Solemnity of Mary, the Holy Mother of God

Lectionary: 18

When eight days were completed for his circumcision,  
he was named Jesus, the name given him by the angel  
before he was conceived in the womb.

The 21st verse of Luke 2 seems to bring the story of Jesus's nativity to an end as the Evangelist reminds us that he was named Jesus before he was conceived. It's a simple recap to remind us that we're underway and God knows where we're going. 

"Well begun is half done." we sometimes say, and the process of our salvation, despite its complexity and innumerable setbacks, is certainly well begun. It will be completed to God's satisfaction. And that will be infinitely more than we expect, and far beyond our apparent merit. 

A grateful Church must celebrate this beginning with a great feast -- a solemnity! -- to honor the astonishing work of God. It is a work second only to the Lord's resurrection, and that is Mary's virginal conception of the Son of God. We call it Incarnation. But we should pause whenever we do so, take a deep breath, and be astonished. "The fear of the Lord (that is, awe) is the beginning of wisdom!"

The Solemnity of Mary the Holy Mother of God is the mother of all Mary's feast days. It was contested seriously in the earliest centuries of the Church. That historical fact might encourage those who would argue about it today, but we can also recognize the controversy as the birth pangs of the Truth. Theotokos, (that is, "Mother of God,") had to be contested and challenged because it's unheard of, and nearly unthinkable. We would certainly not think of it if it were not a revealed truth.  

The Gospels of Saint Matthew and Luke insist upon Mary's virginal conception of Jesus; and both point to the confusion and distress it caused. Mary wondered, "How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?” And Joseph, "unwilling to expose her to shame, decided to divorce her quietly. Such was his intention...." Simeon prophesied the Son and his Mother would be "contradicted (and you yourself a sword will pierce) so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

These stories accentuate the incomprehensibility of something which actually happened despite the fact that it's beyond human understanding. The catastrophic impact of a mountain-sized meteor on the Earth, with all its shattering consequences, would be more comprehensible than the Incarnation. But we have seen it and we believe it. As Saint John said, "...what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we looked upon and touched with our hands concerns the Word of life." 

Reason can argue it should not be but that applies only to things that might happen, and not to what has happened. If it happened it must be! 

We cannot deny our experience, nor apologize for it with compromising explanations. It makes sense because it happened, and we'll understand it better if we don't argue with what we know. 

Fittingly, we begin the year with this Solemnity. It reminds every Christian of the dignity of human life. Although we have sinned and our behavior is often reprehensible, we are called to, and destined for, greatness. Indeed we will be free of sin; more pure and more delightful than Adam and Eve's original innocence. If we cannot imagine it, we certainly cannot manage it ourselves! But we trust God nonetheless and stand erect with all creation to see this miracle. 

The Seventh Day in the Octave of Christmas

 Lectionary: 204

Children, it is the last hour; 
and just as you heard that the Antichrist was coming,
so now many Antichrists have appeared. 
Thus we know this is the last hour. 

The last day of the year invites us to reflect on the mystery of time. The philosopher and Father of the Church, Saint Augustine was fascinated and mystified by time. There are scientists today who try to explain it and come up short; some deny there is such a thing. It's only a human conception, an idea without foundation, they think. (...which may also be an idea without foundation.) 

We might not know time is real if the One God, whom we know as the Friend of Abraham and Father of Jesus, had not spoken to us in time, entered human history, and shepherded us through the last three millennia. 

But it's not hard, with an act of imagination, to step out of time and experience the wonder of eternity. We do that whenever we celebrate the Mass. As one nonagenarian patient in the  VA told me, "The Mass has never changed!" 

The Eucharist is an act of our God in the perichoresis, the indwelling "dance" of the Father, Son, and Spirit. It is an act of delight, love, and communion infinitely beyond human comprehension. But despite its unfathomable depths, there we are! We're in the middle of it, happily entwined like a child who stands amid the legs of Mom and Dad as they hug one another. 

Entering the Mass, we enter a timeless cathedral and join hands with the saints of the past, present, and future. We have no idea of how many they are; but we're sure that Saint John's "144,000," a number intended to be incomprehensible, has been surpassed a long time ago. It may be a chorus as numerous as Carl Sagan's "billions and billions!" 

And what year is it, anyway? Oh, never mind. It's so good to be here. 

And as we set off into a new year, we thank God for more time to get it right! 

The Sixth Day in the Octave of Christmas

Lectionary: 203

I am writing to you, children,
because your sins have been forgiven for his name's sake....
Do not love the world or the things of the world.
If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him.
For all that is in the world,
sensual lust, enticement for the eyes, and a pretentious life,
is not from the Father but is from the world.
Yet the world and its enticement are passing away.
But whoever does the will of God remains forever.

Vatican News has posted several English versions of the Catholic Act of Contrition. In the first ones penitents state their intention "to avoid the near occasion of sin," or "to avoid whatever leads me to sin."

These phrases echo Saint John's warning, 

"for all that is in the world, sensual lust, enticement for the eyes, and a pretentious life is not from the Father but is from the world.

Yet the world and its enticements are passing away." 

The other prayers certainly have merit but I appreciate the penitent's stated awareness of the danger in which we live. It should not be denied, ignored, or overlooked. 

Very often penitents must admit they have been entirely too comfortable amid these dangers. Isaiah the Prophet announced good news to Jerusalem that

"You shall defile your silver-plated idols

and your gold-covered images;

You shall throw them away like filthy rags,

you shall say, “Get out!"

We can wonder if the Holy City was glad to hear that Good News. They would soon be delivered not only from the stuff they have wanted and thought they must have; they will be relieved of the desire; and will discover an astonishing, unimagined, unexpected, and undeserved freedom from all that stuff. They will wonder why they ever wanted it, and why they put up with such nonsense for so long! 

Who taught us that idiocy? Good Lord, and we taught our children the same thing! Have mercy, O God. 

Periodically, in religious life, we discover the sinful habits of the dominant culture, and then realize how awful they are. They may be customs, habits, practices, expressions, or attitudes. They may be words, stories, or jokes that embarrass the laity who overhear them. They may be attitudes or habits the laity notice. They're not right but they don't seem flagrantly wrong. Hopefully, suggestions are made, the friars are reminded, and the evil becomes unacceptable. 

Jokes that were funny are not funny anymore. Habits and attitudes that were considered normal and even necessary are the world's ways; they are filthy rags and must be thrown away. 

This purification often comes gently, and we thank God for it. For if we fail to amend our ways, and fail to atone for them by making the reform permanent, we certainly face a most severe rebuke from the Judge who died to set us free. 

The Fifth Day in the Octave of Christmas

Lectionary: 202

Beloved, I am writing no new commandment to you
but an old commandment that you had from the beginning.
The old commandment is the word that you have heard.
And yet I do write a new commandment to you,
which holds true in him and among you,
for the darkness is passing away,
and the true light is already shining.

As 2025 draws to an end, and we look back upon another year, I have to admit that my mind has gone the way of all flesh. That is, I have become more conservative. 

I can hear my twenty-year-old self saying, "What a horrible fate." But then I recall the shocking ignorance of my younger self and understand how his thought was controlled by the opinions of his age cohort. "This was," as T.S.Eliot said, "a long time ago. And I would do it again. But...." 

I find some reassurance in the merciful insight of Saint Augustine's paraphrase of Saint John. The African bishop, described the truth as, "ever ancient, ever new." I think I understood something about the gospel then; and I understand more today. Despite it antiquity, it is still new to me. 

The commandment to love others doesn't sound old or familiar to me; it still speaks of freedom and vitality and reminds me that I have not satisfied its demands. Not even close. I must, as Saint Francis said during his last days on earth, "...begin, for hitherto we've done but little." 

"...for the darkness is passing away,

and the true light is already shining."

Saint Thomas Becket's feastday is the ninth day since the solstice on Sunday, December 21; and the fifth day of Christmas. It's still dark when my alarm goes off. Becket was murdered by the complaint of a wicked English king -- a deniable ploy used often in today's politics. But the Saint had been as wicked as any aspiring English nobleman until King Henry II appointed him as Lord Chancellor of English Catholics. The appointment forced Thomas to defend the Church and the faith against the secular authority of the king. He suddenly became very pious. The King, unhappy with his betrayal, complained to certain ruffians who took the hint and took care of the problem. 

Like King Henry and Saint Thomas, we have much to atone for. The end is near. Let us begin. 

Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph

 Lectionary: 17

Brothers and sisters:

Put on, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved,

heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience....

Annually, on the Sunday between Christmas and New Years Day, the Church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. 

We have to notice that churches, both Catholic and Protestant, use family words like brother, sister, father, and mother to describe their membership. They appear often in the writings of the New Testament, where they’re also called saints. We saints are brothers and sisters to one another; and it's hard to tell which model comes first. Should saints love one another like brothers and sisters; or should human families be holy like saints? 

There is something charming and alarming about families, whether they’re biological or religious. That is, we're not given a choice about who we should love. Dad took Mom off to the hospital one day. Two people went and three people came back two days later. Not once did they ask me if I wanted another brother or sister. Given a choice I'd have asked for a horse or a swimming pool, either of which is less trouble than another baby. But there you are! Deal with it! 

Someone comes to our church. They say they believe in Jesus as their Savior and Lord. They speak with an accent, hail from the wrong side of town, wear the worst clothing, sport tattoos, or belong to an alien race. They may have a criminal record. But they’ve been baptized and made their First Communion. They belong, and we welcome them. 

The Lord gives us the members of our family; he doesn’t give us a choice of who we want to love or not love. Deal with it.

 

That’s not the American Way, someone might say. But the American way of picking and choosing family members we love for as long as we want to love them, and no longer – causes loneliness, confusion, anguish, distress, and despair. And no one is happy about it. Freedom is not free, nor is it a free choice. 

As a chaplain in two different hospitals, I met many people who had married several times. They had chosen, loved, divorced, and disowned their way through many shattered families. Some had completely lost touch with their first wives and husbands; and the children they’d had by them. They had grandchildren they had never seen, could not name, and would disown if they were to meet them. I met some who didn’t know if their parents were alive or dead, and didn’t want to know. Picking marriage and choosing divorce has become a way of life, a nuclear cloud that blocks the  sunlight from millions of homes, children, and lonely adults. They’re like sheep without a shepherd. 

When Saint Joseph was first betrothed to Mary of Galilee, the charming young woman was a virgin. And then she was pregnant. But they were nonetheless betrothed and he was committed. Saint Matthew says he was reassured by an angel in a dream that she had conceived by the Holy Spirit; that he should receive her into his home; and name the child Jesus. By an angel? In a dream? Deal with it.

And then, hearing of the magis’ meeting with Herod in Jerusalem, Joseph had a very bad feeling followed by an ominous dream. And that very night he took the child and his mother into Egypt. We can suppose he grabbed some tools but he left his native town and all his connections and everything he knew and lived in Egypt for twelve years – until they moved back to Galilee, which was not his home; and not his plan. Saint Matthew says, “He did as the angel had commanded him.” 

As he neared death, Saint Francis reminded the friars of how God worked when he created the fellowship of Franciscans. He said, “The Lord gave me brothers.” He didn’t expect to start an Order; he wanted to live as simply as possible, without home or property, as Jesus had lived. But the Lord gave him brothers and created a community which was far more complicated and far more difficult to manage than anything he’d ever dreamed of. Suddenly there were rules to be enforced, chains of command to be worked out; young friars to be educated, aging and infirm friars to care for. And in that messy complexity Francis heard the will of God. “The Lord gave me brothers,” he said. 

We’re not given a choice of our brothers or sisters, in family or in church. Many married people – perhaps all of them – wake up one morning and look at their companions and say, “Who is that? Where’d he come from? What is she doing in my bed?” And that’s when marriage begins. 

The Lord gives us free will; but that is not the choice of this brother or that sister, this husband or that one; this wife or that one. These inlaws or those. Our choice is life or death. I will love the people God gave me: this family and this church; and I will die to every other choice. They can all drop dead because this one is my husband or wife, this one is my child or parent, brother or sister because God gave this one and these people to me. And if I would be saved from everlasting death, I will find my salvation in the sacrifice of forgetting everything I wanted or expected or needed. With God’s help we will make it work.  

The Lord was not kidding when he said you must take up your cross and follow me; nor was he joking when he said, “Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood you have no part in me.” Our Most Blessed Sacrament is intimately, intensely related to family and church. Some Christians say they do not believe, and will not commit themselves to  the institutions of marriage and religion, or the Most Blessed Sacrament. They don’t want to make that kind of sacrifice. They want their free choice they say; but the Eucharist, and sacrifice, and family all mean the same thing for Catholics. They are inseparable. We eat his flesh and drink his blood and die with him as the people he has called, chosen, and gathered into his family, into his Body, so that we might be raised up with him on the Last Day. 

Feast of Saint John, Apostle and Evangelist

Image from the Book of Kells

Lectionary: 697

Then the other disciple also went in,
the one who had arrived at the tomb first,
and he saw and believed.

Before there was "science" and absurd expressions like "Science says...," (as if Science were a real person with universal knowledge of everything) there were the "Queen of all sciences" (theology) and the "Mother of all sciences, (philosophy). Every knew that "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom;" and similarly, awe inspires the pursuit of knowledge. Theology and philosophy open our eyes and minds to see clearly with delight and wonder, and without fear, preference, or prejudice. When the Angel said, "Do not fear, Mary." she immediately set aside all fear and wanted to know more.  

Before there were scientists to tell us how stupid we are, there were trustworthy people who taught us about God and his Son Jesus. There was a Church to tell us about the disciple who entered an empty tomb and knew that Jesus had been raised from the dead. We believe these and other stories; and find ourselves in the history of salvation before skeptics teach us to question everything we know and distrust everyone we know. 

With the other writers of the New Testament, Saint John's magnificent gospel reminds of what others have told us, and records the earliest experience of our Christian ancestors. Plus, they tell us what these events mean. Blessed with the same Holy Spirit, we remember the life, death, and resurrection as if they happened yesterday. We're more likely to describe details of those events than we can say what we had for breakfast yesterday. Saint John tells us not only what happened, but what it all means. 

The Gospel of John is like an enormous cathedral. We hear its prelude at the midday Mass of Christmas and on December 31st, as if we were entering the foyer of a great basilica. We study its phrasing as if we were examining every nook and cranny of a dark, silent church. And we hear the Lord speaking to us in human language. He says as he said to Abraham, Moses, David, and Saint Paul, "Here I am." We must worship him.

Christmas has brought us to this moment of readiness and gratitude. Come let us worship.  

Feast of Saint Stephen, First Martyr

Lectionary: 696

When they hand you over,
do not worry about how you are to speak
or what you are to say.
You will be given at that moment what you are to say.
For it will not be you who speak
but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.

We pray daily and many times a day, "Do not lead us into temptation." Temptation translates a Greek word and a Hebrew concept that is extraordinarily complex; there may be a dozen other words that might serve as well. But temptation is close enough for our purposes. It refers to the trial that awaits every newborn and reborn Christian. And the history of martyrs makes it clear. 

Apocalyptic literature seems to refer to the end of human history, but we have experienced many such events as various ages came to an end and others began. Each was "the end of the world as we knew it." Every war caps a prewar era, for instance, and Americans often refer to the Antebellum South that preceded the American Civil War. A strange culture with a peculiar institution disappeared under the fury of warring armies. Few even saw the inevitability of the war, and no one before April 1861 could have described what might unfold when (and if) the conflict ended. Abolitionists hoped for freedom for African slaves but they didn't suppose Jim Crow would replace slavery. 

Some periods of dramatic change, like that which happened in the Roman Empire after Jesus rose from the dead, are preceded by violent persecutions. Society doesn't like change. Politics and economics like things the way they are, predictable and stable. No one wants a wind which cannot be forecast or anticipated: nor do they have much patience with people who are driven by gales of the Holy Spirit. 

Saint Stephen was the first martyr of a new age; and no religious establishment wanted to hear what he had to say. They refused to listen to his excellent, insightful explanation of how the Lord's life, death, and resurrection made perfect sense to anyone who knew Jewish history. They knew the story but could not understand what had just happened. Nor would they accept Gamaliel's confident advice, "Let's wait and see!" And so they killed Stephen. And thousands of others. And that slaughter, which never ended entirely, continues today in Europe and Africa. 

Jesus had predicted it and assured his disciples in advance that "not a hair of your heads" would be lost. They had only to "remain in me as I remain in you." 

When Christians feel reasonably assured and comfortable in a given situation, such as the United States, they might wonder if the "temptations" were really necessary. The same contented attitude might ask, "Could we not have avoided the Civil War?"
Apparently not. For eighty-seven years the US Congress was preoccupied almost entirely with avoiding the conflict. But it came anyway. 

Did the martyrs have to die? Or was that some Christian preacher's hysterical teaching? 
It was necessary, just as Jesus's going away was necessary. No explanation in advance is likely to satisfy skeptics. But faith must be tested and proven true.

"On that day you will realize that I am in my Father and you are in me and I in you." (John 14:20)

The Nativity of the Lord (Christmas) Mass at Dawn

 Lectionary: 15

When the kindness and generous love
of God our savior appeared,
not because of any righteous deeds we had done
but because of his mercy,
He saved us through the bath of rebirth
and renewal by the Holy Spirit....

Poor Scrooge spent a sleepless night with three unwelcome visitors: the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future. Despite his habitual crankiness, he found the past charming; the present, not so nice; and the future, terrifying. That silent spectre offered the inevitable consequences of his own choices:  isolation, loneliness, despair, and death. 

The ghost of the past reminded him of the love, companionship, and joy he'd once known when he worked with the delightful Mr. Fezziwig. The old miser had once been a boy with a promising, carefree future. Christmas Present forced his gaze upon the world he had lost. He found himself outside the circle of family, friendship, and belonging. He belonged nowhere, and was welcomed nowhere. 

The future showed him a tombstone with a hole in the ground, emptied by grave robbers of whatever treasures he might have owned. The rogues were strangers to Scrooge; and he, to them. Although he had once been loved, he would be mourned by no one. 

Every year, the novelist Charles Dickens reminds us of a joyous past, present choices, and a grim future. We enjoy evoking past Christmases. We use Advent wreaths to recall the ages before Christ. Medieval music, paintings, and creches evoke Bethlehem. And 19th century sleigh rides, cottages, and rustic villages remind us of a not-so-distant past. We dream of a white Christmas though few Americans have ever seen one, and almost no one has  ridden in a one-horse open sleigh. Every year we concoct some new decoration, song, food, or drink, thinking it might belong to Christmas customs of the future. 

But we cannot see the future. The world may imagine space exploration, artificial intelligence, robotic slaves, and weapons of doomsday violence; but as each year passes today’s fantasies become last year's nonsense. Despite our Earth's reliable winter solstice, we cannot envision a future Christmas. And so we evoke the past, and silently admit we’ll never be that happy again. 

Christians are not haunted by the ghosts of the past, present, or future because we know the Lord walks with us every step of the way. As God said to Moses in the Sinai desert: See, I am sending an angel before you, to guard you on the way and bring you to the place I have prepared.”

He called us out of the slavery of our sins; he has given us the freedom of obedience, and the promise of everlasting life. The present can be bleak; and the future may look ominous, until we hear the Word of God:

See, I am doing something new! 

Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

In the wilderness I make a way,

in the wasteland, rivers. (Isaiah 43:19)

Saint Augustine recalled the Lord’s mission and teaching,

"He promised eternal salvation, everlasting happiness with the angels, an immortal inheritance, endless glory, and after resurrection from the dead no further fear of dying....

But he also reminded us that we are still on the way. We are still subject to judgment; we have not yet arrived. He will come   

"...to exact now what he had asked for before, to separate those deserving his anger from those deserving his mercy, to execute his threats against the wicked, and to reward the just as he had promised.

Advent has taught us to believe in God’s promises and never surrender our hope. On this Christmas Day we remember the words of the first Christmas carol, the one that Mary sang: 

...God shows might with his arm, 

disperses the arrogant of mind and heart, 

throws down rulers from their thrones, 

lifts up the lowly; 

and fills the hungry with good things, 

while the rich are sent away empty.  Luke 1: 51-53

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Advent Mass in the Morning

O Emmanuel, our King and Giver of Law:
come to save us, Lord our God!

 Lectionary: 200

You, my child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High,
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way,
to give his people knowledge of salvation
by the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us...

Mary, in one medieval chant, is called "the dawn," while Christ is "the perfect day." With that song ringing in our ears and hearts, perhaps we should recognize John the Baptist as the cock that wakes us at dawn and directs our attention to the rising sun. 

The rooster crow might not be as delightful to hear as Mary's song; and many despise his raucous roar. But we're nonetheless grateful that he stirs us out of our slumber. And especially for rousing us from the sleep of sin and death to the waking life of grace, freedom, courage, and generosity. 

This rooster gives God's people "knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins," for there can be no freedom in sin. Despite its attractive allure, its premises are as dependable as a crumbling foundation; and its promises, as empty as broken cisterns. 

We looked for other pathways to freedom; and, when offered the narrow way of penance, hoped it wasn't necessary. It appeared dark, forbidding, and downright scary. Even the bravest of warriors caviled at its demands. How could they enter eternal life without their weapons? 

But God the Father insisted and God the Son took our empty hands, even as the Spirit said, "This is the way."

No longer will your Teacher hide himself,

but with your own eyes you shall see your Teacher,

And your ears shall hear a word behind you:

“This is the way; walk in it,”

when you would turn to the right or the left. (Is 30:20-21)

Childbearing, I suppose, is not unlike penance. Both can be intimidating and both bring new life. We thank God for the narrow gate of Christmas as we wrap our faith in swaddling clothes and worship him. 

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Advent

Lectionary: 199

Yes, he is coming, says the LORD of hosts.
But who will endure the day of his coming?
And who can stand when he appears?
For he is like the refiner’s fire,
or like the fuller’s lye.
He will sit refining and purifying silver,
and he will purify the sons of Levi,
Refining them like gold or like silver
that they may offer due sacrifice to the LORD.

Malachi assures us during these days of Advent as he assured his contemporaries long before the Birth of the Messiah, "Yes, he is coming!" But he also reminds us that the Day will challenge everyone, and particularly those who believe -- or think they believe -- in the mercy of God. 

You might be surprised. You might not know what to expect. You might be deeply disappointed. "Who will endure the day of his coming?" 

in her book, A Wrinkle in Time, on the planet Camazotz, the time-travelling children of Madeleine L'Engle watch inhabitants continually, mindlessly building a city of dystopian, enforced conformity. They apparently expect something like our "City of God" although, once it's built, it will know nothing of God. L'Enge's children, of course, see as any child does, the futility of their frenetic work. 

Malachi reminds us that our troubles might not end with the appearance of the Savior. There may be a period of severe testing, similar to the refining process of gold or silver. The slag and dross in our hearts will be purged, and many of our precious things will be forgotten. Remember the fate of Gollum who sank into the fiery abyss, he could not let go of his Precious. 

Nor should we expect to bargain for the precious things we hold most dear, thinking that surely God must agree that, "This is priceless, I must have it!" 

If any one comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.

Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.

Which of you wishing to construct a tower does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if there is enough for its completion? (Luke 14:26-28)

I have seen grandparents compromise their faith when their adult children suggested they might cut them off from their grandchildren. It's very hard at Christmas time.

As we study the Cross of Christ, gazing upon it as Saint Clare urges us, the Spirit gently teaches us to surrender everything to God:

Come to me.... 

Take my yoke upon you, 

learn from me, 

for I am meek and humble of heart. 

You will find rest for yourselves.

For my yoke is easy; and my burden, light. 

Monday of the Fourth Week of Advent

O King of All the Nations
and Keystone of the Church
come and save man, whom you formed from the dust!

Lectionary: 198

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord;
my spirit rejoices in God my savior.
for he has looked upon his lowly servant.
From this day all generations will call me blessed:
the Almighty has done great things for me,
and holy is his Name.

As a young man who had only recently been shown his vocation, Francis wrote "A Prayer before the Crucifix." He asked for God's help as he pioneered a mendicant way of life: 

Most high, glorious God,

enlighten the darkness

of my heart and give me, Lord,

a correct faith, certain hope,

perfect charity, sense and knowledge,

so that I may carry out

Your holy and true command.

However, within a short time, he did not write any prayers about himself. He was rapt in the wonder and beauty of God, as we find in his praises of God. 

We find the same pattern in Mary's Magnificat. Only in the first two verses does she allude to herself: she confesses that she must praise God, and then she expresses her amazement that she will be remembered as most blessed among women. But then she disappears from her song. She can sing only of God's goodness, and especially of his care for the least among us. 

Saint Luke tells us that her Son frequently withdrew to prayer, and we can well imagine what happened when he did so. 

• Luke 5:15-16: The report about him spread all the more, and great crowds assembled to listen to him and to be cured of their ailments, but he would withdraw to deserted places to pray."
• Luke 6:12: "In those days he departed to the mountain to pray, and he spent the night in prayer to God."
• Luke 9:18: Once when Jesus was praying in solitude, and the disciples were with him, he asked them, “Who do the crowds say that I am?”
• Luke 9:28-29: About eight days after he said this, he took Peter, John, and James and went up the mountain to pray. While he was praying his face changed in appearance and his clothing became dazzling white.
• Luke 22:39-46: Jesus prayed intensely in Gethsemane before His arrest. 

Mary and Jesus set the pattern for us. As we begin every Mass we remember our sins and ask God's forgiveness. From that moment, we have better things to do than worry about our guilt or innocence. We must listen to his Word; and then we must enter Communion with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Faith has assured us of God's particular concern for each of us, and with that assurance our attention turns to the worship of God. There is only one exception, that solitary moment of self-awareness when we pray, "O Lord, I am not worthy...."

We might watch to see the progression of our private prayers. Do they proceed from myself and my worries to God's praises? We can do so without judgment, for there are times when our emotions are so riled up they will not be solaced by any amount of time in prayer. That's okay! In those moments we can surrender our helplessness to God and say, "Here I am. This is the best I can do today."

And then we can notice those other days when our souls rest with Mary and all the Saints in God's presence. Our minds may wander, but we're not paying much attention to our minds. If we're asked what we were thinking about while we prayed, we won't remember. Whatever it was, it wasn't important. And then we thank God for that calm; it is a foretaste of that peace which the world cannot give. 

Fourth Sunday of Advent

O Radiant Dawn,
splendor of eternal light, sun of justice:
come and shine on those who dwell in darkness and in the
shadow of death.

Lectionary: 10

Through him we have received the grace of apostleship,

to bring about the obedience of faith,

for the sake of his name, among all the Gentiles,

among whom are you also, who are called to belong to Jesus Christ….

We We don’t often hear in American conversation an expression like the “obedience of faith.” Nor does obedience appear among the three theological virtues, seven virtues, or nine fruits of the Spirit. It is, however, the foundation of all religious life. The Church discovered a critical need for obedience when some hyper-religious monks and hermits, attempting to live by the Gospel more strictly, demonstrated outlandish and dangerous practices which no one should imitate. Eventually the best candidates for sanctity gathered into monasteries, elected leaders, created written rules, and – to avoid unnecessary disagreement – practiced silence. They gave their abbots and abbesses absolute authority to direct their activities; and they tried to keep it simple. When I entered religious life, not as a hermit or monk but as a friar, I entered an American community that said little about obedience because everyone thought they knew what obedience is. It was like the relationship of children to their parents, students to teachers, and enlisted men to officers. When told to do something, you should do it and ask only questions that might clarify precisely what you should do. You didn’t need to know why you should do it, and it was better not to ask. But, I also found, there was a lot of rule-stretching and gamesmanship among apparently devout souls. You or your parents remember the question of eating meat on Friday. We don’t eat chicken, pork, beef, whales,horses, cats, or dogs but we do eat fish, frogs, crawfish, turtles, alligators, and mussels. Why they’re not meat has never been explained. Now imagine a monastery with far more rules about fasting and food; even more gamesmanship and rule-stretching. It was religious, but not spiritual. In that Church, the best rules of thumb are, “If you don’t want to know the answer, don’t ask the question.” And, “It’s easier to get forgiveness than permission.” So what is this “obedience of faith?” Saint Paul says he is bringing about the obedience of faith for the sake of the Holy Name of Jesus. Today’s gospel recalls Saint Joseph’s obedience of faith when the Angel Gabriel spoke to him in a dream. We know he had some questions about his betrothed wife Mary. She was “found with child” before they lived together. But the angel insisted, “...do not be afraid to take Mary, your wife into your home. For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins." It was only a dream but Joseph knew it had come by way of the Holy Spirit, just as Mary had become with child by way of the Holy Spirit, and he obeyed. As Saint Matthew says, When Joseph awoke, he did as the angel of the Lord had commanded him and took his wife into his home. When the same Gabriel appeared to Mary, she was astonished and asked a question – “How can this be since I have no relations with a man?” – but she did not question the authority of God or the word of His messenger. I don’t believe Mary and Joseph’s obedience is quite the same as we Americans like to do it. They did not suppose they could obey God’s word by stretching the rules, parsing sentences, or gamesmanship. And they could ask questions for clarification, deeper understanding, and greater appreciation. They harbored no resentment about the imposition of God’s authority or the Angel’s abrupt message. If anything, they were delighted that the Messiah, who would save his people from their sins, would soon be born. And they should be his parents, regardless of the unheard of manner of his conception. Their child Jesus learned obedience from what he suffered, and set a standard far beyond that of Mary and Joseph. He became obedient even unto death, even death on a cross. It was later in life when I began to understand the virtue of obedience. It has to do with the Spirit of God, the Spirit of the Church and the Franciscan Order, and the Spirit of God's law. It is never enough, and never satisfying, just to follow the rules or do it by the book. We have to bring two attitudes into our obedience. First, we must bring a severe skepticism about what we like, prefer, or want. Just because I want it doesn’t make it good; just because I feel it doesn’t make it true. If anything, I should think long and hard before I do anything I want to do. And I should ask, “Is this good thing what God wants me to do?” Saint Ignatius of Loyola reminded us, the devil tempts good people with good things. That’s how he persuades us to ignore God. We think we know what is good without even asking God. Adam and Eve wanted to be like God, and so they ate the forbidden fruit. It’s true that God wanted them to be like himself; he created them in his own image; but disobedience could not make them godlike. Neither the Son of God nor the Spirit of God disobey God the Father; neither should those created in the image of God. And secondly, we must conform our desires to God’s will and then obey with enthusiasm. When Saint Francis finally saw what God wanted of him – which was to own nothing, travel homelessly from place to place, wear no shoes and carry no money – he shouted, “This is what I want, this is what I seek, this is what I desire with all my heart." From that moment, he never looked back. When Gabriel told Mary about the old woman’s pregnancy, she didn’t take that as a bit of heavenly gossip. It meant something; it meant go to Jerusalem and see this marvelous work of God, and share with her the dawn of a new age in human history. And she went without hesitation. She didn’t even ask, “How safe is it for a young woman to venture out on the highway?” She just went. Catholics practice, by American standards, a severe form of obedience. We don’t miss Mass on Sunday because we should be there; we’re told to be there; and we want to be there. We’re told what to believe, and we’re told to study Catholic doctrines with reflection, prayer, and contemplation until we understand how beautiful and wonderful they are. Even as the skeptics are asking ignorant, irrelevant questions about our beliefs, and then accusing us of being simple and naive; we are thanking God for revealing mysteries that were hidden before the coming of the Messiah. We come to Christmas and Bethlehem with the obedience of faith. We come willingly, with enthusiasm, neither counting the costs nor predicting the consequences. No one can imagine the good he has in store for us, but we’re sure it will be far beyond anything we can comprehend or describe. And it will be wonderful.

Saturday of the Third Week of Advent

O Key of David
Opening the gates of God's eternal kingdom
Come and free the prisoners of darkness.

Lectionary: 196

Ask for a sign from the LORD, your God;
let it be deep as the nether world, or high as the sky!

The Gospels describe many signs of God's sovereign and benevolent presence. I think of several in the New Testament that are as deep as the nether world and high as the sky: the Virgin birth of Jesus, the return of Lazarus to his family, the passion and death of Jesus, his Resurrection, and the gift of the Holy Spirit. Two more restorations -- the young man of Naim to his widowed mother, and his daughter to Jairus and her mother -- make seven! But we could add even more, like the Transfiguration and the Last Supper. 

But God's mighty works are never like those which the Pharisees demanded of Jesus. They wanted to see spectacles -- Skyrockets in flight! Bombs bursting air! -- or something equally inane. God's mighty works are saving works. We experience them in our own lives when we confess our sins, admit we were wrong, apologize, and atone for our wrongdoing. We feel them moving within us when we speak the truth to a hostile audience. In those moments we often feel a rush of freedom in knowing, believing, and speaking the truth about God.  Even old folks will know that The Lord has restored our youth! 

With Advent and Christmas we celebrate the rebirth of hope as we hear again, "Turn away from sin and live by the Gospel."

Friday of the Third Week of Advent

O Root of Jesse's stem,
Sign of God's Love for all His People
Come and Save us without Delay!

Lectionary: 195

Both were righteous in the eyes of God,
observing all the commandments
and ordinances of the Lord blamelessly.
But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren
and both were advanced in years.

As Saint Luke tells the story, Christmas begins with a devout, childless couple. The grandparents I know look forward to sharing the holiday with their grandchildren. Kids overcome the natural reluctance of old age and restore glee to their life. Zechariah and Elizabeth could not expect that pleasure. 

But they were devout and found satisfaction and joy -- perhaps even pleasure -- in the rites of their Jewish faith. When they learn that God has heard their prayers and shown them mercy, Elizabeth expresses grateful satisfaction in what God has done: 

“So has the Lord done for me at a time when he has seen fit

to take away my disgrace before others.”

John the Baptist, their child, "will drink neither wine nor strong drink," meaning that he is a Nazirite from birth. This vocation appears twice in the writings of Saint Luke. Saint Paul took a vow and had his hair cut, apparently as a temporary Nazirite at Cenchreae. But there were also  lifelong vow -- like the judges Samson and Samuel -- who were dedicated by their parents from birth. 

Nazirites in the Bible, like the consecrated religious of the Catholic Church, were called to assure all God's people of His abiding presence. Their very appearance at gatherings of the Church invoke the holiness, mercy, and righteousness of God.

The Catholic Church, in Roman and Orthodox rites, have remembered Mary as a kind of feminine Nazirite, although there were no Jewish custom of consecrating baby girls. Her marriage to Joseph was celibate. (See Josephite Marriage.)  

And so the expected boys, John and Jesus --though Jesus was not a Nazirite as he attested when he spoke of his own eating and drinking -- were introduced into just, devout homes which reflected the abiding presence of God in our world. Saint Luke's couples represent God's call to holiness to married couples. Their stories lend credence to the Sacrament of Marriage. It is far more than a human institution; it reflects the glory and beauty of God. Every couple who has ever endured the agonizing birth of a child from a woman's body has been astonished by the miraculous sign. 

As the oldest of ten, I remember the miracle of birth differently. Mom would be gone for a few days and then come home with another baby. There was a new, demanding presence in the house; and the watchword was "Shh, the baby's asleep!" If a two year old, four year old, or six year old wanted to squeal, they had to do it outside. We were learning already of the sacredness of human life and its imposition on our rambunctiousness. 

With only days left before we celebrate the Birth of the Infant, we do well to observe a Christmas silence that leads us to the altar where we find Zechariah offering incense, Mary giving birth, and Jesus lifted up before God.