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

Lectionary: 443

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

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

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

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

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

The Lord continues that useful advice:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Interior of Our Lady of Consolation
Minor Basilica in Carey, Ohio

Lectionary: 131

He spoke this openly.

Then Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him.

At this he turned around and, looking at his disciples,

rebuked Peter and said, "Get behind me, Satan.

You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do."

As I read the gospels I don’t find Jesus to be the warm, cuddly, approachable fellow described in Christian messaging. I find a prophet in the mold of Elijah and Elisha, remote, untouchable, and ferociously holy. People may come to him with a formal request but he doesn’t hang around waiting for someone to speak with him. When he joins a crowd, no one recognizes him and no one speaks to him. He might not come by to watch Sunday afternoon football or share a cold one, much less listen to your pet theory about human evolution.

Among the crowds who come to him, there are seventy-two disciples, but only twelve apostles, and only three are privy to his transfiguration and agony in Gethsemane. Some are turned away; as he tells them, “Let the dead bury the dead.” or “Birds have nests and foxes have holes, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” Only the gospel of John describes a single beloved disciple who seemed to enjoy the Lord’s particular affection. 

Peter speaks for the disciples, but he was not Jesus’ lieutenant, much less his advisor. His leadership will come later; but he will never fill the Lord’s place. 

In today’s gospel, Saint Mark tells us that Jesus spoke openly about the coming ordeal in Jerusalem. And then, “Peter took him aside.” That’s very unusual among the stories of Jesus, and very bold. But Peter was thinking as human beings do, and presumed he could privately advise Jesus. Apparently, he believed he knew some things about the world, and people, and public relations which the holy, innocent, and somewhat naive Son of the Holy Mary did not understand.  

The gospel says Peter rebuked the Lord; that’s a very strong word; and we hear it again when Jesus replied with a severe rebuke. The apostle might have known the ways of men but he did not know the ways of God; and the best remedy for that was a sharp reply – “Get behind me, Satan.” Anyone who knows the ways of men is all the more the fool for acting as they do. 

Still responding to Peter’s presumption, Jesus summoned the crowd and spoke to them. We’re about to hear how God thinks.

Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself,

take up his cross, and follow me.

For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,

but whoever loses his life for my sake

and that of the gospel will save it."

The man speaks, and his teaching is not familiar to men. It’s not another safe, predictable anodyne like "Be kind," “To thine own self be true,” or “Honesty is the best policy.” Nor was it a traditional teaching of the Jewish faith. Although the Jews had suffered much for clinging to their ancient religion, they had no particular expectations of a happy ever after, heaven, or eternal bliss. The most devout among them – like Simeon and Anna, the old couple who greeted the Infant Jesus in Jerusalem – found satisfaction despite their poverty in the love of God. 

Like them, we find a similar satisfaction in the Lord’s promise: …whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it." 

It is not a satisfaction of security, reassurance, or prosperity in this world. They don’t love us because we love God. In most cases,  they ignore us; and in some cases they despise us. But in any case, your love of God is nothing you can take to the bank. It won’t appear in your credentials, nor does it play well on your resume or curriculum vitae. Most people think our organized religion is a non-starter; a hobby at best, a private matter, and should be kept private. 

We live by God’s promise and we teach our children privately about God’s promise. It concerns a future which no one can foresee or predict. Because he promises, we hope; and hope is a grace, gift, virtue, and practice. We don’t know exactly what we’re hoping for. Jesus calls it life, and says we may save our life by denying ourselves, taking up the cross appointed to us, and following him. 

The Gospels insist that Jesus carried his own cross on the way to Calvary, which was not exactly his happy place. And apparently our following with our crosses will lead to the same place. 

But despite his death on Calvary, and despite his terrifying holiness and his promises of an unimaginable life, and despite the wisdom which is alien to human ways of thinking, and his homelessness and poverty, our place is with the Lord, and he is our happy place. This is how God thinks, and this is how we think. 

 

Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

Lectionary: 638

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,
so that everyone who believes in him might not perish
but might have eternal life.

From being a strange interloper I became the welcome pastor when I replaced the large crucifix above the altar where it belonged. It had been displaced by the banner of several foreign nations which appealed only to a minority of the church.

The cross of Jesus Christ appeals to everyone, for he himself said, "When I am lifted up I will draw everyone to myself." (John 12:32)

There will always be, of course, those who fear and despise the cross. It reminds us of our human frailty and inevitable death. Not to mention our barbaric treatment of one another, and our helplessness in the face of such behavior. Without God's grace, humans react violently to strangers, aliens, and others; and with particular savagery when the other is holy -- or God himself. 

The cross is a sign that will always be contradicted as Simeon told our Mother Mary. It is a sign of contradiction to every ambitious desire that would challenge God's freedom, integrity, and authority. 

And yet we are drawn ineluctably to the outstretched arms of Jesus. As Saint Augustine said, humans are drawn to love like iron to a magnet. And seeing Jesus shed his blood for us even as he surrenders in perfect obedience to his Father's love for us, we must go to him. 

As I share the concerns of many for the critical issues that face the nation and our planet, I am all the more convinced that we must lift high the cross. We're too easily distracted by pressing concerns, like climate change, mass immigration, an endangered democracy, and the growing world-wide threats of tyrants. I fear racism, gun violence, and the epidemic of suicide. I am concerned about consumerism, abortion, intimate partner abuse, and innumerable forms of addiction. 

But my greatest concern is the loss of faith, and the outright war on religion. Like the city of Rome which arrested, detained, and executed Christians even as it sedated the populace with bread and circuses, our entertainment culture cynically benumbs us with sports, idiot sitcoms, and partisan politics, denounces Abrahamic religions, and wrings its hands about all the crises we created. 

During such times, the faithful go to the cross. We search for shelter within the wounds of Jesus, we find comfort in his Sacred Heart; and take nourishment from his flesh and blood. We practice our religion and rest in the Lord even as the world screams, "Don't you even care that we are perishing?" 

We do care, and that's why we pray. We thank God for the crosses he has given us, and carry them each day with the confident hope that our sacrifices make a difference far beyond anything we can see or imagine. 

Prayer is like gravity; its reach is endless, and the entire universe is subject to it. Nothing escapes gravity and nothing escapes our prayer and the all-seeing wisdom of God. And so we...

Lift high the cross, the love of Christ pro­claim

Till all the world adore His sac­red name.

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

Lectionary: 441

Although I am free in regard to all,
I have made myself a slave to all
so as to win over as many as possible.
I have become all things to all, to save at least some.
All this I do for the sake of the Gospel,
so that I too may have a share in it.

A former guardian of mine called it "sound effects" whenever I got up from the dining room table or living room chair. The groan that began in my knees and hips arrived in my throat as the movement upwards met gravity and fell back. And yet I had to move. If I must be a slave, it should be for others and not for the reluctance in my ankles, knees, and hips.

Several saints have been described as reluctant in movie titles and books. I am not sure that any true saint fits that category, but perhaps they all do. Which of us does not daily encounter our physical and spiritual reluctance to get up, get going, deal with the problem(s), and give more than we intend to give? 

Reluctance is that entropy which is overcome when anything moves, shifts, or changes. It is the same resistance that moving objects encounter because everything around them -- an entire system -- must also adjust, adapt, and find a new stasis, a new normal. And when everything and everyone is moving on this dynamic planet, we can expect a lot of entropy amid systemic reluctance. 

When a child is born, everyone in the family must adjust to the new arrival. When the child moves from elementary to middle school, the family readjusts to the new situation. When an alcoholic sobers up the family must recognize the codependent practices which are no longer helpful. 

So here is our reluctant saint who hears the Spirit's invitation to be different and make a difference. They are surely accompanied by the Church and its prayers as we have been guided and challenged by the Holy Spirit these many centuries. But the same church must also accommodate this individual whose spiritual sails are catching a different zephyr. And who knows but the community's reluctance may be guided by the same spirit? It may be saying, "Yes. Great idea! But not yet." And the community watches together for further signals from the Divine. 

Freedom is a jealous god, it has no place for ego. It bonds a community under obedience to the Lord and the stewardship of shepherds; and guides us like the proverbial tight ship whose keel knows both the inertia of the sea and the energy of the wind as it responds to the Lord's "Get up, let us go!" 

Memorial of the Most Holy Name of Mary

Lectionary: 440

But rather, love your enemies and do good to them,
and lend expecting nothing back;
then your reward will be great
and you will be children of the Most High,
for he himself is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked.
Be merciful, just as also your Father is merciful.

The injunction, as we hear it in Saint Luke's version -- "Be merciful, just as also your Father is merciful" -- sounds more palatable than Saint Matthew's, "Be perfect...." It's certainly preferred by preachers and teachers of our time. 

Perfect has a pretty precise definition in many people's minds, especially as we watch Olympic divers and gymnast strive for that "perfect ten." "Good enough," which is in fact far better than anything I could have ever achieved in my wildest ambitions, is not good enough for the judges. They want Perfection. 

But that unattainable ideal was used against us long before the Olympics were televised. Little girls were supposed to be perfect like the Virgin Mary, and First Communicants should be perfectly worthy to receive their first, second, and last Holy Communion. 

Faithful, it seems, is not faithful if it's not perfect. One doesn't practice one's faith because practice implies the possibility of not getting it right the first time and every subsequent time.

And it soon becomes obvious that no one can be perfect -- and certainly not this author -- so I should not receive Communion, or attend Mass, or say a prayer if I am not sure that I will "sin no more,: and will always and forever "avoid the near occasion of sin."

So how about merciful? I think I can do that; it's imaginable and perhaps doable. 

But I suspect that Luke never intended to soften  the Lord's command with a more palatable word. He and Matthew and the Lord were thinking the same thought: we should be holy as the Lord our God is holy. 

That holiness is a presence without pretense. It is an assurance that the Lord is near with his care, concern, and sponsorship. His hand is upon my shoulder, and "His eye is on the sparrow I know he watches over me.

This awareness governs my decisions, attitudes, and thoughts. Practicing faith, I learn to choose even my thoughts carefully. There are things I need not say; I can let opportunities for mischief pass and be grateful about it later. There are avenues I need not explore, and others more desirable I might pursue. 

We can all agree that the World needs to know the Lord. We can as easily agree that he wants to be present through us, and with us, and in us. 

Wednesday of the Twenty-third Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 439

I tell you, brothers, the time is running out.
From now on, let those having wives act as not having them,
those weeping as not weeping,
those rejoicing as not rejoicing,
those buying as not owning,
those using the world as not using it fully.
For the world in its present form is passing away.

If I had done an inventory of what I owned fifty years ago, and looked at it today, I am pretty sure I've lost everything. Or gave it away, or threw it away. If we take nothing with us when we die, we don't carry much through our lives.  

In today's readings from Saint Paul's first letter to Corinth and Saint Luke's Gospel, the Lord urges us to anticipate and practice his way of life. We should be putting up our spiritual sails on the masts of daily prayer and catching that wind which will carry us, along with the tides of time, out of today's safe haven into the deep of tomorrow's uncertainty. And it's easier to travel light. 

Saint Luke urges us to prepare for hardship, and reminds us that those who are poor, hungry, grieving, or despised will be happier in the Kingdom of God, while those who are rich, content, happy, and universally loved today will not fare so well. 

Some people, using a theory of history, predict...

Hard times create strong men; strong men create good times; good times create weak men; and weak men create hard times. 

Because I believe in the Lord of History who quietly governs far more than we suppose or imagine, I am leery of historical theories; but that one makes sense. There is something extremely predictable about greed, stupidity, and sin in general; not much good can come of them. If shortsighted plans do not lead automatically to catastrophe, the Lord of History might assist the process. Because God owes no one anything, the wicked should feel less secure of their future; while the poor, needy, neglected, and despised -- whom the Lord prefers -- can hope for better times. 

If there are any observances of Patriot's Day today, they will remind us how everything can change in the twinkling of an eye.

Do not wear yourself out to gain wealth,

cease to be worried about it;

When your glance flits to it, it is gone!

For assuredly it grows wings,

like the eagle that flies toward heaven. Proverbs 23:4-5

 

Tuesday of the Twenty-third Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 438

How can any one of you with a case against another dare to bring it to the unjust for judgment
instead of to the holy ones?
Do you not know that the holy ones will judge the world?

Saint Paul's distress over hearing that his disciples in Corinth were suing each other in civil courts would be amplified beyond imagination by the scandals of religious wars, and even more so by the ideological wars of modern times. That Christians and Catholics fight and kill one another in the name of freedom is beyond comprehension; and yet freedom has been the battle cry of every Christian nation since the French invaded their neighbors under the banner of "Liberté, égalité, fraternité." 

When the Scottish soldier, John Macmurray, recovering from injuries suffered on the front during World War I, reminded his Presbyterian congregation that they would soon be making peace and trading with their German enemies, he was shunned. In response he quit the Church, returning only a half-century later as a Quaker. 

Today's divisions among Catholic congregations in the United States also undermine our claims to fidelity. Because we have been adopted into God's elect, our quarrels betray our faith just as certainly as Judas's crime against Jesus. 

A recent discussion on NPR's Hidden Brain suggests a simple way out of this dilemma. The episode -- The Gift of Other People -- explored the possibility of opening conversations with complete strangers, especially during the daily commute on a bus or train. Remarkably, although most people expect an unpleasant outcome to the suggestion, most people report a good experience when they have done so. In fact, strangers often share very personal feelings and tell very important stories to complete strangers, stories their loved ones might not know or appreciate. 

As I listened I had to plea "guilty as charged;" I almost never speak to strangers while flying, despite our literally rubbing shoulders. 

Another Hidden Brain program some time ago made a similar, more direct suggestion that neighbors who clearly differ with one another about partisan issues -- they have opposing signs in their front yards -- might do well to take a walk together. In the neutral territory of a public park, they might be surprised to discover they agree about so much. 

Sharing faith and announcing the Good News of Jesus Christ, as we're supposed to do, might begin with a conversation about the weather, "your lovely hat," gardening or fishing, and a passing remark about my pastor. Nor does that particular disclosure have to come during the first, fifth, or tenth conversation. 

No congregation should embarrass Saint Paul as the Corinthians did. We can do better; we know better. We have only to begin. Easing tension and friendly conversations with strangers may forestall World War III. 

Memorial of Saint Peter Claver, Priest

Lectionary: 437

The scribes and the Pharisees watched him closely to see if he would cure on the sabbath so that they might discover a reason to accuse him.

Assaulted continually with too much irrelevant information about things that make no real difference, and told that we must know and assess and decide about every little thing, we find easy outs. The news media sorts it out for us; they show us what is most likely to get our attention and, perhaps, arouse an outraged "OMG!" Anxiously we click the link which is supposed to try my imagination. And we get no satisfaction. 

The news media, desperate for attention in a competitive environment, spoon feeds EXCITING information. Because we don't really care what we're told -- we have pressing responsibilities -- we choose between conservative, progressive, ultra-conservative, and ultra-progressive excitement. Our opinions come preformed, and our attitudes are set before we've had our coffee on Monday morning. Dissatisfied and weary, we resume our responsibilities, which have nothing to do with the news.

The Pharisees in today's gospel account apparently had nothing more important to do on a Sabbath morning, and were quite satisfied with what they saw and heard in Jesus's actions. Their preformed suspicions had been confirmed and they moved immediately to do something about it. Although that day was the Sabbath and they were planning to do evil. 

They would have done better to listen to the Word of God, either as it was read from their sacred scriptures, or as he spoke to them in the flesh. 

But they were too busy. Planning evil. 

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Basilica of Our Lady of Consolation
Carey, Ohio

 Lectionary: 128

Be strong, fear not!
Here is your God,
he comes with vindication;
with divine recompense
he comes to save you.

As the nations of Judah and Israel aged and its leaders became wealthier and more corrupt, the backward-gazing religion of Abraham, Moses, and David became the forward-looking religion of Isaiah the prophet. His prophetic visions, warnings, and promises became a living document, open to contributors of several generations for almost two hundred years. It was like an open sourced website with several writers whose works were inspired, collected, and edited under the guidance of God’s prophetic spirit. When both nations collapsed under the weight of invading armies, these writers kept the faith of their ancestors. They took their Book of Isaiah with them as an invading army transplanted them from destroyed Jerusalem to pagan Babylon. Isaiah had become a sacred, cultic project. Despite their exile, grief, and hardship, they could not, and would not, forget the Lord who assured them:         See, the earlier things have come to pass,         new ones I now declare;         Before they spring forth         I announce them to you. Is 42:9 Seventy years later, the heirs of these scholars were among the remnant who returned to the ruins on Mount Zion to rebuild Jerusalem and its temple. They could not restore the kingdom of David but they believed in, and hoped for, a future when God would gather all nations into a single empire with Jerusalem as its capital and a Son of David as its king. That new thing would come just as surely as God had delivered the children of Abraham out of Egypt, from slavery to freedom, more than a thousand years before. The Spirit of God – the Spirit of Isaiah – would not let them forget God’s wonderful works, nor could they dismiss his promises for the future. We hear of these wonderful, coming works in today’s first reading from Isaiah:         Then will the eyes of the blind be opened,         the ears of the deaf be cleared;         then will the lame leap like a stag,         then the tongue of the mute will sing. But God’s healing will not stop with disabled people; it must include the distressed earth, air, and water. As he said,         Streams will burst forth in the desert,         and rivers in the steppe.         The burning sands will become pools,         and the thirsty ground, springs of water. On That Day the nations of the world will recognize the God-like dignity of every man, woman, and child. Governed by a Royal Son of David, they will practice a sacred stewardship of the Earth, as their harvests and livestock feed everyone. There will be no need to hoard, and no one will want to hoard. The Earth itself will rejoice as the mountains and the hills burst into song, and all the trees of the field clap their hands. The Gospels, written several centuries after the open sourced book of Isaiah was closed, recognized the fulfillment of Isaiah’s hopes and visions in Jesus. He came to open the eyes of the blind and the ears of the deaf; he loosened the tongues of the mute who sang God’s praises while the lame danced for joy. Even the stormy seas were calmed at his command, and the earth trembled under his feet when he rose from the dead. Everything Isaiah had hoped for was coming to pass. Before we skip to the present, we should remember that the Lord has remained with his church through all the ages as decades passed into centuries, empires rose and fell, heretical sects appeared and disappeared. We’re still here, we remember, we forget nothing – neither God’s mighty works, nor the scandal of our sins, nor the courage of our saints and martyrs; and we have the records to prove it. The Church remains faithful not because we are courageous or stubborn, but because the Lord keeps faith with us. What remains for us, as we wait for the fulness of what has already begun, is to imitate our Lord, as in today's second reading. The Apostles James urges us:

My brothers and sisters, show no partiality
as you adhere to the faith in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ.

Saint Paul said of Jesus, “He cannot deny himself.” That Church and those people flourish who do not deny themselves, their principles, or their mission. We cannot deny ourselves by showing partiality to any race, nationality, or ethnicity. We cannot prefer the wealthy over the middle class or poor, employed over unemployed, the young over the old, or the able over the disabled. Which is to say, "We keep faith." We practice mercy and do justice. It’s not easy; it’s not supposed to be easy. But, as Saint Paul said, we "run so as to win” because we know we can still lose everything. This generous, willing spirit comes naturally only to those who practice their faith as intensely as any Olympic gymnast practices vaults, pikes, and landings. And his spirit can be lost in the twinkling of an eye. We do not forget the warning of Psalm 95 as we hear God speak to us and say:

Do not harden your hearts as at Meribah, as on the day of Massah in the desert.
There your ancestors tested me; they tried me though they had seen my works.
Forty years I loathed that generation; I said: “This people’s heart goes astray; they do not know my ways.” Therefore I swore in my anger: “They shall never enter my rest.”

Therefore, let us strive to enter into that rest, so that no one may fall after the same example of disobedience. Hebrews 4:11

I entered Mt St Francis Seminary on this day in 1962. I'm still here. How about that!

Saturday of the Twenty-second Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 436

Learn from myself and Apollos not to go beyond what is written,
so that none of you will be inflated with pride
in favor of one person over against another.
Who confers distinction upon you?
What do you possess that you have not received?
But if you have received it,
why are you boasting as if you did not receive it?

Every age produces some fascinating additions to what is written, despite Saint Paul's warning. In fact there had been very little written about Jesus at the time. Scholars speculate that the Evangelists Luke and Matthew borrowed from the same written set of Jesus's teaching, since we find similar words in both documents, but they drew their basic life of Jesus from the only Gospel that had been written, Mark. 

Paul was apparently referring to Hebrew scriptures, since the Church was discovering so many allusions to Jesus's death and resurrection in (what we call) the "Old Testament," and there was no New Testament at the time. There was only "Good News."

In any case, Saint Paul warned against wild speculation about Jesus and his mission. He had given the Corinthians plenty to think about; they should mine that mother lode and not go digging somewhere else. It could only lead to mischief created by divisive, self-inflated mischief makers. 

But nearly everyone does it; certainly every spiritual writer and preacher. Sometimes we're alluding to small hints that are clearly there in the text. Any competent preacher can speak at length about Bartimeus's cloak, the item he tossed aside as he approached Jesus. Books have been written about Tobias's dog, though the animal only went with him and came home with him. Even Saint John Paul II insisted that the Risen Lord had appeared to Mary although there is little trace of such an apparition in scripture. Of course he did! What loyal son would allow his mother to grieve endlessly when he had been raised up and was appearing to others? 

But too much creativity can be divisive as speculative histories fill in for what is not found in scripture. Experts will immediately disagree about their content and meaning, and about the liberties creative minds take with the Word of God. Revelation adds a severe warning to these writers and preachers: 

I warn everyone who hears the prophetic words in this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to him the plagues described in this book, and if anyone takes away from the words in this prophetic book, God will take away his share in the tree of life and in the holy city described in this book. (Revelation 22:18)

Most of these creative additions are probably more comforting than prophetic or challenging. We do better to stick to what is written, as the same author said: 

Blessed is the one who reads aloud and blessed are those who listen to this prophetic message and heed what is written in it, for the appointed time is near. (Revelation 1:3)

The Church has invested enormous energy in maintaining God's Word precisely as he gave it to us. There are scholars who spend their lives scanning and comparing the most ancient manuscripts, discovering minor errata. I have heard that every word of the Bible has been challenged by some documents, and yet the scholars are 99% sure of every word. It's astonishing how well the Bible has been preserved, as compared to other ancient writings. 

Another set of scholars are commissioned to translate the text into modern languages.  They tailor their translations to the audience. The most accurate texts are offered to scholars, preachers, and teachers; but popular translations may address different reading skills. The Good News Bible (GNB), for instance, is written in simple, everyday language to be accessible to everyone, including children and people learning English. 

Lectors who read to Catholic congregations should carefully study the text ahead of time. Their reading is an interpretation, and it can make a difference as to how it's understood by those who hear it.  They should read the footnotes in the NABRE, and be familiar with some of the scholarship around the text. They should find out how to pronounce difficult words, and read them with confidence. They should practice the reading aloud before the congregation arrives. Ignorance of the scriptures, as Saint Jerome said, is ignorance of Christ. And it shows sometimes, especially when someone volunteers at the last moment and steps up to read an unfamiliar passage. (Don't. Let the presider handle it; he should have read it ahead of time, and has certainly read it many times before.) 

God's Word is God, as Saint John says. We handle the Word with reverence and thank God daily for it. We ponder it often in the silence of our hearts; and when we speak the Word, our manner announces God's presence among us. 

Friday of the Twenty-second Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 435

I do not even pass judgment on myself;
I am not conscious of anything against me,
but I do not thereby stand acquitted;
the one who judges me is the Lord.

We find in this brief teaching of Saint Paul both freedom and bondage. Faith sets us free from a great concern about human respect; that is, about what others think. As Father Joe Herp -- God rest his soul -- once said, 

"When I was young I worried about what others think of me. And then I decided I don't care what others think about me. And now I realize people don't think about me at all!" (That's when I decided to wear sandals with my compression socks.)

We have better things to think about, and greater concerns on our minds. But we're often dissuaded from what we should do by the nagging worry about what others will think, say, or do. Or how they'll feel about something we've done. 

I heard a teacher of young children say, "If I am not taking risks, I am not doing my job." That principle seems to apply to everyone, and every responsibility we have. As Jesus said about the plowman, "“No one who sets a hand to the plow and looks behind is fit for the kingdom of God.” (Luke 9:62) After due concern for the effects of our decisions upon others, we must set our faces as Jesus set his face toward Jerusalem, and get on with it. 

But neither are we free to do whatever we think or feel is right. The price of freedom is far higher than we think, and we must consider its dimensions. When I spoke with Veterans who were searching for freedom from addictions to alcohol, tobacco, and (God knows what other) substances, I insisted, "We are cursed with freedom." We are responsible for the decisions we make and the decisions we don't make. 

Blessed John Duns Scotus insisted we have a choice of yes, no, and not yes. We may decide not to decide, but we're responsible for that as well. And that's why I insist we're cursed with freedom, and have no choice but to live with our choices. 

"...the one who judges me is the Lord." Saint Paul said. 

A secular society challenges our belief in God's final authority. They do not suppose there will be a Judgment Day. Many do not even suppose they will die! Nor do they understand that others must live with the consequences of their decisions. A motorcycle rider who refuses to wear a helmet might burden his wife and children with enormous medical debts and the care of a head injured old man. But he says he loves his freedom. 

Our faith insists that we are responsible to the Lord for our thoughts, opinions, attitudes, decisions, and deeds. We are God's servants and must seek daily guidance in consultation with God's Spirit. We must ask ourselves, "What am I, as a disciple of Jesus, to do?" 

...like the eyes of servants

on the hand of their masters,

Like the eyes of a maid

on the hand of her mistress,

So our eyes are on the LORD our God,

till we are shown favor.

Show us favor, LORD, show us favor,

for we have our fill of contempt.

Our souls are more than sated

with mockery from the insolent,

with contempt from the arrogant. (Psalm 123)

There is nothing more enjoyable than the assurance that we are serving the Lord. Our bondage is sweet for we remember the price he has paid for us:

Christ ransomed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written, “Cursed be everyone who hangs on a tree,” (Galatians 3:13) 

And,

Do you not know that your body is a temple of the holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God, and that you are not your own? For you have been purchased at a price. Therefore, glorify God in your body. (I Corinthians 6:19-20) 

 

Feast of Saint Mother Theresa of Calcutta

Let no one deceive himself.
If anyone among you considers himself wise in this age,
let him become a fool, so as to become wise.
For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in the eyes of God...

As I understand, in the Greek language of the New Testament, the word for wisdom included not only the sage advice of travelling philosophers and beloved grandmothers. Clever fisherman and skillful carpenters were also wise, as were gifted rulers, effective healers, spellbinding orators, and skywatching seers. Each had dedicated time and energy to their craft. 

But despite all their ability and zeal, wisdom was still regarded as God's gift; it wasn't won simply by hard work and native talent. Because God is the original wise artist, builder, and healer, he anticipates the movements of air, water, and shifting land. Living things cannot surprise God their creator. He knows where fish hide in the sea, when clouds of locusts will infest the land, and empires will swallow up nearby kingdoms. 

In his mercy, the Lord bestows wisdom on those he chooses; and with the gift of his Law, he especially blessed his chosen people. They know his principles of justice and mercy; and they practice those principles when they deal with one another, with strangers, allies, and enemies. They are blessed to know the form of worship which he desires; and they are envied for their zealous love of the One True God.

Saint Paul brought an entirely unexpected insight to the discussion as he found wisdom in the crucifixion of Jesus Christ. That seemed to the clever (the Greeks) beyond comprehension; and to the devout (Jews), blasphemous. To this day we struggle to comprehend the cross; and, with a vague grasp of its healing, liberating power, to communicate that wisdom to others. 

By our daily prayer and continual worship, Catholics contemplate the cross especially Sacrifice of the Mass. The Eucharist of Holy Thursday means nothing if we do not eat the flesh and drink the blood sacrificed on Good Friday. Many Catholics fast on Friday to honor the command of the Lord to remember. We "Lift high the cross" and sing, "Let us ever glory in the cross of Christ." We pray the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary, and walk the Lord's Fourteen Stations of the Cross. The ancient Anima Christi teaches us to take refuge in the wounds of Christ. We remember the Seven Sorrows of Our Lady; we stand with her on Calvary, and stay with her through Holy Saturday. The cross is never far from our minds and hearts. 

With our vision sharpened by that practice, we see the suffering of Christ in the violence of poverty, discrimination, and racism. We recognize the exiled Holy Family among the millions who are forced to migrate as the planet warms, seas rise, and arable land turns to desert. Few leave their native lands willingly, and yet they find little welcome among the polluting nations. We grieve to see impoverished societies shredded by American-made weapons. 

God in his mercy gives no one a free pass from taking up their crosses and following in the footsteps of Jesus. Grief visits everyone as it comes in many forms. The wise welcome it with prayer as they accept the condolences of loved ones, fellow Christians, and strangers. 

Nor do we believe the world's absurd promise of a future without violence or suffering. Startrek assured its credulous fans that there would be no poverty in the 25th century. Because our forebears and every succeeding generation violated the Lord's command in the Garden of Eden, every age is violent. Those who wisely accept the violence of penance welcome its blessings. As William Penn, the English Protestant writer reminded his own people, "No Cross, No Crown."

Wednesday of the Twenty-second Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 433

I could not talk to you as spiritual people,
but as fleshly people, as infants in Christ.
I fed you milk, not solid food,
because you were unable to take it.
Indeed, you are still not able, even now,
for you are still of the flesh.

In his first letter to the Corinthians, Saint Paul does not hesitate to scold his disciples for acting like children. They are feuding among themselves, and some of them are using his name as a mark of superiority over other factions in the Church. The opponents of Paul speak of Apollos, Barnabas, or Cephas. Although it's not clear in the text, some "peacemakers" may have suggested that the several factions go their separate ways, and that a divided Church could represent the one Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. 

The idea never crossed the Apostle's mind. He knew only one Christ, and there could be only one church with its one foundation. No Christian could be satisfied with a divided Church, any more than any human being would be satisfied by severing an arm or leg. If an amputation must occur -- and the Gospels attest to the wisdom of amputating diseased limbs -- the severed part must die that the rest might live. Agreeing to disagree resolves nothing.

I often hear Christians say they must attend the Church that "feeds" them. They do not believe they are fed by the Body and Blood of the Lord, nor are they satisfied by the readings from sacred scripture. They are content only with an agreeable homily preached with a familiar accent. They expect their parish to be well provided with talented musicians and singers, readers and preachers; and the congregations should demonstrate hospitable to all visitors while providing an unaffected, focussed devotion to spiritual things. Proper air conditioning, lighting, and decor are also important; as is adequate space to park. Nor do they mind crossing great distances to find that utopian congregation. They must be fed. 

I suspect that if they find such a church, it will be the last one they attend on their way out the door. They frankly don't like our human nature with its variety, flaws, and foibles. If they are curious about the complex history of a congregation, they aren't necessarily interested in becoming a part of that complexity. 

Saint Paul spoke of the Body of Christ because he heard the Lord complain, "Why do you persecute me?" His assault was not only on the beliefs of a new Jewish faction; he was threatening and attacking people. He was not persuading them by getting to know them personally, by empathy with their God-hunger, or with reasonable arguments. He was trying the more familiar route of threats and punishment. He believed that harm and the threat of harm would dissuade believers from pursuing the Way of Christ. He obviously knew little about God's people. A glance through the first chapters of 1 Maccabees would have revealed a deeper truth. 

The Incident on the road to Damascus persuaded the Pharisee that the Risen Lord suffered with his church because he is the head of the body. Pain anywhere in the body is felt throughout the body. Only a madman would cause pain in one part of his own body to give pleasure to other parts. 

Paul might have been enjoying the hospitality of Ephesus when he wrote First Corinthians but his hurt was there in Corinth. The news of their division was insufferable. 

A cardinal attending the Second Vatican Council, upon hearing discussion of synodality and conciliarism, quipped, "The only time the entire church ever agreed on anything is found in Mark 14:50. 

But we remain committed to that elusive unity. It requires both empathy and truth-speaking, patience and courage, and a willingness to endure into everlasting life. 

Memorial of Saint Gregory the Great, Pope and Doctor of the Church

Lectionary: 432

He taught them on the sabbath,
and they were astonished at his teaching
because he spoke with authority....
They were all amazed and said to one another,
"What is there about his word?
For with authority and power he commands the unclean spirits,
and they come out."

While on sabbatical several years ago, I took an elective course on the history of the pentecostal movements in the United States. It concerned the Methodists of the 18th century, the holiness churches of the 19th, and the pentecostalism of the twentieth. I was one of the few Catholics in the room, perhaps the only one, and the course was taught without a Roman Catholic perspective. 

But I became convinced that the entire Protestant movement concerns the question of authority among God's people. Who should lead the Church? How are its leaders chosen, and how are they organized? What authority do they have, and how long should they have it? Is their authority temporary or permanent? And, do we need authority at all? Are there no methods to facilitate everyone's equal voice so that God will be the only leader? 

And finally, beneath all those questions that Christians must address, there is the most fundamental question, "Should anyone -- human or divine -- have authority over me? Don't I have sovereignty over my body; and over my thoughts, attitudes, words, and deeds?" Granted that infants and children need adult guardians, are they not freed from all authority upon attaining their majority? 

American mythology celebrates the isolated human being who needs no one, depends on no one, and answers to no one. They -- to use the now-correct term -- is a lone wolf, an unnamed hero without family or friends ("Who was that masked man?"). They join no committee, company, or organization; and represent a law unto themselves. In mythology, they're usually represented as heroic, principled, and virtuous; but they can be principled and diabolical, like Cormac McCarthy's Anton Chigurh. I have met a few who said they lived by that code, but I can't say I knew them. They don't want to be known. 

The authority of the Church begins with the infallible authority of God, which also believes that God who is Truth cannot lie:

God is not a human being who speaks falsely,

nor a mortal, who feels regret. (Number 23:19) 

And:

...when God wanted to give the heirs of his promise an even clearer demonstration of the immutability of his purpose, he intervened with an oath, so that by two immutable things, in which it was impossible for God to lie, we who have taken refuge might be strongly encouraged to hold fast to the hope that lies before us. (Hebrews 6:18]

When the Lord preached in the synagogue at Nazareth, his family and neighbors encountered his divine authority and were astonished by it. They were accustomed to their own religious leaders who not only belonged to a fellowship of scholars and lawyers, but were also constrained by Roman rule, religious traditions, and human respect. Whenever they spoke they qualified their teachings as opinions subject to nuancing, alteration, further explanation, backpedaling and recanting. Even when they quoted God's law they were translating from the original Hebrew into the Aramaic of their neighbors. 

Everyone who dares to assume authority over others must forget for the moment that their authority will pass sooner or later. Their strength will diminish, their opinions will be outdated, their offices will be taken from them, and finally they will die. Only those who have no fear of death, or ignore its reality, can speak fearlessly. 

Jesus knew he would die like any man. But he also knew God's authority; he alone could say, "the Father and I are one." In today's gospel we hear the astonishment of the Nazarites as they encounter Jesus's authority to teach and to heal. In Luke 5, we will hear of his authority to forgive sins; an authority which seems more than his fellows can endure! 

The wisdom of God, empowered by the Holy Spirit, teaches us to accept the authority God gives to human beings, and to honor hierarchical systems. That wisdom comes naturally, through experience and common sense, as we trust teachers, supervisors, scholars, police, and elected officials. And it comes supernaturally through faith. It comes with the willingness to honor anointed ministers of the Church, and even to accept their authority to forgive sins. It comes with the willingness to obey the Lord and the vessels of clay he has set over us.