Why Can't We?

Master, why can I not follow you now?

That's Peter's response when Jesus says,

Where I am going, you cannot follow me now, though you will follow later.

We can see at least three different levels to Jesus' statement.

The literal, surface level; the level on which Peter responded.

Like, If you're going to walk over to the garden, why can't we know that and come along?

On a second level, Jesus is saying:

His disciples don't yet have enough faith or understanding.

They aren't yet willing to follow him fully.

Certainly not to his trial and death.

On a third level, Jesus is saying:

His disciples aren't yet permitted to follow him into heaven.

Later in the supper, Jesus will pick up on that third level.

He’ll say, In my father's house there are many rooms.

I'm going to prepare a place for you.

Where I'm going, you know the way.

There's the real Good News message of this sad, coming Passion.

But even after hearing that Good News, Thomas will draw us back to that first level.

He’ll reply, We don't even know where you're going, how can we know the way?

With today's passage, we seem more caught in that second level of meaning.

The deficiencies of faith, and understanding and full commitment and courage.

We see  Judas the traitor.

We see Peter the coward.

Even Peter, who has witnessed so much with his own eyes.

The transfiguration, the raising of the widow's son, the official's daughter and Lazarus.

His own walking on water, and all the other miracles.

Not to mention the teaching, the wisdom, the holiness, and the compassion of Jesus.

Yet, Peter’s still stuck at the literal, surface-level question of, Why can't I come along?

He’d do better to ask why he's still plagued by those deficiencies.

Better to ask, Given all I know, why am I not a more faithful follower?

Master, why can I not follow you—even now?

Today, we are the ones who claim to be Christians.

Disciples, followers, of Christ.

We know the Good News answer of where Jesus was going.

We know he's prepared a place for us in his Father's house.

We're no longer threatened with trial and death for following him.

We know God's will, because Jesus has taught us.

He has set the example; shown us how to follow that will.

And yet, we still struggle with those same deficiencies that plagued the original disciples.

We too, still have good reason to ask …

Master, why can I not follow you—even now?

Tuesday of Holy Week

Jn 13:21-38                                 Read this Scripture @usccb.org  

Just an Average Joe?

He went down with them and came to Nazareth, and was obedient to them.

Young Jesus, going home with Mary and Joseph.

That’s the last definite information the bible gives us about St Joseph.

And it doesn’t give us a lot of detail before that.

We’re told he was a descendant of King David.

A carpenter.

A just and righteous man.

A man chosen to serve as the earthly father of Jesus, a foster father.

A man who listened to God.

Who heard the messages to accept Mary as his wife and her child as his son.

To flee to Egypt to protect his young charge, and to return again.

A dedicated father who presented his infant son at the temple,

And heard the prophesies of Simeon and Anna.

A concerned father who searched in great anxiety for his missing pre-teen son.

That’s really all the Gospels tell us about Joseph.

We don’t really know if he was young or old when he married Mary.

We don’t really know if he was a widower with children.

But we can deduce a little more from the Gospels.

Joseph must have died before Jesus began his public ministry.

Mary and other relatives are sometimes mentioned as being present, but never Joseph.

On the cross, Jesus gave his mother into the care of the apostle John.

He wouldn’t have done that if Joseph were alive.

Joseph isn’t the only one we lose track of after the family’s return to Nazareth.

Jesus and Mary also disappear—for eighteen years.

That’s quite a gap—over half of Jesus’ life on earth.

It’s referred to as the hidden life.

Luke’s Gospel goes on to tell us simply:

Jesus grew in wisdom and stature and in favor with God and man.

Certainly, a lot happened during those eighteen years of hidden life.

But the details were non-essential to the Good News story of our salvation.

Unremarkable years, except for the very fact of their existence.

By living those unremarkable eighteen years of everyday life,

Along with most of the unremarkable time in the previous twelve years,

Jesus sanctified the everyday activities of our own largely unremarkable lives.

The work, study, play, joy, pain, meals, relationships, prayer and sleep.

Joseph was one of the two key people in Jesus’ life for many of those thirty years.

Protecting, teaching, guiding, supporting, loving, caring.

And occasionally doing something remarkable.

For all of that, and especially for answering “Yes” to God’s call,

Joseph is one of our greatest saints and models.

He’s not only the patron of our little parish here on Capitol Hill,

He’s patron of the universal Roman Catholic Church.

Today, on this Feast of St Joseph, our universal Church looks to the future.

In Rome, we’re installing our new pope, Francis.

St Joseph protected his son, and guided him to growth in wisdom and stature and favor.

May he likewise protect and guide his son’s Church.

Feast of St Joseph

Lk 2:41-51                                 Read this Scripture @usccb.org  

Superman and The Pope

Superman fought for justice.

The slogan we heard on the old TV show was: Truth, justice, and the American way.

Certainly, we consider justice to be a good and important concept.

It’s the idea of fair and equal treatment for everyone.

Of everyone getting what they deserve.

It’s not only part of the American way.

It’s ingrained in our human nature.

We have a basic need to be treated with justice.

And we quickly recognize it and strongly resent it

When we ourselves, or someone we identify with, is not treated justly.

We may be less quick to recognize it when our treatment of someone else is not just.

Receiving justice is a fundamental need.

Dispensing justice is a virtue.

The need to be treated with justice may be even deeper than human nature.

Scientists at Emory University studied a group of Capuchins.

That’s the monkeys—not the friars.

And concluded that they too demonstrate this basic need to be treated fairly.

Our new pope, Francis, has a long history of involvement in social justice.

Partially, perhaps, from his Jesuit roots.

Jesuits are noted for their commitment and activism in social justice matters.

Even more than the Capuchins—the Franciscan friars not the monkeys.

Those Franciscans are particularly noted more for their humility and service to the poor.

Following in the footsteps of their founder, St Francis of Assisi.

And our new pope chose his name, Francis, for that reason.

Pope Francis has earned a reputation as a humble, holy man and a servant to the poor.

Not only the materially poor, but also the spiritually poor.

On his first official outing from the Vatican as Pope,

Francis visited St Mary Major basilica across town in Rome.

When he saw the people congregated there, he told the priests with him:

Mercy, mercy, mercy.

Saying that the Church must offer mercy to the people.

So, who’s looking out for us better, Superman or Francis?

What’s our greater human need, justice or mercy?

Justice may be a fundamental need.

But mercy seems to outrank anything we try to balance against it.

Our priests wear a stole, a symbol of authority.

But they cover it over with a chasuble, a symbol of mercy.

Mercy trumps authority.

Scripture tells us that God himself desires mercy more than sacrifice.

Mercy trumps sacrifice.

In today’s Gospel, the Pharisees bring Jesus a woman caught in adultery.

And ask him what they should do with her.

The Law of Moses says she should be stoned to death.

She knew the law, she sinned and broke the law.

She deserves to face the consequences.

Justice calls for her stoning.

Of course, the Pharisees and scribes had no legal reason to bring her to Jesus.

They brought her to him as a test.

Hoping to put him in a no-win dilemma.

If he said let her go, he’d be ignoring the Law of Moses.

If he said stone her, he’d be contradicting his own message of love and mercy.

He'd also be going against Roman Law.

Either way, they figured he’d at least lose credibility with some of his followers.

But Jesus escaped their trap with his simple, but very wise and instructive answer.

Let the one among you who is without sin cast the first stone.

Jesus lets mercy prevail over justice.

And it's an example he wants us to follow.

He even taught us to pray:

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

We might each imagine ourselves standing alone in front of Jesus—like that woman.

There’s no question of guilt or innocence.

We’re guilty.

Our fate is in his hands.

We deserve justice.

As we imagine that scene, we can draw great hope from the Good News of our Gospel.

We can dare to echo the words of Pope Francis—Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.

And we can hope to hear those same words the woman heard.

Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more.

It would be good, from time-to-time, to re-imagine ourselves in this scene.

It could help us to follow Jesus' example of mercy.

And that's important.

Because soon, we will be standing there.

5th Sunday of Lent

Jn 8:1-11                                 Read this Scripture @usccb.org  

No Thanks

We meet some interesting characters in the Bible.

Some are inspirational heroes.

Some are villains.

Some are role models.

Some are anti-role-models.

This guy from Bethesda in today’s Gospel falls into that last category.

Not a villain, but certainly a far-from-admirable person.

He’s been sick, lying on a mat, unable to work or live a normal life.

For thirty-eight years!

Jesus comes by one Sabbath and cures him in an instant.

The Jewish leaders warn the man against carrying his mat.

And ask who cured him on the Sabbath.

He knows the leaders don’t have anything good in mind for the healer.

But he doesn’t know who it was, so he can’t tell them.

It appears that that’s the end of the matter.

He’s not facing any punishment.

He’s not threatened and told he’d better come up with a name.

But then, later, he finds out that it was Jesus who cured him.

And he betrays Jesus.

He goes back and tells the leaders.

Where’s his gratitude?

Where’s his loyalty to the man who freed him from his infirmity?

The one who saved him.

He should have been just bursting with gratitude for the great gift he’d received.

Eagerly searching for anything he might do to try to show that gratitude.

It’s pretty easy to see the failings and weakness of this guy from Bethesda.

Pretty easy to look down on him.

… Until we catch a reflective glimpse of ourselves.

He knew that—thanks to Jesus—

he could now look forward to years of normal, healthy life.

We know that—thanks to Jesus—

we can now look forward to an eternity of joy-filled, glorified life

How eagerly are we working to show our bursting gratitude?

Tuesday,  4th Week of Lent

Jn 5:1-16                                 Read this Scripture @usccb.org  

Setting Our Limits

We must have heard this a million times already.

Not today’s Gospel passage itself.

But its basic message.

That message is repeated three times in today’s Gospel.

First when Jesus answers Peter.

Saying that we must forgive our brother not seven times, but seventy-seven times.

Second, in Jesus' parable where the master says:

Should you not have had pity on your fellow servant, as I had pity on you?

And a third time, when Jesus confirms the warning message of the parable:

… my heavenly Father [will not forgive] you, unless you forgive your brother from your heart.

In some translations, the seventy-seven times is presented as seven times seventy times.

Or 490 times, if you take it literally.

But of course, it's not meant as a precise number.

We don't need to keep a scorecard.

It's meant to represent a great number of times, perhaps an infinite number of times.

The way we might today say, a thousand times or a million times.

There are numerous Gospel references to the requirement that we forgive others.

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Love your neighbor as yourself.

The measure with which you measure will be measured out to you.

We hear these passages and similar ones dozens of times throughout the year.

But we're warned of the necessity of forgiving others far more often than that.

We hear it—actually we say it—every time we pray the Our Father.

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And that language, in today's Gospel passage and in the Our Father,

Really makes the point.

God forgives us as we forgive others.

So we have the opportunity to set our own limit

on the number of times we'll want God to forgive us.

What limit can we dare to impose?

Seven times?

Seventy-seven times?

Four hundred ninety times?

I'd feel more comfortable with that million number.

And not the literal million—the figurative, infinite million.

God's infinite mercy gives us cause for great hope.

Tuesday,  3rd Week of Lent

Mt 18:21-35                                 Read this Scripture @usccb.org