Ash Wednesday C

Image: "Blessing the Dust" © Jan Richardson

February 10, 2016

Click here for scripture readings

“The last temptation is the greatest treason: To do the right deed for the wrong reason.”

This quote from T.S. Eliot comes in a play where a saint is tempted by many things but does not give in, and then the final temptation arrives: “To do the right deed for the wrong reason.”

If Satan could convince us to not fast at all this Lent, he would.

If not, he will try to get us to fast in a silly way, to give up chocolate chip cookies for Lent, as we eat brownies instead, or, perhaps, we obey the abstinence from meat on Fridays by having a feast of shrimp and lobster.

If we are not taken in by any of this, the last temptation comes: “to do the right deed for the wrong reason.”

We fast, in order to impress people.

We fast, in order to lose weight.

We fast, in order to fulfill some New Year’s resolution.

Jesus told us to love God above all things and to love our neighbors as ourselves.

 Love is the heart of Christianity, but our love is weak and disordered. We do not love God with all our heart and soul and strength, so we need to spend time in prayer this Lent.

We do not love our neighbors who are created by God, our brothers and sisters, so we need to give away that which we love more than them, our money and our time.

We do love ourselves, but we love ourselves in the wrong way;

we should love ourselves like parents, with some discipline, having our best interest at heart, but, instead, we love ourselves like senile grandparents, over-indulging ourselves with candies and toys, so we need to start refusing ourselves treats sometimes.

Prayer, fasting, and almsgiving are good for us.

They should hurt.

Our souls complain about being unselfish.

Do not give in to the complaints!

Our souls warn us that this is too much, too much prayer, fasting, and almsgiving; it will kill us: without selfish indulgence, we will die.

Good! Let us die.

Let us be nailed to the Cross with our Savior.

Then, when Easter comes, he can raise us up.

Our souls are flabby and out of shape.

The combined effect of all the sins we commit is a puny, scrawny, pathetic souls.

We are in serious need of spiritual exercise: prayer, fasting, and almsgiving.

If we make feeble attempts, we will get feeble results.

It is 44 days from now until we celebrate the Easter Triduum, we get 4 days of introduction and then, on Sunday, the 40 days of Lent begin.

The lazier we are, spiritually, the rest of the year, the more seriously we should look to these days as a time of intensive effort, for the soul.

If we are going to make this intensive effort, we had better be sure that we are doing it for the right reason.

If we fast and tell people about our fasting,

if we give to the poor our money or our time and make certain that the world is aware of our generosity,

 if we pray so that others will see us, all that effort will be wasted.

Only our pride will be strengthened; our souls will be weakened further.

Let us pray until we fall head-over-heels in love with God.

Let us give away our money and time until we begin to love our neighbors as ourselves.

Let us fast until our love for ourselves is no longer self-indulgent.

When we look out and see the canyon between us and heaven, we want to move forward, we want to take the leap of faith, but we are afraid, afraid of many things, but especially frightened that we will begin to live a new life and soon fail and be laughed at for ever trying.

Lent is our training ground, our opportunity to try out the life of the Saints.

If we cannot be perfect all year-round, let us try to be as perfect as possible for forty days straight.

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time C

Image: Stairway at the Cloisters, 
Rick Morley.

February 7, 2016

Click here for scripture readings.

We are now well into the Galilean ministry of Jesus, the one he began in the Nazareth synagogue.

This Sunday contains a surprise development.

The Fifth Sunday finds three of the greatest witnesses in the Bible—Isaiah, Paul and Peter—expressing their own worthlessness.

What is your attitude toward worthiness?

Do you agree with today’s psychologized sentiment that, “I am worthy,” or “I’m ok, you’re ok,” or “I buy this product because I’m worth it”?

Let’s look at these three witnesses and see about their worthiness. What is the Lord’s reaction to them?

Isaiah first.

He receives a vision of heaven (First Reading), surely a sign of worth.

In it the Lord is seated on a high and lofty throne.

A Seraphim angel choir is crying out, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts! All the earth is filled with his glory!”*

Isaiah reacts to the paradox.

Woe is me, I am doomed! For I am a man of unclean lips, living among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!

Then an angel swoops down, carrying a burning coal! To cleanse Isaiah’s lips!!!! He is doomed alright, but his “doom” is to be made clean through suffering. To be made able to speak of God.

Second, St. Paul says that Christ appeared to him last of all, as to one born abnormally (Second Reading).

“For I am the least of the apostles, not fit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.”

Unworthy, but did the grace of God discard him?

No, it appointed him an Apostle even though he had never even met Jesus.

Third, there is the famous Gospel story.

Jesus tells Peter, James and John to fish in the deep water (where they had been fishing and fishing all night with no result).

Without warning their nets are bloated with fish. Peter cries out, “Depart from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”

So we have a problem here. I

sn’t the experience of God supposed to lead to peace, forgiveness, and joy instead of shame?

Make a distinction.

The real reaction of all three figures is not really shame, which means concluding that they are each ugly and sinful, but instead it is a kind of humility, a finding their of their true place in reality.

Look at it.

Each of these men is forced to compare himself directly with the presence of God.

When people meet the holiness of God head-on, they are able to see humanness in themselves—as full of holes as a sponge.

They could never pretend that they shone like the stars because they saw the real star bursting with light.

Experience of God lets us understand that we are far, far less than God. This is not bad.

Our own elegance cannot make us holy but God’s can.

At Mass we echo the Roman centurion: “Lord I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”

The answer is, therefore, we can be proud to be unworthy if reception of God’s love is the result.

Whenever we react with shame, God does not say in return, “I reject you,” but “I love you dearly.

Come be with me, you fine human being.”

Sunday 4 Ordinary C

Image: Tissot, James, 1886-1894
Brow of the Hill Near Nazareth
from Art in the Christian Tradition,
a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN.

January 10, 2016
Click here for scripture readings.

To be God’s prophet is a thankless job and one that can be downright dangerous.

To be God’s prophet requires a daring that will speak or write the word of truth to those who would rather lie, dissemble, deny or otherwise ignore that truth.

To serve as prophet demands that the servant of God promote justice among the unjust at any cost.

Plainly put, to be a prophet for God in this world is to be a “party-pooper” par excellence because the prophet must be willing to bear an unpopular and often unwanted message to an un-welcoming and unyielding audience at moments and on occasions that usually seem most inopportune.

Jeremiah, whose call is described in today’s first reading, was such a prophet.

Paul, who celebrates the virtue of love in today’s second reading, also served bravely and admirably in this regard.

But the prophet from whom all others take their lead and inspiration is Jesus, featured in today’s gospel.

Within moments of inaugurating his public ministry by reading from an Isaian text (61:1-2; 58:6) that he then embraced as his own prophetic agenda, Jesus receives mixed reviews.

Some are impressed and marvel at is words; others claim a familiarity that diminishes Jesus’ significance in their eyes.

Suddenly, the situation escalates and Jesus becomes the object of indignation that quickly turns to hostility.

His own people attempt to kill him so as to silence him just as the voices and messages of so many prophets had been silenced in the past.

Given the rigors that inevitably accrue to the life of a prophet, why would anyone accept such a calling?

Yet, if we are to read today’s texts with the openness and responsiveness they invite, each of us must come to the realization that, rigors or not, we too are called to be God’s voice, God’s prophets in our world.

Along with Jesus, Jeremiah, Paul and so many other voices, our voice also must speak God’s truth, God’s justice, God’s goodness into the ears and hearts of all those whom God would have us serve as beloved brothers and sisters.

But where shall we find the courage or even the desire to speak? To serve? To love?

: “Do not fear or lose heart … for the battle is not yours but God’s … take your places, stand firm and see how the Lord will be with you.”

Similar assurances were extended to Jesus, Jeremiah and Paul; similar assurances of God’s presence are also extended to each of us who are called to the daunting service of the Word.

we do not have to struggle to find answers to all our problems and/or challenges.

In fact, says Cloniger, the opposite is true.

Our part in the crisis that is prophetic service is: to surrender our will and ourselves to God in prayer; to keep our eyes fixed on God, to stand still and listen to God; to choose not to be fearful or discouraged or defeated; to show up and see what God will do.

Notice that the part we are to play in the process is not aggressive; nor does all depend upon or center upon ourselves.

We are not the hero of the story.

Rather, we are called to watch, to wait, to listen for God’s voice and to trust in God to act in us and through us.

This trusting surrender does not, however, give us permission to take to our beds and pull the covers over our heads.

On the contrary, we get up, we show up, we stand up, we look up, we listen up and we follow up so as to be active participants in God’s plan.

In this way, even the difficult and seemingly overwhelming task of being God’s voice and speaking God’s truth, God’s justice, God’s peace and God’s loving purposes in our world can be realized.

Second Sunday in Ordinary Time C

Image: Cathedral of Amiens, 1507-1522.
Marriage Feast at Cana
from Art in the Christian Tradition,
a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN

January 17, 2016

Click here for scripture readings.

Immediately preceding the events in today’s gospel, within the last previous days, Jesus had been baptized in the river Jordan by John, and he had chosen his first disciples

As 21stcentury people, we're accustomed to having people announce really big news with a press conference, celebrities, lots of hoopla.

Jesus, though, began the three most important years in the history of the world quietly, observed by only a few.

And the person who was the catalyst for this unparalleled moment was not a campaign manager, but his mother.

Now that shouldn’t surprise any of us sons of mothers;

we know that when mom speaks, we listen.

So, when Mary said, "Son, they have no wine," whether she was fully aware of it or not,

she closed the door on their quiet, private life and launched Jesus on the journey for which he was destined,

from which there would be no turning back.

After he had performed this, the first of his miracles, others would come to know that her son was more — more than anyone who had ever walked the face of the earth.

Did she have mixed emotions that day?

If so, those emotions are shared by every parent who has ever suffered the pain of having a son or daughter leave home.

As those young adults go off to college, to enter the service or to marry or start a career,

every parent knows joy and pride that their children have become adults,

blended with the pain of separation, of seeing them leave the nest.

Today's readings from Isaiah and Paul tie these three events together: Baptism, Marriage, Mission.

Paul assures us that each of us will receive the gifts we need, for we do not all receive the same gifts.

The outpouring of grace we received on the day of our baptism proceeds from the same Spirit, for as Paul says, " ...we were all baptized into one body ."

The same Spirit different gifts.

The extravagance of the gift of wine at Cana is mirrored in the extravagance of these gifts of the Spirit, poured forth with the waters of baptism.

If Jesus had offered one jar of win — 20 gallons — that would have been spectacular.

But later he would say, "I have come that you might have life and have it more abundantly ."

Just as at Cana, the gifts we receive in baptism are extravagant.

On that day, we were saturated with God's love, strength, wisdom, goodness.

We need to remember that the gifts were not given us to hoard.

As the wine at Cana was shared, so, too, must our gifts be shared.

We hear Mary's voice:

"They have no food, no shelter, no clothing, no freedom, peace or hope."

We call upon our baptismal gifts, our 120 gallons,

This is our mission — for it is in our actions that our voices are heard.

The Baptism of the Lord

January 6, 2016

Click here for scripture readings.

Sunday marks the formal end of the Church’s Christmas season.

Jesus' birth has now been celebrated sufficiently.

His public life comes next and his baptism begins it.

I know, I know, it seems like Christmas has been over for ages and we are making ready for Easter eggs or whatever else.

But the Church has had the sense to gave us a Christmas season of weeks instead of days to rip down decorations and go on to the next thing. Good for the Church.

So, what about Jesus' public life, beginning with Baptism?

In the Gospel we hear the voice of God the Father speaking to him.

This only happens twice in the Gospels, though Jesus talks to his Abba often. Both times it is the same message from God:

You are my beloved Son; in you I am well pleased (Gospel).

Who would not want to hear these words over and over?

The beloved of God! It is like having candy and circuses and ice cream and all your favorite things.

God has settled upon you as his special one. Everything will be fine.

Except that “being fine” is not the real meaning of beloved.

Let me illustrate with a story.

I was visiting a Jesuit friend of mine in Washington D. C., Pete, who is a prankster. He was in the kitchen cooking up homemade spaghetti. Icky mess.

I asked him what time we were due to be somewhere, and he said “I don’t know, but we can ask Joe.”

Joe was another Jesuit who on that Saturday was working at his job at the Jesuit Conference building.

My friend put the kitchen phone on its speaker and floured in the phone number.

Joe answered and Pete said, “hi, how are you doing, Joseph?” Joe said, “just great.”

Pete said, “how wonderful, since you are spending your weekend working.”

Joe came back semi-humorously and said, “No it is ok. God told me everything was going to be fine.”

Without skipping a beat Pete said, “Yeah that’s what he told his Son.”

I was on the floor laughing at such a quick, piercing reply, delivered seemingly with no forethought at all.

But notice what is behind that joke. God does in fact tolerate pain and suffering in his beloved son, on the cross. This is the other side of being the beloved of God.

Suffering, temptation.

Jesus had heard that he was the beloved and had gone to the desert to ponder.

Maybe by now he saw the implications.

The devil helped him by offering huge, slick temptations: build up your earthly power and honor, use your now public status as “Beloved.” Be big, like me.

This was directly and deeply contrary to his mission, of course, but God let the temptations happen.

Why? Well, God is like a parent watching a teenager’s growing pains.

Help all you can, but definitely do not stop the growing.

The temptation and suffering create an urgent need for a person to open up, to broaden scope, to understand better what love is, to see that love does not mean God taking charge and making everything alright, but rather it means his staying with you, the beloved, continuing to love and admire you, since love at its root means sharing another’s life, not taking it over.

To paraphrase the Father’s words at the Jordan: Receive my love that never runs away, never lets go, even in the desert, even on the cross.

The Epiphany of the Lord

Image: He, Qi. Adoration of the Magi, 
from Art in the Christian Tradition,
a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN.

January 3, 2016

Click here for scripture readings.

The Wise Men (“Magi”) cross one more kingdom in their long journey. 
Courteous, they visit the monarch of that kingdom, not knowing he was the infamous Herod. 
Every amenity took place: formal welcome, diplomatic over-do, huge meals, fine drinks. 
These excesses must happen, even in a commonplace kingdom.

Finally, when the moment arrives, the Magi pose their question. “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? 
We have read the signs and know of his birth.” 
They trust Herod for the truth, since, obviously, this infant will be the next in line after Herod.

This seems like a sincere question, but it strikes terror into Herod’s heart. 
He does what psychologists call a “reaction formation” maintaining diplomatic balance, smilingly temporizing with a promise to find the answer, and skillfully ending the meeting for that night.

But, in his heart, Newborn King? No, no, no! I am the king! 
My descent is the answer to this menace. Herod is quietly shouting, do something!

Do something. 
Go to the chief priests and scribes! 
He gathers them and charms them with his version of a “honest” question, an idle interest. 
Do you experts, busy studying day and night, do you know anything about the predicted Messiah figure we used to hope for? 
If he were to be born today, I wonder where that would be?

In Bethlehem of Judea, they respond, where the great King David was born. 
Herod knew these experts knew the scriptures, as he did not. 
The Messiah would be David’s successor, shepherd of the people Israel, fulfiller of everything the Jewish people had awaited for centuries.

The Herodian head swirled. 
At last he formed a plan.
Kill him. 
Herod will disclose the location, Bethlehem, to these Magi, who would go and search out the baby for him. 
He stole across the halls and utters the words, “Bethlehem is the place! 
The child is in Bethlehem! 
Just go find him. 
Oh, and of course, let me know where he is. Why? So that I too may do him homage.”

Death is the homage Herod has in mind. 
His lust for power simply must banish the power of love in order to stay in control. 
He is quite willing to compete directly, even with God and Christ. 
He is accepting in advance the deal Satan will offer to Jesus in the desert thirty years later: “You can control the whole world, if you will only fall down and worship me. Help me defeat God.”

Satan was a power-monger too.

But for Jesus, strange to say, “power” was not at all the same thing Herod and Satan were grabbing for. 
They wanted to become bigger and bigger, to out-stretch infinity. 
The goal of the Messiah was to become less and less, to become transparent, like love is. 
Heavy selfish greed cannot demolish this heavenly plan, but it surely can seem to. To Herod it certainly must have.

But the child’s weakness shows what God has in mind, the answer to evil. Tender, unfearing openness to love.

In our sinfulness, we refuse such a plan. Mary, Joseph and Jesus will never win out, will they? 
Evil will triumph in the end, won’t it? 
The cross will do what Herod could not do, but that Satan could.

Or will it?

Do you have the courage to bet on love?

The Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph

December 27, 2015

Click here for scripture readings.

Jesus is twelve years old. The family had gone up with many others to Jerusalem for the feast of Passover.

Passover lasted eight days, plus the customary celebrations. Always there was a great procession to Jerusalem from all over the country, many villages represented. Parents all watched out for each other’s children.

Joseph, Mary and Jesus always went to the big holy days, with the reading of the Haggadah, and especially with the special foods, songs, and customs of the Seder, which was the focal point of the Passover celebration. As expected, Jesus, obedient, stayed with his parents. The savory and pungent odors must have pleased him, even though they were mixed with human and animal fragrances, and with the dust of Jerusalem, ancient even then.

And finally it was over. Imagine reassembling the caravan and pulling everything into order. The procession resembled a huge family, so you knew your child would be with friends or relatives when he was not by your side. Road dust replaced the Jerusalem scents. It was a happy time, with people remembering the festivities, remembering the earliest acts of God on behalf of his people.

The sun began to sink and families came together for sleep. “Joseph, I think we should look for Jesus. He is probably playing with his friends,” she said.

Little did she know.

No one had seen him anywhere. He was last sighted the day before.

In Jerusalem.

Mary’s heart must have broken. What mother on earth could not imagine it? Missing child. My child. Gone.

They scour the cramped city. Day one, looking everywhere, no sign of him. They sleep an hour or so. Day two, searching every corner, asking everyone, pursuing every trail. He was just not there. Kidnapping, slavery, terrible accidents, and so many more images hovered just beneath their consciousness. Just trust in God?

Day three. To the temple, this time finally daring in their panic to enter directly into the utterly private rooms where teachers and Rabbis debated minor and major points of scripture. No plain people were allowed there, especially poor travelers.

But there he sat. Perfectly at home for these three eternal days, the twelve year old. Questioning teachers and answering them.

“Son, how could you? How could you?”

His answer was odd and we are told that Mary pondered it in her heart for years to come.

Why were you looking for me?
Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?

Wasn’t this preposterous? He needed a good spanking if he thought desertion of his parents was perfectly fine. But let us ponder it, with Mary, and look into his future. He did not come to earth in order to forever be Mary and Joseph’s child. Just the opposite. Mary and Joseph came into earthly existence to prepare this boy for his role as the adult son of the Father of all things.

Like every family, their duty was to send their young children out from home as they step toward adulthood. In this case, even at twelve years old, he was showing how God interacts with the world. Go where love requires, prepare for real life as a real human being.

The future was pulling at them. And in their case, it pointed toward events that would affect the whole world.