Feast of Blessed Michael McGivney, Founder of Knights of Columbus

 

Lectionary: 416

His master summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant!
I forgave you your entire debt because you begged me to.
Should you not have had pity on your fellow servant,
as I had pity on you?’

Swiss Catholic convert, physician, mystic, and author of some sixty books of spirituality and theology, Adrienne von Speyr (1902 – 1967) wrote a four-volume commentary on the Gospel of Saint John. I have found her insight on the mystery of sin and grace especially helpful in understanding how devout Catholics approach frequent confession: 

Those who know what love means know that in confessing their sins on the basis of the law, they are unable to speak of their real sins. The law is simply incapable of registering or expressing their sins. Even if a man has really committed the various wrongs that he confesses, the sum of these formulated wrongs is never identical with his sin before God. An accusation formulated according to the law is a symbolic accusation. 

But when a sinner who knows what love is examines his conscience in order to show it to God in Confession, he sees within his soul, a formless swamp of sin, with all sorts of half-submerged objects projecting from it. He catches hold of a few, of as many as he can hold, so as to give the swamp some sort of form. But he knows perfectly well that he is not exhausting the swamp; behind the contour he has given his sins lies the formless and immense pool of his sinfulness. All that remains unsaid, that he will never be able to say. All that he has forgotten, that he never fully knew, that he will never be able to see. 

In the moment of absolution. He feels the boundlessness of the unsaid: the greatness of the grace that pours in upon him enables him to gauge the greatness of the guilt forgiven him. How deep the vessel must be that needs so much to fill it! (Vol I, Chapters 1-5; pages 28-129)

Today's gospel describes that sinful swamp in the parable of the servant debtor who owed his king a huge amount. It also expands the teaching which Jesus immediately attached to the "Lord's Prayer:" (Matthew 6:14-15)

If you forgive others their transgressions, your heavenly Father will forgive you.

But if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your transgressions.

As we confess our sins, it is certainly good to review whatever venial sins we have actually committed since our last confession -- if we can think of any. But we should also consider that formless, filthy, fetid mire in which we're all deeply, hopelessly immersed. It doesn't go away because we ignore it or wish it weren't there. 

We have sinned; we and our fathers have sinned. As the Bible says several times. A more contemporary expression might say, "We have sinned; we and our fathers, mothers, children, along with our fellow Catholics, Christians, and citizens have sinned -- plus our descendants yet to be born who will sin -- against the generosity, graces, blessings, opportunities, privileges, and rights which came with our birth."

If we do not bring that entire expression to the Sacrament, we can at least pause while we prepare for the moment and ponder it. And then, with Adrienne von Speyr and a host of saints and martyrs we will say: 
    How deep the vessel must be that needs so much to fill it!

Wednesday of the Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time

St. Jane Frances de Chantel

 Lectionary: 415

"If your brother sins against you,
go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.
If he listens to you, you have won over your brother.

The Lord urges every Christian who has suffered some offense from another Christian to seek reconciliation first and in a peaceable manner. I can't say I have found that easy advice to follow. The hurt made me wary. Or perhaps more accurately, the hurt aroused a long story of past hurts and called them all fresh to mind. They may be fewer compared to another's story, or more. But that doesn't matter because its my story that governs and controls my mind. 

With those memories restored to a proximate place just below the surface of my thoughts as I consider my latest, treasured hurt-- close enough that I can call up each one and sing, "Nobody knows the trouble I seen...." -- I become all the more reluctant to "go and tell him his fault." I seem to prefer my woeful saga of hurts to peaceable relations with a fellow Christian, who may also be a fellow Franciscan friar. In any case, the dirge energizes my cowardice and drives me into deeper resentment and isolation; or into trashing my fellow Christian's reputation. 

But it's so unnecessary! Just "go and tell him his fault between you and him alone." Is that really so difficult? 

We have all heard the Lord pray "that all may be one." And we have all sinned against His prayer. The glitter of resentment is so much more appealing; it has all the romance of righteousness, and seems to carry an aura of holiness. But it's wrong in every way; and the longer we linger on that craven course, the longer will be the road back to harmony. 

In today's first reading, Ezekiel describes the consequences of cowardice: 

Then the glory of the LORD left the threshold of the temple

and rested upon the cherubim.

These lifted their wings, and I saw them rise from the earth,

the wheels rising along with them.

They stood at the entrance of the eastern gate of the Lord’s house,

and the glory of the God of Israel was up above them.

Then the cherubim lifted their wings, and the wheels went along with them,

while up above them was the glory of the God of Israel.

The Lord of Glory has departed from His temple, leaving those who worship to think they're praising God although the Spirit has departed. And without the Spirit we cannot worship.

Memorial of Saint Clare, Virgin

 Readings for the Feast of Saint Clare

Remain in me, as I remain in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me.

Beside the rare visits of her mentor Francis of Assisi, Saint Clare was visited by many famous and influential people, especially Popes Innocent IV and Gregory IX. The latter had also visited her as a cardinal of the Church, when he was known as Ugolino. Visitors, rich and poor, famous and unknown, often visited Clare from Assisi and nearby villages. However, in her Rule she urged her sisters not to spend too much time in the convent parlor, entertaining family, friends, and guests. Their prayer was more needed and more important.

After entering San Damiano at the age of eighteen, she never left the convent. Remembered as a nun, she could also be called an anchorite. She saw no need to leave and preferred to "remain in me" by a life of silence, simplicity, and constant prayer. In that regard she forms a contrast to many of today's spiritual writers who continually travel to speaking engagements while publishing an endless series of books. A fellow monk once said of Thomas Merton that he wrote very well of solitude for a man who never knew it. 

Many people today suffer FOMO, the Fear Of Missing Out. Important events seem to happen continually to us, and those we love, and in the world around us. Everything demands our attention and anyone who hasn't heard the latest, seen the latest, read the latest and formed an intelligent opinion about the latest must be withdrawing into irrelevance -- and there's nothing worse than irrelevance! 

"Gaze on Him!" Saint Clare urged her sisters, as they knelt before the only image in the convent, the San Damiano Cross.  

A later disciple wrote: "In His will is our peace." (E'n la sua volontade è nostra pace.)  

Dante Alighieri

Feast of Saint Lawrence, Deacon and Martyr

 Lectionary: 618

Whoever sows sparingly will also reap sparingly,
and whoever sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.
Each must do as already determined, without sadness or compulsion,
for God loves a cheerful giver.

On this feast of the Martyr Saint Lawrence the Church offers a reflection from Saint Paul's Second Letter to the Corinthians. Although he was encouraging his Greek disciples to give generously to drought-stricken Jerusalem, his metaphor of sowing and reaping applies readily to martyrdom: 

"unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies,

it remains just a grain of wheat....

I heard the following teaching recently; I may have written of it more recently; but it's worth repeating. There are two kinds of sacrifice: those we take up voluntarily like fasting and donating time, talent, or treasure. And those that are forced upon us. 

The latter are far more valuable; they are the crosses which Jesus urged upon his followers as he proceeded to Jerusalem. Life can be very hard at times; and severe disappointments can beset us at any time or place. Hardship may come from suspicious strangers or intimate companions. They may come suddenly or gradually; predictably or unexpectedly. 

They may astonish us but surprise no one else; as when others see the mess we're making of our lives. They saw it coming, but we did not! Or a cross might be forced upon a solitary individual, or families and communities. Sometimes accepting the cross means finding ways to reduce the suffering; and sometimes we have no choice but to grin and bear it. 

In every case, it's an opportunity to practice that freedom of choice which Jesus gives us and Saint Paul celebrated with a shout: 

For freedom Christ set us free; so stand firm and do not submit again to the yoke of slavery." (Gal 5:1)

The slavery of Saint Paul and many others speak, is precisely the cross which the Lord gives to us and we choose to receive with grace. It's not the slavery of sin. 

We celebrate the Martyr Saint Lawrence with a peculiar delight because of his extraordinary grace under severe trial. More importantly, we remember the good cheer which many martyrs have demonstrated as they faced their death. Saint Ignatius of Antioch begged his Roman friends not to intervene when he was thrown to savage lions. Ugandan boys, discovering that their companions had been arrested, hurried to catch up with the death march. Isaac Jogues had already suffered the loss of his fingers to his tormentors, but insisted on returning to America and his beloved Iroquois people, who put him to death. 

Our martyrs remind us to recognize the things we can change, and the things we cannot change. They teach us to embrace the latter with cheerful hearts. They might seem unbearable, or they may be wonderful gifts. 

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 115

When the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. 
“It is a ghost,” they said, and they cried out in fear. 
At once Jesus spoke to them, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” 
Peter said to him in reply,
“Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” 
He said, “Come.” 
Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus. 

We might entertain fantasies about our courage in hard times; but we're also rattled by disturbances at home and abroad. A single terrorist act causes widespread panic. People might even be afraid to leave their homes, as happened when two young men bombed the Boston Marathon several years ago. After nine-eleven, I knew a man who hid in his basement for a week, until his family finally checked on him.  Parents lock their children indoors when they hear of a missing child in a distant state. That anxiety invades state legislatures; and some states would prosecute parents who let their children bike to school or roam their neighborhoods without adult supervision. 

The Bible is not unfamiliar with terrorism, both random crime and state-sponsored terrorism; but the Good Book also tells us stories of individual heroism. The Old Testament Book of Tobit remembers a Jewish citizen of Assyria who buried the bodies of fellow Jews when he found them murdered and lying in the street. The government sentenced him to prison for practicing that corporal work of mercy. And then, when he was freed to return to his wife and family, the faithful Tobit did it again. 

The Gospels recount the journey of the Son of God as he marched resolutely to Jerusalem. Along the way, he three times predicted that he would be arrested, tried, tortured, and crucified when he got to the Holy City. Even some Pharisees warned him not to go. His disciples were clearly mystified by his predictions. Perhaps they thought he was speaking poetically! But, despite their boasts, they terrified when his word came true. 

Afterward however, they fearlessly proclaimed his resurrection and ascension to God's right hand. Saint Luke tells us that when Peter and John were arrested, tried, and given the standard punishment of 39 lashes, they laughed and felt grateful to have suffered for the Lord. Their punishment was a privilege, a communion with the Lord. 

Christianity is familiar with terrorism. It may a tactic of street bullies, religious sects, or the government.  We read of savage persecution in the Books of Maccabees and every generation since the birth of Jesus has faced opposition. 

Faith teaches us to be prudent in times of trouble, but repeatedly teaches us not to be afraid. Frightened people do foolish things which devolve first into illegal acts and then into immoral behavior. We have seen that predictable pattern ever since nine-eleven, twenty-five years ago. The American government has reacted with arrests and disappearances of terrified immigrants. They tell us they're deporting them but allow no one to keep track. Who would have thought that a well-planned and executed attack would shatter the constitutional foundations of the world's oldest democracy? 

Courage begins with faith in God. It is not a matter of bucking up and being brave. It is not about being stronger or more clever than anyone else. It begins when we dare to withdraw from everyone’s expectations, from the workplace, the marketplace, and the playground to wait in the presence of God. 

The Gospels tell us that Jesus often withdrew from his disciples to spend time with God. We can suppose he enjoyed these moments. But even when he didn’t – as he clearly did not when he entered the Garden of Gethsemane  -- he remained in silent waiting upon his Father. He was overcome with dread, his knees buckled, he sweated blood, and prayed that this cup might pass from him; but he stayed. The dread passed and he consented to go with his assailants after commanding them to let his disciples go!     

He might have fled from Gethsemane before the mob arrived. He could have left Jerusalem that night, and  returned to Galilee, his mother, and the carpenter’s shop. He had friends who would hide him until the crisis passed; he had a choice. But he was under obedience to his God and Father; he had a mission and a purpose and he would not fail. 

Today we are seeing deep, disturbing changes in the society around us. Strange, fantastic definitions of freedom dominate our entertainment media and threaten our way of life with bizarre promises of happiness. We seem to be a nation of grievances and victims. We watch helplessly as adultery leads to divorce, to family disintegration, to the atomization of society where every individual is a political party of one with their own private religion. They murder their own children and promote suicide. Young men hire surgeons to castrate them while young women have their breasts cut off in a vain effort to become like men. 

The Old Testament prophet Micah foresaw what we see today:

…the son belittles his father, 

the daughter rises up against her mother, 

The daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law, 

and your enemies are members of your household.

And Jesus prepared us for these day when he told his disciples: 

“Do not think that I have come to bring peace upon the earth. I have come to bring not peace but the sword. 

For I have come to set 

a man ‘against his father, 

a daughter against her mother, 

and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; 

and one’s enemies will be those of his household.”

He has told us quite frankly, “Unless you hate father and mother, brothers and sisters, wife and children, and everything you possess, you cannot be my disciples.” Our family is the people He gives us. They're might not be flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone. Many faithful Catholic and Christian parents have been divorced and disowned by their adult children. 

Today we have heard the story of the terrified Elijah who fled into the desert when Queen Jezebel threatened him. Elijah was a violent man; he used violence but was finally sickened by it. He heard the familiar sounds of violence – roaring fires, storms, and earthquakes – but he recognized the voice of God in a quiet whisper. We too must listen for the Lord in quiet prayer. It's time to turn off the bluster of conservative and liberal commentators. They're only exploiting our fears and making money by it.

Saint Peter found his faith when he obeyed the command of Jesus and kept his eyes fixed on him. So long as he gazed at the Lord he could walk on water. But, distracted and terrified, he sank like a stone and was drowning until the Lord grabbed his hand and pulled him back. 

Put your hand in the hand of the man who stilled the water

Put your hand in the hand of the man who calmed the sea

Take a look at yourself, and you can look at others differently

Put your hand in the hand of the man from Galilee 

Memorial of Saint Dominic, Priest

 Lectionary: 412

Then the disciples approached Jesus in private and said,
“Why could we not drive it out?”
He said to them, “Because of your little faith.
Amen, I say to you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed,
you will say to this mountain,
‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move.
Nothing will be impossible for you.”

Alexei Karamazov suffers many indignities throughout Dostoevski's novel, including the torment of his brother Ivan who taunts him because neither Alexei nor anyone else has ever commanded a mountain to "Move from here into the sea." Nor it is likely to happen even in hyper-Catholic Russia. 

Perhaps Darth Vader or Luke Skywalker can pull off that trick; but they do it not with faith but with an amoral, imaginary Force which serves neither good not bad. 

As we read this passage from Saint Matthew's Gospel, it would appear that even the Lord chides his distressed disciples for their lack of that marvelous ability. But Jesus must teach his church more important and useful truths than how to alter landscapes with telekinesis. 

The Gospels are saturated with the closing words of the Mass: "Ite missa est!" That is, "Go, you are sent to announce the Good News of Salvation by faith in Jesus the Crucified and Risen Lord!" We must believe ourselves; we must invite others to believe with us. And every effort to convert others which lacks the indisputable witnesses of faith, hope, and love will fail. And that failure will often be catastrophic; it will be as ludicrous as some fellow calling mountains and olive trees to do-si-do a square dance.

Saint Matthew has refocused a moving story of a father pleading for his lunatic son.  As Saint Mark tells the story, Jesus is still glowing with his recent transfiguration on Mount Tabor; and it's a hard comedown for him. When he discovers his disciples fuming with each other about their lack of healing power, he is like Moses who suffered a similar outrage when he found his people worshipping Aaron's golden calf. [A few cuss words might even be appropriate on this rare occasion.] 

Matthew's more serene Jesus calls attention to the crippling lack of faith among his ardent followers, rather than the sad father's distress. He insists, "Nothing will be impossible for you!" 

Facing a world which almost universally espouses divorce, abortion, gay marriage, medically-assisted suicide, exploitation of the earth and its people, and drone-delivered weapons of mass destruction -- we might suppose our mission has failed, and our faith in Jesus is little more than whistling Dixie. Add to that bad news: our particular sins persists despite our persistent penance. The combination can make it hard to get out of bed in the morning. We can't even stir up a decent avalanche or rock slide, much less uproot a mountain. 

Never mind. We're not sent to overawe the world with a telekinetic Force. If there were such a thing it would have nothing to with faith, hope, or charity; and would only be another obstacle on the road to salvation. Jesus, as Dostoevski's Grand Inquisitor reminded the silent Savior, refused to persuade anyone to believe in him with spectacular displays. They're below his dignity and insulting to ours. 

Rather, we must see that our persistent penance despite our persistent sins is moving mountains from deep beneath the spiritual surface of earth. We cannot see them or feel their power but periodically we may see eruptions, as in Medjugorge, Fatima, or Guadalupe. The world, so deeply committed to superficiality, denies the obvious. But we see it happening quietly and often; and, standing on tiptoe, we await with eager expectation the revelation of the children of God. Romans 8:19

Friday of the Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 411

“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself,
take up his cross, and follow me.
For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it,
but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.
What profit would there be for one to gain the whole world
and forfeit his life?
Or what can one give in exchange for his life?

Mendicant preachers of the middle ages, including Franciscans, Dominicans, Servites and others, were often born of the upwardly mobile middle class. However, they had renounced the aspirations of their class, preferring the assured promises of eternal life to the ephemeral opportunities for greater wealth and comfort in this world. 

They were also less attracted to the "spiritual warfare" of monks and hermits who had abandoned their aristocratic, warrier-class families to "fight" for freedom from the world's nonsense. Some of the last medieval aspirants to that guaranteed salvation were the Knights Templar. But aspiring martyrs do not make good warriors; they lose too often and surrender too readily! 

The mendicant preachers readily spoke of spiritual profits and the risk of forfeiting eternal life. They took seriously the Lord's financial advice: 

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and decay destroy, and thieves break in and steal. But store up treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor decay destroys, nor thieves break in and steal.

For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.

Getting a bit carried away by their paradigms, they sometimes monetized grace by assigning numbers like "300 days indulgence" to various prayers. (However, AI tells me the Church no longer does that! That's good to know. But does AI know what our many spendored Church is?) According to some skeptics, the Communion wafer is circular and flat for a reason; its resemblance to a silver or gold coin suggests its spiritual worth. In any case, the mendicants made heaven more available to devout people when there were few opportunities to follow in the footsteps of today's patron saint, the martyred Pope Sixtus II. 

The twentieth and twenty-first centuries have seen renewed opportunities for martyrdom. And everyone is called to witness their faith by paying serious attention to political and economic realities; we must speak out when we see our own local, state, and federal governments violating the dignity of the unborn, the vulnerable, elderly, and dying. No one's suffering can be excused by expedience or efficiency. 

But everyone is called to make sacrifices, and many are called to embrace the severe crosses they have been given. The best penances are not the ones we select; they're the ones which life demands of us. 

Those who welcome these opportunities join Pope Saint Sixtus II in the endless praises of God. 

Feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord

 Lectionary: 614

For he received honor and glory from God the Father
when that unique declaration came to him from the majestic glory,
“This is my Son, my beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven while we were with him on the holy mountain.
Moreover, we possess the prophetic message that is altogether reliable.

Celebrations of every sort take us back to the origin of things. Family reunions are steeped in the past with memories and memorabilia; they remind us where we came from and almost invariably set plans for future reunions. Even if the elders suppose this may be the last time, younger attendees plan a future of gatherings, zoom, emails, and texts. 

But parades, banquets, and sporting events are also ceremonies steeped in the past with an acute awareness of the present and every intention to gather again in the not-distant future. Will there ever be a last Superbowl, World Series, Stanley Cup, or FIFA World Cup? Of course not! Perish the thought! Will there ever be a last democratic election of legislators, governors, and presidents in the USA? It's unthinkable.

Our faith also makes present -- that is re-presents -- moments in what the world considers a distant and irrelevant past. We were there on Mount Tabor when Jesus was transfigured, as Saint Peter says, 

"We ourselves heard this voice come from heaven while we were with him on the holy mountain."

And, as Saint John says, 

We have seen his glory. (John 1:14)

Our sacraments take us further and deeper than parades, banquets, sporting events, and elections. The Lord is with us in this moment as George Washington and Babe Ruth never can be. He is with us as we eat his flesh and drink his blood; He is with us as we become his flesh and blood. That expression might be heard at a family reunion but it comes to life for us during the Mass. We might return home from a family reunion, but we never leave the Eucharist

The Transfiguration of Jesus clearly anticipated a future event, although the disciples Peter, James, and John could not imagine what it might be, or how it might change their lives forever. Nor can we. We only know we've come a long way from our lives of sin into this life of grace.

And for that we give thanks, and look forward to a deeper, more wonderful transformation when our faces also shine with the glory of God.  

 

Wednesday of the Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 409

As Israel comes forward to be given his rest,
the LORD appears to him from afar:
With age-old love I have loved you;
so I have kept my mercy toward you.
Again I will restore you, and you shall be rebuilt,
O virgin Israel;
Carrying your festive tambourines,
you shall go forth dancing with the merrymakers.

What's fascinating is to watch how "God" changes when people sober up and decide to return to a sane, sensible way of life. The God who was continually threatening with jeremiads of gloom and doom, becomes caring, compassionate, and deeply sympathetic even to criminals condemned for their heinous crimes to a life of solitary confinement.

It's not God who changes but the sinner who acknowledges their sins and turns back to the Lord. But that fearful prejudice runs deep in this fallen world. It often takes a catastrophe of biblical proportions to help us see and recognize the Father who speaks to us in both Testaments of the Bible. Penitents see that He is just as fearful in the parables and teachings of Jesus as His Father was to Moses and his desert flock. And they are grateful. 

The violence we wreak on one another invariably fails to demonstrate compassion. No one whose city has been destroyed by incendiary bombs can suppose the enemy cared for them or meant "to teach them a lesson." They might see that open hostility will be met with exponentially more violence, but they will not find a merciful purpose in the killing. It was nothing but pure, unadulturated evil. And then to resist an overwhelming evil, they'll resort to guerrilla tactics which might continue for centuries. 

The biblical prophets saw in natural and man-made catastrophes the hand of God. Because the people did not respond to the gifts of peace, security, and prosperity with generous compassion for widows, orphans, and aliens; and would not hear the warnings of the prophets; God's people were abandoned to the natural cycles of a dynamic planet, which includes warfare among earthquakes, hurricanes, droughts, and blizzards. 

Eventually they must ask why has the Lord abandoned us, and their ancestors will respond through the Sacred Scriptures, "Turn back to the Lord." 

Psalm 107:

Some lived in darkness and gloom,

imprisoned in misery and chains.

Because they rebelled against God’s word,

and scorned the counsel of the Most High,

He humbled their hearts through hardship;

they stumbled with no one to help.

In their distress they cried to the LORD,

who saved them in their peril;

He brought them forth from darkness and the shadow of death

and broke their chains asunder.

Let them thank the LORD for his mercy,

such wondrous deeds for the children of Adam.

For he broke down the gates of bronze

and snapped the bars of iron. (vs 11-16)

 

Memorial of Saint John Vianney, Priest

 Lectionary: 408

Peter said to him in reply, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.”
He said, “Come.”

Lately I have been asked to provide a brief memorial service for Catholics who would otherwise not be honored by any ceremonies of our faith. For the Gospel reading I often choose a passage from the fifth chapter of John, verses 25-26:

Amen, amen, I say to you, the hour is coming and is now here when the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live. For just as the Father has life in himself, so also he gave to his Son the possession of life in himself.

In the same Gospel, in chapter eleven, Jesus fulfills his own prophecy when he calls his friend Lazarus out of the grave. But I like to tell the story with a question: "What if Lazarus had replied, 'That's okay, Lord. After four days of lying here, I'm good. But thanks for stopping by, and have a nice stay in Jerusalem?'" 

Of course, Lazarus didn't do that. He heard the voice of his friend, a voice that you and I know from our prayers with the Church and in solitude; and he immediately came out. He might have been comfortable in his grave, but the Lord was recalling him to life with its problems, complexity, and threats, and he obeyed.  

In today's Gospel, Saint Peter, from the relative safety of a boat on a stormy sea, calls out to Jesus, "“Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” And since he had asked for it, the Apostle must obey the Lord's one word command: "Come!"  

Jeremiah also speaks of obedience, in today's first reading. He remembers the dire consequences of the nation's disobedience, 

Incurable is your wound,

grievous your bruise;

There is none to plead your cause,

no remedy for your running sore,

no healing for you.

But, unexpectedly. the prophet announces the Lord's plan of mercy: 

See!  I will restore the tents of Jacob,

his dwellings I will pity;

City shall be rebuilt upon hill,

and palace restored as it was.

From them will resound songs of praise,

the laughter of happy men.

I will make them not few, but many;

they will not be tiny, for I will glorify them.

Those who attend the service for the deceased Catholic might suppose that sin must be savagely punished, and that is the only way for an all-powerful God to get obedience from his people. 

They also presume that obedience and freedom are opposites. That is the popular American belief. But the story of Lazarus recalls the courageous, generous, and eager obedience that brought a dead man back to life and to his grieving sisters.  

Jeremiah and all the prophets agree that obeying the Lord and walking in his way is life and freedom. And that's because Jesus is both human and divine. Perhaps we should hesitate to obey anyone who commands without the authority of God. But Jesus, by his obedience to God his Father, has  proven his worthiness to be obeyed as a man and as God. Because, when the Father called Jesus out of his grave on that first Easter Sunday, he came! 

Sometimes, when people die unexpectedly, their loved ones say, "It was God's will." That may be, but I'd rather think of God's will as something we love and want to know. We should be willing to climb every mountain and ford every stream to get knowledge of God's will! Peter shows us an easier way: ask for it. He might even call us to walk on water; and we'll do it.  

Jesus has proven his worthiness to be our God, and we find our freedom in obedience to Him. 

Monday of the Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time

 Lectionary: 407/408

The prophet Jeremiah answered the prophet Hananiah 
in the presence of the priests and all the people assembled
in the house of the LORD, and said:
Amen! thus may the LORD do!
May he fulfill the things you have prophesied
by bringing the vessels of the house of the LORD
and all the exiles back from Babylon to this place!
But now, listen to what I am about to state in your hearing

and the hearing of all the people. 

Today's first reading may require some explanation. It concerns a debate between two prophets in Jerusalem. Catholics are given at Baptism the triple anointing of priest, prophet, and king. These are the ministries of Jesus and his disciples are anointed in the same spirit. In ancient Jerusalem, the three offices were exercised by recognized groups: the king and his royal family; the levite priests; and the guild of prophets. Prophets were not always "charismatic;" that is, appearing spontaneously without credentials or official recognition. They might have been chosen by others, been trained, and anointed by other prophets, like the priests and aristocrats who inherited their positions.

In today's reading we hear about a debate between the recognized guild prophet, Hananiah, son of Azur, from Gibeon; and the young upstart, Jeremiah -- who appeared to be self-anointed and self-appointed. (He insisted, and we believe, that God chose him before he was born.) His terrifying prophecies, which came true, proved his legitimacy. And Hananiah, who promised relief and victory to Judah and Jerusalem, was proven false by Nebucchadnezzar, the Babylonian army, and Almighty God. To this day, the word jeremiad describes preaching of gloom and doom. 

Jeremiah had warned Hananiah: 

The LORD has not sent you,

and you have raised false confidence in this people.

For this, says the LORD, I will dispatch you from the face of the earth;

this very year you shall die,

because you have preached rebellion against the LORD.

And Jeremiah's particular word to him was proven true: 

That same year, in the seventh month, Hananiah the prophet died.

So what do we Catholics do when we're given confusing signals by leaders of the Church. We hear of bishops and cardinals in Germany who want to honor the oxymoron "gay marriage," and ordain women. We have also witnessed the judgment of excommunication upon several bishops who ordained three new bishops despite Pope Leo's pleas. Politics is sometimes a dirty game, and particularly when it involves leaders of the Church. Some conservative Catholics believe Pope Leo's secret agreement with the Chinese government is a pact with Satan. 

"When eagles fly, sparrows take refuge" -- in prayer. Sometimes, I find, it's better not to think too deeply about what cardinals and bishops are doing; especially when it's time for private prayer or liturgical worship. They'll hammer out their differences in God's time. Prayer is neither conservative nor liberal. Parties like conservative and liberal are given to preconceived notions and inbred suspicion of nuance and disagreesment. 

The rest of us can simply excuse ourselves from that conversation. "Thanks but no thanks." We fix our eyes on the Lord and watch him walk on the storm-tossed waves of human nonsense.