Monday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Lectionary: 244

Then he returned to Cana in Galilee,
where he had made the water wine.

 L aetare Sunday and this Monday of the fourth week of Lent mark a shift in our approach to Easter. We have been reminded of our penitential way of life; that is, the faithful repent of sin and turn to the Gospel. Now we turn our attention to the saving work of God in the person of Jesus. (It's not about us anymore.) Today's gospel reminds us of where it all began, in Cana of Galilee where he had made the water wine. 

We remember the unmitigated joy of that occasion. Jesus put off the sad, hour of crisis that would come in its time and provided a superabundance of extraordinary wine to undeserving, careless people. Nor did he make a big deal of it; only a few knew where the gift had come from, and only his mother could know its significance. 

Coming to John 5, we hear the Lord's complaint, "Unless you people see signs and wonders, you will not believe.” Signs will follow as he cures on a Sabbath, feeds large crowds, gives sight to a blind man, and raises a dead man to life. Our amazement at God's goodness should lead us to faith in him. We will need enormous faith when we see his glory revealed with a brilliance that blinds and confuses. 

Today's teaching on faith is admirably simple: 

“Sir, come down before my child dies.”

Jesus said to him, “You may go; your son will live.”

The man believed what Jesus said to him and left. 

The Word of God spoke a word of mercy and the royal official believed.

Faith is that simple. We can present arguments for why faith is reasonable, but arguments only persuade people that they should believe. That is not a decision. There is, in fact, a long distance between that should and a life-changing decision. Disciples are those who decide to believe what Jesus says and live with that fundamentally new realization. It changes nothing but ourselves. 

Learning of his son's recovery though he had not yet seen it, he again "believed what Jesus said." He "realized that just at that time Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live and he and his whole household came to believe."

 

Fourth Sunday of Lent Year C

 Lectionary: 33

But now we must celebrate and rejoice,

because your brother was dead and has come to life again;

he was lost and has been found.'"

 T he Prodigal Son may be the most popular of all the Lord's parables, and the most important one for its depiction of God the Father as a merciful, long-suffering, and generous patriarch. The old man must surely have a full white beard and mild, kindly eyes which have seen much, understood much, and forgiven all. 

My friend, Father Howard Hansen, recognizing his alcoholism and turning his life and will over to the care of God, found in this parable a kindly God whom he could love, worship, and serve with all his heart. He was the lost soul who had not expected his God to embrace and kiss him with overflowing and healing love. As he told the story, the boy was restored to full sonship with all its rights and privileges. 

As the oldest son of a large family, I bring a charier eye to the story. I find myself in the resentful, suspicious elder; and see an alternate focal point. The silly old man speaks a different word to me. And his personal invitation to come in and join the party still challenges me. 

To me, it's a story of a dysfunctional family with neither a wife nor mother. The father of two unhappy sons is more merciful than wise. The older son seems to have little say in family affairs and resents it; the other is a wastrel fool. I wonder why the father immediately acceded to the kid's demand and surrendered his share of the family fortune to him. He surely knew nothing good would come of it. He could hardly be surprised at the boy's inevitable return, and his filthy, wasted condition. 

Didn't the universal gossip agree that he would come back empty-handed, pitiful, with shameless remorse and a story of shabby treatment? We can hear the servant's "I knew it!" in his report to the elder son, "Your brother has returned and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound."

Upon his return the ne'er-do-well  has a well-rehearsed story of contriteness and resolve to amend his ways. He knows he should ask for nothing more than a servant's wages and position; which anyone else would know is out of the question. The old man's fool kid as one of the servants? I don't think so.

But, clearly, the fruit has not fallen far from the tree, for the father just as impetuously welcomes him back and calls for a celebration. He doesn't even listen to the kid's remorse, "Forget all that! Kill the fatted calf and let's party!" 

Has the boy changed? What are the odds? I don't think so. So where am I going with this? For me, the focal point of this story: "...we must celebrate and rejoice." 

Yes, we are a dysfunctional family, living in a dysfunctional church, nation, and world. We cannot fix it. As the missing mother might have said, "People don't change! A thief is a thief; a liar is a liar." We can hope that grace might someday fix this family. But in the meanwhile, we should celebrate and rejoice because God is good; we're still family and we still belong to one another; and God will restore us to full integrity in his time. 

Periodically, someone decides the Roman Catholic Church is beyond repair and the only solution is to start another church and begin again. We have a long history of these abortive schisms; they didn't begin with the "Protestant Reformation." Because sinners create and join the new project the reformed church proves no better than the original. If they're not starting a new church, they go off in search of another church with fewer or no problem members. Consumers especially like good preaching and good music; a food-obsessed nation wants to think it's being fed. 

The reformation and purification of the Church begins with penance. That is, with my recognition of where the problem begins. It's not them; it's me. Embracing my own guilt, I recognize and welcome my sinful sister and brother. And more importantly, because of my judgment and condemnation and wish to be separated from others, I am, as Saint Paul said, the worst of sinners. 

This saying is trustworthy and deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. Of these I am the foremost.

But for that reason I was mercifully treated, so that in me, as the foremost, Christ Jesus might display all his patience as an example for those who would come to believe in him for everlasting life.

When Jesus was baptized and when he took up his cross, he took a place among sinners. If it was not his place, he made it his place. If  he does not belong among sinners, he is nonetheless the only leader who can lead us on the way of penance. We cannot be saved unless we walk with him, acknowledging not only our own particular sins but our sinfulness as a Church, nation, and people.  

We have sinned, been wicked and done evil; we have rebelled and turned from your commandments and your laws. We have not obeyed your servants the prophets, who spoke in your name to our kings, our princes, our ancestors, and all the people of the land.

Justice, O Lord, is on your side; we are shamefaced even to this day: the men of Judah, the residents of Jerusalem, and all Israel, near and far, in all the lands to which you have scattered them because of their treachery toward you.O LORD, we are ashamed, like our kings, our princes, and our ancestors, for having sinned against you. Daniel 9:5-8

The Bible graphically describes the sins of God's people before, during, and after the saving work of Jesus. We have no excuse. We have seen the Mighty Works of God both in Salvation History in our personal lives. We know God's compassion for sinners but we have preferred to meditate on our righteousness. 

The season of Lent insists that we walk with Christ and bear with him the sins of all the world. We are saved because we are sinners. 

Saturday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 242

What can I do with you, Ephraim?
What can I do with you, Judah?
Your piety is like a morning cloud,
    like the dew that early passes away.

 T ruth is intrusive like water; it goes where it will and destroys what it wants. We may resist it for a while, building walls, weirs, and dams against it. But our roofs, ceilings, foundations, and basements must disintegrate against its relentless pressure, and it has more time than we do. When truth is put off for a while, its strength and vindictive force only increases. What the parents forestall is visited upon the children.

Lent calls us into silence where we must hear the voice of God and listen to his word. We hear God's dissatisfaction in Hosea's complaint, "What can I do with you?" It is the cry of One who has created persons in his own image and likeness, and then recognized his impotence over the freedom he gave them. Within its trinity of persons, God knows the joy of generous, obedient freedom. 

And within that same triune community, God knows the cost of obedience and our human reluctance. We have seen all three -- the resistance, the cost, and the joy of God's obedience -- in the passion, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus.  Our reluctance arouses this divine patience and God's courage as he still believes in the muddy image of himself. 

Truth is intrusive and invasive, but it's also a person. We believe in a personal God who withholds his wrath while we dither. 

Recently I was told the story of an autistic boy who was clearly fascinated by water. Taken to the pool, he walked around its edge endlessly as he watched other children play. His parents were familiar already with his reluctance. Too much stimulation sometimes aroused mortal terror which required long periods of quiet, silent rest. But after several trips to the pool, and seeing that the child wanted desperately to know what water is all about, his father threw him into the pool. And he's not wanted to get out of it since. He loves the water. 

How long will the Father wait for us? Will he finally throw us into the ocean of his divine truth? And will we panic and perish, or delight in a surrender to all-consuming love? 

Friday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 241

Return, O Israel, to the LORD, your God;
you have collapsed through your guilt.
Take with you words,
and return to the LORD;
Say to him, "Forgive all iniquity,
and receive what is good, that we may render
as offerings the bullocks from our stalls.
Assyria will not save us,
nor shall we have horses to mount;
We shall say no more, 'Our god,'
to the work of our hands;
for in you the orphan finds compassion."

 I srael turned to larger neighbors like Assyria and Egypt for help when they were threatened by other neighbors. And they learned through bitter experience that their more powerful allies had no concern for Israel. Like the United States in its dealings with Ukraine, their interests were their own and neither Israelite nor Judaeo. 

Though MAGA dictates that we will rely on ourselves alone, and no other nation, have we also reached the end of reliance on superior science and technology to solve our problems with climate change and hostile enemies? After more than a half-century of failed military adventures, our military investments of money and personnel have rendered few dividends. Canadians are not ready to fold under our threat of annexation, nor is Denmark willing to cede Greenland. Trump's harrumphing only makes the US look ridiculous; and our spending, wasteful. Perhaps few Americans have noticed reports of superior technology from China and many other nations. 

The world, like the grieving kings and merchants of Revelation 18, watches and waits to see what will happen to the United States:

The kings of the earth who had intercourse with her in their wantonness will weep and mourn over her (Rome) when they see the smoke of her pyre.

They will keep their distance for fear of the torment inflicted on her, and they will say:

“Alas, alas, great city,

Babylon, mighty city.

In one hour your judgment has come.”

The merchants of the earth will weep and mourn for her, because there will be no more markets for their cargo: their cargo of gold, silver, precious stones, and pearls; fine linen, purple silk, and scarlet cloth; fragrant wood of every kind, all articles of ivory and all articles of the most expensive wood, bronze, iron, and marble; cinnamon, spice, incense, myrrh, and frankincense; wine, olive oil, fine flour, and wheat; cattle and sheep, horses and chariots, and slaves, that is, human beings.

The time of penance has come.  

"Thus says the LORD of hosts, Return to me and I will return to you, says the LORD of hosts. (Zechariah 1:3)

Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you. Cleanse your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you of two minds. Begin to lament, to mourn, to weep. Let your laughter be turned into mourning and your joy into dejection. Humble yourselves before the Lord and he will exalt you. (James 4:8-10)

Lent teaches us a hard lesson. Like the one who counsels himself and has a fool for a counselor, those cities, nations, or people who rely on themselves for salvation will not be saved. Their accumulated wealth, expertise, and power are the investments of fools. 

Lent teaches us to lament, mourn, and weep because we have not only failed to save ourselves we have seriously insulted the only One who can save us. Helpless as we are to alter the course of world events and the decisions of our nation's policies, we can still pray, fast, and do charitable works.

As Saint Francis said to his friars, "While we have time, let us do good. "

Thursday of the Third Week of Lent

Image of a fallen log, tunneled
by insects.

Lectionary: 240

Jesus was driving out a demon that was mute,
and when the demon had gone out,
the mute man spoke and the crowds were amazed. 

 M aya Angelou told the story of her long silence in her autobiographical, I know why the Caged Bird Sings. After the child was sexually assaulted, her brothers avenged the violence and killed her assailant. Realizing her speaking had led to a killing, she stopped talking and remained silent for many years.

Muteness can be caused by many things, and comes in many forms.  Deaf people might never learn how to utter the sounds that create words and make language. Others hear well enough but their tongues are immobile. 

Sometimes we're afraid to speak; and sometimes we don't know the words. Or there are no words. Sometimes entire societies dare not create the words to speak of what they know. And when their children attempt to break the silence with words that seem to make no sense, they're told to hush up. No one will believe them and they don't know what they're talking about. 

In today's gospel Jesus frees a man's tongue and he speaks clearly. He represents the baptized Christian who knows the Lord and prophesies in the Lord's spirit.  The Church remembers this and similar incidents in the Gospels with our rite of baptism for children. During the optional rite of Ephphetha, the celebrant touches the ears and mouth of the child with his thumb, saying:

The Lord Jesus made the deaf hear and the dumb speak.
May he soon touch your ears to receive his word,
and your mouth to proclaim his faith,
to the praise and glory of God the Father.
All: Amen.

We remember Zechariah's silence after his encounter with Angel Gabriel in the temple. Although it's unclear why he was silent, the sudden freeing of his tongue when he wrote on a tablet, "His name is John," caused quite a stir; and "fear came upon all their neighbors, and all these matters were discussed throughout the hill country of Judea." (Luke 1:65)

Because there is "a time to be silent, and a time to speak," (Ecclesiastes 3:7) sometimes the Holy Spirit commands us to say nothing; and at other times we're told to speak. This is the freedom God gives to his beloved; that they can do either, as the Lord directs. 

Wednesday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 239

Observe them carefully,
for thus will you give evidence
of your wisdom and intelligence to the nations,
who will hear of all these statutes and say,
'This great nation is truly a wise and intelligent people.'
For what great nation is there
that has gods so close to it as the LORD, our God, is to us
whenever we call upon him?

 I n the beginning of salvation history, the LORD promised our father in faith Abraham, 

I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.

I will bless those who bless you and curse those who curse you.

All the families of the earth will find blessing in you.

He repeated the promise with assurances that the gentile nations would admire the wisdom and intelligence of the Jews who were governed by such wonderful laws. Attracted by the dignity, beauty, mercy, and justice of Jewish life they would come to Jerusalem to be instructed in God's ways and worship him. 

Catholics and Christians are those nations. Drawn by the Spirit and fascinated by the Church in its many variations throughout the world, we have accepted that ancient story and made it our own history. Baptized into the Body of Christ and grafted onto the genealogical tree of Abraham, we gratefully live by the revealed Way in which Saint Paul had been born, which he then persecuted, and finally embraced.

We hope that our fellow citizens, despite their Facebook happiness and faux security -- or despite their resentment, fear, anger, and hopelessness -- will be drawn by the hope which we display so readily by our charity and good spirit. They might not be fascinated by our theology, they might be skeptical of our myths, but they have to admire our manner of life. That, more than anything, should be our appeal. 

Lent reminds us our failure to live in that lovely manner. We too often wear our fears, doubts, and resentments on our faces. They're heard in our words, and manifest in our behavior. Too often, we give our neighbors reason to mock our Prince of Peace for we are not a peaceful people, nor do they see our Just Judge in our vindictive attitudes. 

Moses teaches us what we must do,

...take care and be earnestly on your guard

not to forget the things which your own eyes have seen,

nor let them slip from your memory as long as you live,

but teach them to your children and to your children's children."

Our life begins not in trying harder to be good -- that's a waste of time -- but in remembering and reflecting on our own experience of God's goodness, both our personal memories and the history of our faith. Reading scripture, patristics and lives of the saints, praying their psalms and singing their songs, we remember what has drawn us to God in the first place. And by that, we rediscover our confidence in God's Spirit. 

In the words of Saint Francis, "While we have time, let us do good!" 

Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord

Lectionary: 545

Mary said, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.”

 B ecause this feast must fall nine months before Christmas, Catholics eagerly celebrate Mary's willingness to be the Mother of the Messiah despite the Season of Lent. Perhaps we should also allow Lent to bring its own colors to the festival. Mary's consent in March takes on a darker hue; it's deepened with a chiaroscuro effect. 

Rightly we celebrate her as the mediatrix of all grace. All grace is the Word of God and the same Word became flesh within her willing body. Nothing can be more splendid, beautiful, or joyous than the perfect gift she gave us. 

But the joy is made more wonderful by the intense sadness of the Lord's crucifixion. It is a sadness which he shares with his mother, and so we call her the Mother of Sorrows. The feast of the Annunciation recalls her lifelong process of becoming the mediatrix of all grace. She grew in grace as her story began in joy, was deepened by lumination, overwhelmed with sorrow, and glorified by the Resurrection of the Lord. These are the mysteries of our faith which Catholics recall whenever we recite the rosary.

By her ready hearing of Gabriel's message the young woman set out on the road to Jerusalem, Calvary, Easter, and Pentecost. Her fiat welcomed more joy than anyone can conceive, and more sorrow. Mary, did you know...? 

She did not know. No one knows the future. She could only embrace her life's work with the same willingness of every engaged couple and transitional deacon. We believe God is good; we believe God is trustworthy; and because he called us he will provide for us at every step of the way. The Lord who said, "Gather up the fragments so that nothing will go to waste," (John 6:12) will not waste his most favored daughter or the people he has chosen to be his own. 

And so we go with Mary to Calvary, especially during this season of Lent. The debacle of Good Friday makes the gift of the mediatrix more powerful, beautiful, and true for us. It becomes all the more applicable to the troubles, challenges, disappointments, losses, and failures of our life. She knows; she understands; she is there with us. She has always been there. She was there before we arrived. 

She became the Mother of the Messiah by her response to Gabriel; she could not know she was the Mother of God until the revelation of Easter. But she had already become our mother by the fiat she gave to her dying Son as she stood by his cross. 

Like the servants who shared their master's joy by taking on the governorship of many cities, Mary set out with us from Calvary to experience the sorrows of our life. They seem endless, and might be but for the promise which he has given us. 

And finally, with her we become mediators and mediatrices of God's grace in the compassion we show to others. We too are Vessels of Grace.  Saint Paul pondered this mystery of sorrow qua gift in his Second Letter to the Corinthians and shared his musing with us: 

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and God of all encouragement,

who encourages us in our every affliction, so that we may be able to encourage those who are in any affliction with the encouragement with which we ourselves are encouraged by God.

For as Christ’s sufferings overflow to us, so through Christ does our encouragement also overflow.

If we are afflicted, it is for your encouragement and salvation; if we are encouraged, it is for your encouragement, which enables you to endure the same sufferings that we suffer.

Our hope for you is firm, for we know that as you share in the sufferings, you also share in the encouragement. (1 Cor 1:3-7)

 

Monday of the Third Week of Lent

Lectionary: 237 

When the people in the synagogue heard this,
they were all filled with fury.
They rose up, drove him out of the town,
and led him to the brow of the hill
on which their town had been built,
to hurl him down headlong.
But he passed through the midst of them and went away.

 T ony Bennett told of a chance encounter with Woody Allen's manager and their conversation about another entertainer. The dead man had "sinned against his talent." the manager said. 

Mr. Bennett was struck by the remark and realized he would soon die of the same affliction if he didn't immediately change his ways. 

The people in the synagogue in Nazareth, hearing Jesus announce the Day of the Lord, also sinned against their talent. Given their unique relationship with the Creator of All Things, and knowing God as no one else could, the heirs of Abraham risked everything when they refused to listen to the Son of God. 

But their sin is hardly unique to Jews of first century Nazareth. We sin against the blessings and opportunities God has given us when we accept and conform to the customs and mores of our culture without critically examining them in the light of God's word. Just as colors change under ultraviolet light, so does the world when we look at it through faith. 

I have met many Catholics who are more Republican or Democrat than Catholic. Other are more secular than religious, and more committed to the religion of science or sports than conversant with the Word of God. How will they know the Day of the Lord when their Sundays were wasted on this world's preoccupations and entertainment? How will they hear the Last Trumpet if they cannot recognize a hymn? Or the Resurrection of Jesus if they have never forgiven another's faults, humbly apologized, or turned to the Lord in their distress? 

The Galileans liked things as they were. "Better the devil you know...." they said. And did not recognize the visitation of the Lord. And that is always fatal. 

Third Sunday of Lent Year C

Lectionary: 30

“I have witnessed the affliction of my people in Egypt and have heard their cry of complaint against their slave drivers,
so I know well what they are suffering.
Therefore I have come down to rescue them
from the hands of the Egyptians
and lead them out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey.”

 T his is the rare Sunday in the Church's three year cycle when the Old Testament reading outweighs the Gospel. Every Bible school student of any age remembers the story of Moses and the Burning Bush. Fire is fascinating, mystical, and enchanting; who would not "go over to look at this remarkable sight, and see why the bush is not burned?" 

Eventually the student will want to know the name of this God who spoke to Moses, but devout Jews, Catholics, and Christians never enunciate the name of God. It is too holy, too terrible, and too beautiful ever to be sung, spoken, or whispered aloud. Jesus never spoke it in his life. We use circumlocutions, words like God, the Holy of Holies, the Lord God of Hosts. 

When Moses asked the Voice in the Burning Bush, “...if I go to the Israelites and say to them, ‘The God of your ancestors has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ What should I tell them?” God replied, “Tell them the LORD, the God of your ancestors, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob sent me to you.” 

As Jesus stood before his accusers, neither he nor the high priest dared to utter the name of God.

…the high priest asked him, “Are you the Messiah, the son of the Blessed One?”

Then Jesus answered, “I am; and ‘you will see the Son of Man seated at the right hand of the Power and coming with the clouds of heaven.’ 

They would say, “the blessed one” and “the Power,” but they would not speak God’s name. 

And finally, the curious scripture scholar must hear what the God whose name is never spoken says to Moses: "I have witnessed the affliction of my people...." 

The Church of the 21st century, deeply concerned about the fate of the Earth and witnessing the affliction of billions of impoverished people yearns for the Day when God will hear and "come down to rescue his people... and lead them out of that land into a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey.”

Recently, at the dinner table, a friar spoke of the immigrants and new citizens whose American employers do not permit them to attend Mass on Sunday. Some are told they should attend Mass on another day of the week, "...if it's that important to you." 

Because their employers have sold their souls for a dollar, they have no sympathy for men and women who love their spouses, the Sacrament of Marriage, and their children. They do not remember the plagues of Egypt and scoff at the idea that God might punish their lack of faith. "That's Old Testament stuff!" the pseudo-enlightened declare with infallible certainty.

Lent calls Catholics to be like their God and hear the cry of the poor:

• Psalm 34:7 --This poor one cried out and the LORD heard, and from all his distress he saved him.
• Sirach 35:16 --God does not forsake the cry of the orphan, nor the widow when she pours out her complaint.
• Matthew 25:45: ‘Amen, I say to you, what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.’ And these will go off to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.

Most Americans, reminded of these dire warnings and feeling helpless to do anything, might dismiss them as irrelevant. That old time religion doesn’t speak to me; it doesn’t apply to me or fit my experience. Their banal religion appeals to consumers, and assures them of their "personal salvation" regardless of the fate of any nation, city, state, or corporation. Don’t worry; God loves you like you love your dogs and cats. 

But that religion only cements things in place; it cannot deal with changing times, and upheavals in the world around us; much less the Day of the Lord or the Coming of the Kingdom of God. It will not tell us that our customs and culture only compromise God’s law; that our wickedness is deeper than we know or imagine, or that our possessions, securities, assurances, and insurances have lashed our souls to the sinking ship of this passing world. 

Lent calls us first to recognize that we are a people peculiarly his own. We have been called, and set aside to be holy as our God is holy. We pray differently, and act differently. We don’t do abortion, or euthanasia. We honor marriage and welcome children, even the handicapped and disabled. We have different memories and a different history. We don’t want their money or their power. 

And we fast and pray and practice works of charity in the face of mechanized, bureaucratized, weaponized modernity. In fact we are as helpless as the slaves in Egypt. Like the shepherds and farmers of ancient Palestine, like the blind and lame beggars of Jerusalem, we flock to hear Jesus announce the Kingdom of God in the wilderness of America. 

But we are no more helpless than the Man who took up and carried a cross. He is the First Penitent who leads us on the road to Calvary. Like him, we do penance and try to atone not only for our sins but the sins of the whole world

I have often supposed the last line of today's gospel was the typo of a hurried evangelist. When the landowner told the gardener to cut the barren tree down, the gardener replied, 

Sir, leave it for this year also,

and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it;

it may bear fruit in the future.

If not you can cut it down.

I supposed that the word you was either a typo, because the gardener will have to cut it down when the boss orders it. Or it's the gardener's impudent reply meaning, "I won't cut it down but you can if you want to."

But on further reflection, it may be that the unexpected you represents the God whose name is holy, and too terrible to be uttered. He will descend from heaven to personally cut the damned tree down – and burn it.

There is time. It is now. This is the final hour when we must repent, confess our sins, pray, fast, and give alms of time, talent, and treasure. We pray in the Spirit of Abraham who pleaded for the citizens of Sodom and Gomorrah, "The Lord will not destroy our world if there are some righteous people in it." Genesis 18:24

Saturday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 235

Who is there like you, the God who removes guilt and pardons sin for the remnant of his inheritance;
Who does not persist in anger forever,
but delights rather in clemency,
And will again have compassion on us,
treading underfoot our guilt?

 A  mechanized world likes mechanized justice. We've come to believe that the universe, and our Earth within it, is an enormous machine that operates like clockwork. We know the sun doesn't rise of its own volition; it neither has volition nor is it rising.  

And justice should be mechanized also! Three strikes and you're out. Don't let some softhearted judge who might happen to be the criminal's second cousin have any freedom in the matter. He might know the young fellow to have come from a good family and that his third felony was driven by politics. Lock him up anyway! Throw away the key. If there's no room in prison for another felon, he should have thought of that beforehand. 

But, in fact, the universe and our Earth are governed by a God who is not a machine; he may not be exactly a male, despite our use of male pronouns. And our saying that God is a person is analogous, since no one can think of a better word. He is certainly not a machine or a mindless principle. If we thought he were, we'd ask, "Who made the machine or defined the principle?'

Moreover, Christians believe that God is both merciful and just, which is an impossible combination for human institutions. We can be just at times, or we can be merciful. But no government, business, or church has ever discovered a standard operating procedure that is both merciful and just. 

Pope Francis has urged us to err on the side of mercy, especially as we face the combined challenge of climate change and immigration. There is little doubt that climate change, driven by the wasteful ways of mechanized nations, is driving equatorial nations into deeper poverty and instability. If young individuals in those nations can buy American guns and fend for themselves amid the uncertainty, families with children and old people must migrate to survive. They deserve our mercy and, if the Bible can be believed, already have God's sympathy. 

The Lord's parable describes the mercy of our God. It concerns a motherless family, a soft headed patriarch, and his two sons. The elder is hard working and scrupulously obedient; the younger is a screw up ne'er-do-well. 

The story is typical of the Bible. From the story of Cain and Abel, through Esau and Jacob, Jacob's twelve sons and Joseph; Jesse's seven sons and David, we hear of the LORD's preference for the younger, lesser son. Because she is second-named, we may also suppose that Ruth was younger than her sister-in-law Oprah. 

Saint Paul invokes a similar tradition in reminding the Corinthians that God has not set them apart because they were particularly... 

...wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth.

Rather, God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise, and God chose the weak of the world to shame the strong,

and God chose the lowly and despised of the world, those who count for nothing, to reduce to nothing those who are something,

so that no human being might boast before God.

And that was of the same pattern as God had delivered the Hebrews from Egypt: 

It was not because you are more numerous than all the peoples that the LORD set his heart on you and chose you; for you are really the smallest of all peoples.

It was because the LORD loved you and because of his fidelity to the oath he had sworn to your ancestors, that the LORD brought you out with a strong hand and redeemed you from the house of slavery, from the hand of Pharaoh, king of Egypt.

If God's choices of Abraham's descendants and Jesus's disciples are not entirely arbitrary, they are just and merciful. Machines and standard operating procedures cannot do that. Only persons familiar with the Spirit and Wisdom of God can do that. In the light of these stories only a fool would despise weaker men and women.

Jesus told another parable about a Samaritan. This good man was unfortunately born of a despised race but he showed more mercy than his distinguished fellow travelers, and won universal approval. Jesus finished the story with, "Go and do likewise!"

Friday of the Second Week of Lent

 Lectionary: 234

Israel loved Joseph best of all his sons,

for he was the child of his old age;
and he had made him a long tunic.
When his brothers saw that their father loved him best of all his sons,
they hated him so much that they would not even greet him.

 J oseph was the child of Jacob-Israel's old age and his favorite wife's first born son. Genesis 29 recalls how he had been tricked by his kinsman Laban into marrying Leah; and only after promising another seven years of servitude, received beloved Rachel as his second wife. 

Unfortunately, "...when the LORD saw that Leah was unloved, he made her fruitful, while Rachel was barren." It didn't help that the patriarch preferred Rachel and Joseph to Leah and her four sons, not to mention his two concubines and their sons. (And we thought our families were dysfunctional!) 

As the Evangelists recalled the opposition to Jesus and his gospel, they naturally recalled the resentment of the men who, "saw that their father loved [Joseph] best of all his sons, and they hated him so much that they would not even greet him." Was not Jesus the preferred Son of God, and had he not met the same jealous opposition? Had they not plotted the death of Jesus as the brothers plotted the death of Joseph? The resemblances could not be coincidental. 

The story must remind us of the Lord's sovereign right to govern by his own wisdom and according to his own plan; and that we who have little understanding of such matters should only wait and trust in his mercy. We'll often be uncomfortable. Our suspicious minds will raise many questions and fabricate outlandish explanations for the way things are. We can hardly prevent our uneasiness from spawning weird ideas about the God who speaks his Word to us but rarely answers questions. 

We insist we must understand and will not accept God's truth without a full and comprehensive explanation! As a young associate pastor, I tried to answer the questions of seventh graders about the stories of the Bible. But they could not begin to understand the hermeneutics I so carefully explained, and were totally unaware of its sitz im leben. I had as much to learn as they did.

But that curiosity is only a pretext for not seeing the rot of jealousy, suspicion, and unhappiness which eats at our hearts. We think we're superior to our ancient prescientific ancestors; and so -- we're good.

Matthew tells us that the Pharisees got the point of the Lord's parable, 

"When the chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they knew that he was speaking about them." 

There was no doubt about the Galilean's wit! His parabolic scalpel cut to the heart but they would not permit the poison to be drawn out of them. 

As we approach the drama of Holy Week, we examine our attitudes, biases, hesitations, and fears. How much comprehension do our uncomprehending minds demand? 

We must ask the Lord to show us our sins as clearly as he revealed the sins of Pharisees, Levites, and Herodians. It's fascinating that he never attacked the Romans and those who had ultimate authority in this world. He met Roman authorities, especially centurions, but he confronted only Pontius Pilate with his blunt reminder of his irrelevant nothingness: 

"You would have no power over me if it had not been given to you from above."

This is not the time to question the Lord's authority to judge, nor insist upon our right to judge him. We have seen where that led. Rather, it is time to do penance.  

Thursday of the Second Week of Lent

Lectionary: 233

More tortuous than all else is the human heart,
beyond remedy; who can understand it?
I, the LORD, alone probe the mind
and test the heart,
To reward everyone according to his ways,
according to the merit of his deeds.

 I have often reflected upon Jeremiah's complaint about the tortuous human heart, and have only recently looked up the actual definition of the word and its usage: "full of twists and turns;" as in "the route is remote and tortuous:" and, 

"James Bond drove up a mountain road that was tortuous in its twists and turns. He had to stop the evil madman's plan for world domination, a plan so tortuous that even 007 himself could not understand it." 

In medical language, it can mean twisted or complicated, and can refer to blood vessels, the colon, or other passageways. And so Jeremiah's remark -- "More tortuous than all else is the human heart" -- finds an echo in today's medical language! Who knew? But while the medics are talking about the veins and arteries of the heart, the Prophet alludes to the mysterious ways that humans make their decisions.

Very often, perhaps more often than anyone will ever admit, we do not know why we think as we do, or decide and act as we do. When we think we are fully in charge and acting both wisely and responsibly, we are probably following a very predictable path that has been laid out by another, or others, or by the Supreme Other who...

alone probes the mind

and tests the heart,

To reward everyone according to his ways,

according to the merit of his deeds.

If Rene Descartes was quite sure of the self he discovered and gave the world that same self-assurance, Sigmund Freud raised serious doubts about everything we think we know about ourselves and the world around us. Our thoughts and decisions are more tortuous than we can imagine. 

And so we look at the Lord's parable of Lazarus and Dives. We would surely think the rich man is unfortunate for finding himself in an overheated place of torment; but Father Abraham thinks otherwise. He is only suffering the consequences of the lifestyle he chose. Perhaps he didn't so much choose it as accept it; but in a million ways he embraced a life style of the rich and famous. Repeatedly, over the course of many years, he enhanced this fabulous mode despite the plain sight presence of Lazarus, his dogs, and his many companions. 

Perhaps Dives should have expected his torment but, if the thought ever occurred to him, he did not give it a second thought. He could not be bothered. He could not afford to be bothered. 

There is nothing in the parable to indicate he made himself rich; he simply accepted it as the way things are, and the suffering of the poor as the way things are. 

He saw the chasm between himself and Lazarus but would not cross it when he could have. Perhaps he conned himself by thinking that Lazarus was responsible for his own poverty, or that he deserved it, or that God willed it. He did not think it could be changed, nor did he suppose he had any responsibility for the ever-widening gap and its impassability.

In the end, he thought about it in his own tortuous way. He thought he'd been given a raw deal. He thought God should have warned him. And failing that, he thought a dead man should warn his brothers who are living with precisely the same careless abandon. Again, Abraham is unmoved. "They have Moses and the prophets [just as you did.] Let them listen to them."  

The Lord's parable reminds us that we also feel stuck with the world and the life that's been given to us. We are also disinclined to change anything. He reminds us that the chasm is still there, and there is time to change something. It will be too late too soon. 

Solemnity of Saint Joseph, Spouse of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Lectionary: 543

When your time comes and you rest with your ancestors,
I will raise up your heir after you, sprung from your loins,
and I will make his kingdom firm.
It is he who shall build a house for my name.
And I will make his royal throne firm forever.
I will be a father to him,
and he shall be a son to me.

 S aint Joseph, the spouse of Mary, played a critical role in Salvation History in order for the prophecies to be fulfilled. Jesus should be born of the House of David. To be the Mother of God, Mary's Immaculate Conception and perpetual virginity also required that she should wed a descendant of David.

But I am sure there are some persnickety people who might cavil that, because Mary was a virgin as two Evangelists insist, Jesus was not technically a direct descendant of David. Joseph was the "foster father" or adopted father of Jesus. They might be the same persons who distance themselves from Jews, and deny their own adoption into the family of Abraham.  

As Saint Paul struggled with his disappointment that all Jews did not embrace the saving passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus, he had to admit that his beloved gentiles had no claim on the salvation which which had been promised to Jews. But God had promised Abraham, 

"I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who curse you. All the families of the earth will find blessing in you." (Gen 12:2-3)

and Jesus had confirmed, "...salvation is from the Jews." (John 4:22)

Clearly, as Saint Paul and his fellow Apostles saw, gentiles were being gathered to the Lord by the Holy Spirit. Some of them were praying in tongues like the Twelve on that Pentecost in Jerusalem; they were evangelizing, healing, and raising the dead to life. There was no doubt about their salvation. Gentiles were being adopted into the Body of Christ by Baptism and Eucharist! If no one had expected it, it was happening anyway. 

The superabundant, overflowing grace of God cannot be constrained by human expectations. It often goes where the jealous, scrupulous, and persnickety dare not. As Saint Mark tells the story, the Lord's disciples thought they had a claim on him and the power of his Holy Name: 

John said to him, “Teacher, we saw someone driving out demons in your name, and we tried to prevent him because he does not follow us.”

Jesus replied, “Do not prevent him. There is no one who performs a mighty deed in my name who can at the same time speak ill of me. For whoever is not against us is for us. Anyone who gives you a cup of water to drink because you belong to Christ, amen, I say to you, will surely not lose his reward. (Mark 9:38-41)

So we can hardly be surprised to find that unexpected mystery of adoption as Jesus comes before us. He was certainly of the House of David, and adoption was just as common in the ancient world as it is today. We remember Moses being adopted into the royal household by Pharaoh's daughter, and Esther was raised by her uncle Mordecai. To get ahead in the Roman empire, skilled artists and engineers sought adoption by wealthy patrons. They sometimes displaced the legitimate sons of the wealthy! Natural generation, as many parents can attest, doesn't always prove itself in a child's abilities, talents, interests, or behavior.  

As we celebrate Joseph, the just man who proved himself worthy to be the Spouse of Mary and the Foster Father of Jesus, we thank God that he has adopted us into the family of Abraham and the house of David. And, especially during Lent, we embrace the tragic fate of the Jews as our own. If they should disappear from the earth, Christianity would lose its foundation in the promises to Abraham and David, and our baptism would be worthless.