Mary:

I will sprinkle clean water upon you
to cleanse you from all your impurities,
and from all your idols I will cleanse you.

Mary demonstrates with her simple assent to Gabriel's message the simplicity of heart, mind, soul, and body that is available to every Christian, if we would only allow her Spirit, which is God's Spirit, to guide us. Conceived immaculately -- that is, without sin -- she has no interest, curiosity, or fascination with the "dark side." 

We're not unfamiliar with that kind of simplicity. Offered a choice between ice cream and turnips, most children know immediately what they want. It's as if they have no choice. Our moral choices are sometimes that simple, and they were for Mary. But there are occasions when we must stop, think, ponder, take time, and pray for guidance. And there are many occasions when we do none of that; we follow our base instincts and regret it soon afterward. Seeing the Angel, Mary knew immediately what she wanted. It was, as the bankers would tell you, Just that simple.

With experience, time, and grace we can learn not to repeat past sins; and we often wonder, "What on earth was I thinking?" (That's easy: I wasn't!) And most of us simply outgrow nonsense, although some people never surrender to wisdom. From them comes the old expression, There's no fool like an old fool.

Mary's Immaculate Conception means that she was born innocent by the grace of God's election.  If she did not expect a virginal conception she was prepared for it mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically when the moment came. The best parents, athletes, and soldiers know about that kind of total readiness. "Whatever difficulties arise, we'll handle it!" they say. Mary, the bright young woman, had the same confidence in herself and in the Lord who guided her. 

Ezekiel promised, "You shall live in the land I gave your ancestors." Walking in the Lord, for Mary, was as familiar as living in one's own land, in the ancestral country of our birth. The Bible is deeply familiar with exile; that's the unhappy side of the Bible. It began with the expulsion from Eden.

The Hebrew Prophets cited  the threat of exile many times to Israel and Judah. They knew that those who would not behave as God's holy people could not remain in his holy city or Holy Land. But, lest we get distracted, the Bible is no more a story of Jewish sins than it is a celebration of Christian innocence. We too have sinned,  like all our ancestors; and we too experience alienation and abandonment as our families disintegrate and our congregations scatter to more entertaining churches that feed them what want to eat. 

Mary calls us home. It's not as far away as we might think; and yes, Tom Wolfe, you can go home again. 

Memorial of Saint Pius X, Pope

Lectionary: 421

For thus says the Lord GOD: 
I myself will look after and tend my sheep.

The Prophet Ezekiel, in today's first reading, promises that the owner of the sheep, rather than the corrupt shepherds, will shepherd his flock. He is hugely dissatisfied with the self-serving ministry of those who have been given the responsibility. 

Our long history, and everything we can determine about prehistoric humans, says that our human society has always been stratified into rulers and ruled, wealthy and impoverished, elite and hoi polloi. Rule, many believed, was always the "divine right of kings." God himself had decided who should rule and any doubt about God's appointed rulers was regarded as both treason and blasphemy. 

Democracy has been a laborious experiment to determine if the subjects can decide who should lead them. It is an experiment which can never succeed, and always fail; it requires constant maintenance, continual adjustment, and inexhaustible trust on the part of nearly every participant. Not many people, perhaps three percent, could form a critical mass to terminate the experiment and hurl the nation and its neighbors into civil war. 

The founders of the United States, wealthy, educated men, believed the time had come for this experiment. Their formation in the principles of the Enlightenment led them to believe that, with adequate training in Christian virtue -- or at least the Judaeo-Christian ethos -- prosperous men could govern a nation which also comprised children, women, slaves, and the illiterate. These men need not be wellborn of the right families with aristocratic blood in their veins. 

That experiment expanded to include women, former slaves, and the illiterate. A post-Christian age would replace the religious tradition with nationalism, or at least a patriotism that recognizes the rights and dignity of other nations. 

Historians will decide how the experiment fared in its first 225 years, and whether the poor were better served by democracy than by other forms of governance. In the twenty-first century, everyone has an opinion about that. 

Ezekiel reminds us that a nation governed by God's principles will care for the least among them first; that would be everyone's first concern. Every effort should be made to minimize the wealth gap, and assist everyone according to their particular disabilities. There should be glasses for the blind, hearing aids for the deaf, and opportunity for everyone to contribute. He might add that basic institutions like the nuclear family, free public education, and autonomous local government must continue. And freedom of worship, of course.  

Today's gospel reminds us that the Lord is in charge and he will decide what is fair, merciful, and just; and his principles might not meet everyone's expectations. And, basing his decisions on how well the people practiced the common good, he will decide who should be rewarded and who should be punished. 

Memorial of Saint Bernard, Abbot and Doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 420

Because you have thought yourself
to have the mind of a god,
Therefore I will bring against you
foreigners, the most barbarous of nations.
They shall draw their swords
against your beauteous wisdom...

The scriptures today present a stark contrast between those who know the Lord and those who do not. The latter are represented by Tyre, a major ancient city on the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. Like all rulers of important nations, the "prince of Tyre" had to maintain his power by assuring his subjects of their privilege, entitlement, and security. So long as he governed, and they both supported and obeyed him, they had nothing to worry about. 

With those assurances he could collect enormous wealth while letting some scraps fall from the tables of the wealthy to his gullible subjects. The nation might attain a high level of technological and cultural sophistication. Wrapped in secure borders, they could regard foreign nations as inferior, barbaric savages, without culture or knowledge of higher truths. 

But Tyre, like all other nations, was built on the illusion of its own superiority. Because they did not know the Lord, or even want to; they enjoyed neither his favor nor his protection. The city was conquered by the swords of Assyria, Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome; and is now a tourist attraction in Lebanon. 

The World History Library describes modern Tyre, 

"In the present day, Tyre relies primarily on tourism to sustain its economy. Archaeological excavations began there in earnest in 1946 and have continued, sporadically, ever since. Continuing conflict in the region throughout the latter part of the 20th century up through the present has hampered archeological work and, at times, completely stalled tourism, damaging the economy and preventing further exploration of one of the greatest cities of antiquity.

Other cities and nations with their gods have fared far worse. 

God's people survive in two major religions because God remains faithful to us. His Spirit continues to gather and call us to worship him. Our differences in that respect are not as important as we might suppose. Jews become Jewish, and they are regarded as Jewish by their birth of Jewish parents; and Christians become Christian by accepting the religion and faith of Jesus Christ. But that difference is relative as many people become Jewish and most Christians became so by adopting the faith of their parents. 

Neither religion survives on its strength, effort, or determination. They have never won the hearts and minds of consumers who want what they want when they want it. If consumers know anything of God, it's only because they have sometimes been curious, like the tourists in Tyre, about spirituality. But the god of spirituality has all the staying power of morning dew, a puff of smoke or a passing cloud. 

We survive because God wills it. His blessing is irrevocable. If we can claim anything for ourselves it's only that we heard his call; and we had suffered enough to realize our ways are not God's way, and his ways are better. Blessed with divine wisdom we give up houses. brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers, children and lands for the sake of his name.

Monday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 419

“If you wish to be perfect, go,
sell what you have and give to the poor,
and you will have treasure in heaven.
Then come, follow me.”

Today's readings from the Prophet Ezekiel and the Gospel of Saint Matthew describe a ready, severe obedience almost beyond comprehension. We know God makes demands of people, and many do this sort of thing, but we hope it's never asked of us. 

Ezekiel's loss is staggering. I remember a volunteer reader who arrived in the sacristy just in time to glance at the reading before Mass. When he read, "I am taking away from you the delight of your eyes," he said, "The doctor says I am going blind and there's not much they can do for me. This passage is about me." 

But as he read on he realized the passage was about the death of the prophet's wife, "the delight of his eyes." This, he admitted, was worse than blindness. It was more than he wanted to think about.

And yet it was the suffering Ezekiel would endure for the sake of delivering a severe warning to Israel. The death of his wife and his refusal to wear the customary clothing of grief foretold an immanent catastrophe. The destruction of Jerusalem would be so devastating, the horror so overwhelming, and it would go on so long, they would not be able to grieve. They would only go about in shock and stunned silence. There would be no rituals of grief, nor would they be consoled by any promise of a return to normalcy. They would only watch helplessly as the enemy sacked the city, herded them like cattle, and drove them away from their native Judah to a foreign country, never to return. 

But some modern regimes, with their unreasonable demands, are not much different from the sack of Jerusalem. I think first of the Stalinist purges in Russia. Hundreds of thousands of people disappeared. Many men went to work in the morning as usual, but never returned. Their wives did not dare to report their absence to the police for they knew, or suspected, that the police knew what had happened and would do nothing. Children were told to tell no one about their missing parents; they too must hide their grief. Any outward show of sadness might trigger more disappearances. They could trust no one; even the priest-confessor might be spying for the KGB. Or his confessional was bugged. 

Sometimes the missing returned. A week later, or a year, or ten years later. They said nothing about their absence, neither apology nor explanation. Don't ask, don't tell. Nothing.

There's a different way of mishandling grief in the United States; we have no time for sadness. Now that burials of bodies have become interment of ashes, a memorial service might be held a week or a month later -- "to be announced" -- but there might not be a service of any kind. Without ritual, mourning garb, or music, we don't know how to grieve. It's better not to weep; and if you cry, no one will cry with you. They might urge you to "Be strong!" and save your sadness for a later time, when you're alone and no one sees you. 

If God's demand of Ezekiel seemed unreasonable, what do we make of modern life? It's too much to think about. As is the Lord's demand of the rich young man. He could not think about it and he went away sad. 

The Lord's poverty teaches us to let go of possessions, positions, and people. We belong to him and he belongs to the Father. Letting go is never easy but there are ceremonies to make it better. And always there is the reassurance of the Shepherd who goes before us. We reflect upon his love for Jerusalem, his fear in Gethsemane, and the brutal treatment he endured. We're chastened by the story of the disciples who, like us, were afraid to follow. And we're encouraged by his resurrection to wait for a new form of life, "a new normal," to appear. 

Grief never goes away, we learn to live with it and to rejoice. Because we have our solidarity with the Church, we endure our sad moments together and wait for the new life of grace to appear. And it is better than anything we ever imagined. 

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 119

"I am the living bread that came down from heaven;
whoever eats this bread will live forever;
and the bread that I will give
is my flesh for the life of the world."

Catholic and Protestant churches often celebrate Good Friday with a series of brief sermons by seven different preachers on the "seven last words of Jesus." They represent the intensity of the moment and the Lord's presence of mind throughout his final ordeal. But his most important last word was spoken the night before he died, to his disciples in the Upper Room, as they celebrated a Passover meal,, "Do this in memory of me." 

So let's remember that moment: The evangelists of all four Gospels agree that the Lord's disciples had no idea of what would happen when they arrived in Jerusalem. They were, however, full of expectations. But the Gospels don't really tell us. Perhaps they expected Jesus to reveal himself as the Messiah and then, somehow, to take control of the holy city. Maybe a host of angels would appear when Jesus the Messianic High Priest entered the city, or the temple. Others supposed an army of angels, both cavalry and infantry, would drive out the Roman authorities with their occupying soldiers. 

In any case, it was going to be spectacular and they alone, the disciples, would know what was going on. They would have front row seats and first tier choices of positions of power and seats of honor. 

Jesus, of course, had told them repeatedly what would happen. Matthew, Mark, and Luke agree that three times he said to them, "The Son of Man must suffer greatly and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and rise after three days."

But the disciples could not and would not listen to his prophecies of doom. After they heard Peter called a satan for daring to argue with Jesus when he spoke of his death the first time, they said nothing. But perhaps they just thought they knew better than he did what would happen. If they could not explain why they stayed with him and listened to his terrifying predictions, they could only say they were convinced that he had the words of eternal life, and that he was the Holy One of God. 

But when they arrived in Jerusalem nothing spectacular or apocalyptic happened. The sky did not open up; there was neither an infantry or cavalry of warrior angels. They saw only that their Master created a one-man riot in the temple one afternoon, and then somehow, for no apparent reason, the authorities let him speak to the crowds daily within the temple precincts. If they were hatching plots to have him arrested, tried, condemned, and crucified, only one disciple knew about it, and he said nothing to the others. 

And so they proceeded with the Passover Meal with Jesus as the host, presider, master of ceremonies, and guest of honor. And, at the highest moment of the ceremony, Jesus took a loaf of bread, broke it, and gave a piece to each disciple, saying, "This is my body. Eat it!" 

And he took the cup of wine and said, "This is the cup of my blood. Drink it." 

They ate and drank, but did they know what he meant by it? And then he said, "Do this in memory of me." 

Perhaps we can still feel the intensity of that moment. "If you do nothing else in your life, if you remember nothing else about me; if you have forgotten everything I said and did; my healings, prayers, blessings, and rebukes; if you cannot remember anything else I asked you do; if you live to be a hundred and the whole world seems to have forgotten me, you must "Do this in memory of me! 

"If you do this, you will not forget. You will know and you will understand. And you will tell the world about my life and death, and about my resurrection; and they will come to know me as you know; and they will know eternity.

"You must do this; you must tell them; you must invite them to know me as you do; and then your life will have meaning and purpose, and you will know that the entire world, with all its continents and its islands, all its oceans and lakes, rivers, streams, and glaciers, with its atmosphere and all its weather, was created so that I might be born in Bethlehem. God the Father made us in his image and likeness so that I could give you my body to eat and my blood to drink; and so that you would be gathered into my body and be presented to God my father as a good, worthy, and totally satisfying sacrifice for the salvation of the world.

"So long as you do this in memory of me, you will know what Saint Paul meant when he wrote, 

He is the image of the invisible God,
the firstborn of all creation.
For in him were created all things in heaven and on earth,
the visible and the invisible,
whether thrones or dominions or principalities or powers;
all things were created through him and for him.
He is before all things,
and in him all things hold together.
He is the head of the body, the church.
He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead,
that in all things he himself might be preeminent.
For in him all the fullness was pleased to dwell,
and through him to reconcile all things for him,
making peace by the blood of his cross
[through him], whether those on earth or those in heaven
And you who once were alienated and hostile in mind because of evil deeds
he has now reconciled in his fleshly body through his death, 
to present you holy, without blemish, and irreproachable before him."

Many years later, Saint John would explain the Lord’s last words more simply, “All things came to be through him, and without him nothing came to be.” 

Saturday of the Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 418

“Fathers have eaten green grapes,
thus their children’s teeth are on edge”?
      As I live, says the Lord GOD:
I swear that there shall no longer be anyone among you
who will repeat this proverb in Israel.
For all lives are mine;
the life of the father is like the life of the son, both are mine;
only the one who sins shall die.

The proverb about fathers' eating green grapes certainly reflects a hard truth about life. Millions of American children suffer because their fathers abdicate their responsibilities and abandon their mothers. Or, in some cases, never existed as women bought human semon and induced conception artificially. In those cases, certainly, the children were deprived of their natural right to a father and mother who are dedicated to their marriage and the raising of children.

But fatherhood is complicated. Some fathers remain to abuse their wives and children. Other men might be excellent spouses and fathers but, impoverished by a vastly unjust system of labor, cannot provide the spiritual, psychological, and material resources their children need. 

The unripe grapes proverb also recalls some familiar curses of the Scripture, like Exodus 34:7. After promising grace, mercy, and love for a thousand generations to the faithful, there is an ominous warning,  

....yet not declaring the guilty guiltless, but bringing punishment for their parents’ wickedness on children and children’s children to the third and fourth generation.

I think also of the doom that fell upon David's progeny after he had ravished Bathsheba and murdered her husband Uriah. Although he regretted his sin when the prophet Nathan called him out, the curse remained, 

Now, therefore, the sword shall never depart from your house, because you have despised me and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife.

Never is a very long time and the descendants of David, including Jesus, have suffered that curse to this day. Simeon saw it clearly when he spoke to Mary, "...you yourself a sword will pierce." 

Having reflected on the sour grapes, we can turn to the promises, which are typical of God. 

If a man is virtuous—if he does what is right and just,
if he does not eat on the mountains,
nor raise his eyes to the idols of the house of Israel....
if he gives food to the hungry and clothes the naked;
if he does not lend at interest nor exact usury....
that man is virtuous—he shall surely live, says the Lord GOD. 

The scriptures and our Church remind us continually of the superabundant, lavish, astonishing generosity of God. "...gifts will be given to you; a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing, will be poured into your lap." 

How many times do we find in the scriptures God's abundant goodness after his people have sinned and suffered the consequences of their sin? He does not forget them, nor does he abandon or desert them. Even when they are driven into exile he goes with them, as Ezekiel witnessed when he saw the Lord of the Universe soaring across the Babylon sky in a fiery chariot. 

As we endure the punishment which follows exploiting the earth and its peoples, the faithful must remember God's goodness and his promises. Our punishment will not last forever. When we decide to live with the unexpected demands of a perpetually dynamic planet, when we cease our ruthless exploitation of its resources and its peoples, and after we have endured centuries of atonement in accordance with God's will, we will enjoy his superabundant mercy with predictable weather and a bountiful harvest for all earth's creatures. 

In the meanwhile, the promise itself is profoundly satisfying for people who believe in God.