Tribulation 2012

In those days after that tribulation the sun will be darkened, 

and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from the sky.
(From our Gospel today, as we near the end of our liturgical year.)

It seems that a lot of us are feeling as if that tribulation in underway.

We still see the sun and the moon.

The stars are still held up in the sky.

Yet, there’s this growing, darkening mood and talk of looming doom.

It’s been building now for 12 years.

We shouldn’t have to feel so fatalistic just because of election results.

We should all be accustomed by now to results that show a 50/50 split among the voters.

Only half are happy with any result.

The other half are disappointed; sometimes bitterly disappointed.

It’s been that way for the last four presidential, and seven congressional, elections.

We all wonder, how could the other half of the country have voted the way they did.
Often that other half includes some of our good friends, even family members.

For some, the discontent  may stem from blind partisanship.

For most, it stems from disagreement on how to apply fundamental moral principles.

Not disagreement on the principles, but on how to apply them.
The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops published voter guidance on their website.

They list critical moral principles and divide them into four major categories:

Human Life, Family Life, Social Justice and Global Solidarity.

They urge us to consider those principles and to vote with an informed conscience.

And they note that people of good will may sometimes choose different ways

to apply and act on [these] principles.

A deep analysis of the issues is not easy, and doesn’t necessarily lead to clear answers.

Let’s take a most serious and difficult example.

Certainly the human life issues are most fundamental and carry more weight than others.

Abortion, euthanasia, death penalty, torture, terrorism, and targeting civilians in war.

Among those, abortion has long been a most divisive issue in our elections.

But we can’t directly vote against abortion.

And even if we could, that wouldn’t really end it.

We vote for people.

None of them say I’m pro-abortion; they say I’m pro-choice. 

There is a legitimate distinction between those labels.
And that can complicate the issue in the mind of the voter.

At most, we can vote for those who we hope might help reduce the number of abortions.

But can they succeed?  What changes could they work toward?

Laws criminalizing abortion?  Criminalization didn’t work well in the past.

Maybe other types of legal and policy changes might be more effective.

Like changes to promote adoptions, and increase education and services for pregnant women.

Those are changes that the bishops recommend.

Generally, Republican candidates seem more pro-life, and Democrats more pro-choice.

Those who voice their sincere opposition to abortion deserve credit for speaking out.

But even the Democratic Party has said that abortions should be rare.

Whose policies offer the greatest hope of actually reducing the number of abortions?

And considering other critical Human Life principles—

Who’s got the right policy on the death penalty, and on war?

People of good will, acting in good conscience, might easily disagree on the best path.

That's not to say we can ignore or minimize the principle of protecting life.
Or that there's no right and wrong.
It's to acknowledge that complexities might lead others to a position different from ours.

Analyzing the other principles the bishops urge us to consider can be equally complex.

Nurturing, protecting and educating children.

Protecting marriage and family.

Ensuring affordable health care.

Seriously addressing global climate change.

Ensuring just wages, the right to unionize, and a more just economy.

Providing for the welfare and the dignity of the poor.

Increasing Child Tax Credits.

Providing care for, and standing with immigrants; both documented and undocumented.

Protecting religious freedom.

Pursuing world peace; supporting United Nations programs.

Whose policies offer the greatest hope of actually advancing those goals?

People of good will, acting in good conscience, might easily disagree on the best path.

When we consider all those moral principles the bishops laid out for us

We see that there’s no perfect candidate.

We’ve all been winners and losers in all the elections.

So, why all the rancor and stubborn divisiveness?

The unwillingness to work together?

The quickness to demonize those we disagree with?
I don't mean just in the halls of congress—I mean among the people.

Who’s to blame?

The politicians?  The media?  Those who don’t think like us?

Yes—all of them.  Especially those media extremists who stoke the fires of division.

But it’s not just all of them—it’s us, too.

How do we get past this?  …

The solution starts with each of us. 

It won’t be easy, but we need to:

Enter respectful dialogue, listen, and try to understand the other’s point of view;

Try to see their good will—even though we disagree.

We certainly shouldn’t compromise on our own moral principles.

But we should concede that those who apply them differently aren’t necessarily evil.

Nor immoral, nor heartless, nor greedy, nor elitist.

They may have reached their position through sincere efforts to find the greatest good.

We can hope that they’ll eventually respond to us with equal respect and openness.

We might even be able to persuade those who are wrong to see their error.

The tribulation of today’s Gospel, the Great Tribulation of the end times, is not upon us.

Mankind has been watching for it for 2000 years now.

So odds are slim that it will happen to come in our lifetime.

But our own time is indeed short.

For most of us, that end will almost certainly come within a number of decades.

Maybe tomorrow.

And our greatest commandments in this life are to love God and love our neighbor.

So, while we still have time—let’s be the peacemakers—let’s lead the reconciliation.

33^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time

Mk 13-24-32                                    Read this Scripture @usccb.org   

A Land of Immigrants

Francesca Cabrini was born into a well-to-do family in Italy in 1850.

As a young woman she tried to enter different religious orders.

But she was not accepted because of her poor health.

So, she became a teacher.

But she still felt the strong call to life as a religious.

So in 1880 she started her own order, the Missionaries of the Sacred Heart.

Seven years later, she went to Rome to seek the blessings of Pope Leo XIII.

She wanted to do missionary work in China.

But the pope told her to instead go to America and help the Italian immigrants.

So, Mother Cabrini left immediately for New York with five sisters.

Using her experience, she began founding schools and orphanages.

She had no experience with hospitals.

But because of the great need, she began setting them up too.

She traveled west and opened more schools and orphanages and hospitals.

From New York to Chicago to Seattle, and in between.

In 1909 she became a US citizen.

But her missionary work wasn’t limited to the US.

She traveled and worked constantly—all around the world.

She founded institutions in seven states.

And in Italy, Spain, England, France, Brazil, Nicaragua and Argentina.

By the time of her death, at age 67,

She had founded 67 schools, orphanages and hospitals.

Her death came just before Christmas in 1917.

Though she was ill, she traveled from Seattle to Chicago,

To attend to some business at the hospital she’d founded there.

She died there in her room, serving as always, preparing candy for the local children.

I’m sure that, just like us, Mother Cabrini had heard the words of today’s Gospel.

No doubt, she heard them many times in her 67 years.

And despite her devotion to the Sacred Heart,

Despite her dedicated service to the poor and her great achievements,

I wonder if she ever came to feel that she had finally become a profitable servant.

That she had done more than she was obliged to do.

The Church thought so.

She was canonized in 1946 as our first US-citizen saint.

The servant of immigrants, an immigrant herself, she's now the patron saint of immigrants.

Each of us has been given much; and so, much is expected from us.

Should we ever feel that we’ve done more than we’re obliged to do?

Tuesday 32nd Week in Ordinary Time

Lk 17:7-10                                   Read this Scripture @usccb.org    

Second Coming ... Second Priority

The Sacred Scriptures are timeless.

They first spoke to the people of the times in which they were written.

But the word speaks to us still today.

As it did to all those generations before us.

And will to all those who come after us.

Today’s Gospel passage seems particularly well targeted for us—

Disciples who are 2,000 years out from the writing.

It speaks of waiting for the master’s return.

Keeping the faith, being faithful servants, no matter how long that return might take.

The early Christians thought Jesus’ second coming would happen very soon.

St Paul wrote to the Corinthians recommending that they put their lives on hold

And focus all their attention on preparing for that coming.

He said: I tell you, brothers, the time is running out. (1 Cor 7:29).

Eventually the Corinthians had to resume paying attention to the necessities of daily life.

And find a proper balance between attending to this life and preparing for the next.

And that’s where we still find ourselves today.

We’re still waiting, and still balancing.

Fortunately, we’re not trying to balance goals that are incompatible.

Faithfully living our daily lives is itself our preparation for our next life.

We do have to deal with the conflicts and temptations that threaten our faithfulness.

And we have to learn to keep our balance.

With one foot in the spiritual world and one in the material world.

We each have to find the right balance for our current roles in life.

The average cloistered monk will spend a lot more time in formal prayer and meditation.

The average young mother of three will spend a lot more time in direct service to others.

But we can all work at becoming “contemplatives in action”.

That requires that we maintain our awareness that God is in everyone and everything.

And that we dedicate all our actions, great and small, to serving God---
Maybe through just a brief morning prayer.

If we can do that, then all of our actions of daily life can become prayers.

That second coming has already been long delayed.

But, today’s Gospel, suggests that could be to our advantage:

… should he come in the second or third watch and find them prepared in this way,
blessed are those servants.

After 2,000 years we must be into the second watch by now, or at least well into the first.

Whenever that surprise second coming might happen, we want to be prepared.

But almost certainly, long before then, we’ll get a private surprise visit from Jesus.

So, in the grand scale of time, for any one of us, the Master is coming very soon.

Tuesday 29^th Week in Ordinary Time

Lk 12:35-38                                    Read this Scripture @usccb.org    

Mission Impossible

Preparing for today's Mass made me think of the old TV series, Mission Impossible.

Many of us can probably remember that show.

And if you can, here’s a little shock for you.

That series ended 40 years ago!  Time is flying by.

(And here’s a little trivia from Google: Leonard Nimoy, Mr Spock of Star Trek,

was a member of the Mission Impossible team.)

If you can’t remember the first run, you might remember the reruns.

Or maybe the Tom Cruise movie by the same name that’s only 15 years old.

Whether we remember the series or not, it’s a common phrase—Mission Impossible.

An assignment that seems to be beyond accomplishment, but yet needs to be carried out.

An assignment that brings us honor for merely attempting it.

Today is World Mission Sunday.

A day to reflect on spreading the Good News of Christ throughout the world.

The news that we have a God who loves us—who wants to have us with him.

The news that heaven awaits us.

The news that everyone should love us, and we should love them.

That we’re commanded to love one another.

How’s that going?

Jesus himself sent out his disciples on their first mission two thousand years ago.

We might think the job should be done by now.

But he’s still sending us out today.

According to Wikipedia: A missionary is a member of a religious group 

sent into an area to do evangelism or ministries of service,

such as education, literacy, social justice, health care and economic development.

Some missionaries travel great distances.

To remote corners of the earth.

And that’s necessary.

How else will the word reach there?

And not just the word.

But the example.

The living example of the word is needed.

The missionaries are not only the message bearers, but also the servants.

And their service demonstrates the truth of their message.

We’re all missionaries; we were called to that service at baptism.

Each of us has the mission to save ourselves and to save the world.
But we don’t all need to travel to distant corners of the earth to pursue our mission.

There are many areas nearby where the Good News is unknown or ignored.

Pockets where the need is just as great as in the most remote, isolated village.

Individuals or groups who haven’t really heard, or haven’t really listened.

Individuals or groups who might be reached by the right example, the right servant.

They might be in our own neighborhood.

In our own office.

At our own dinner table.
From time to time, perhaps in or own mirror.

How do we reach them?

Sometimes, the closer we are to the people we’re trying to reach,

the harder it seems to succeed.

Deep down, we know that we've been given a great gift.

The gift of faith.

The gift of knowing that Good News.

And we want to share it; we want others to enjoy that same gift.

We want to share it with the whole world.

And especially with those we care about most.

But, it often seems we could do better in that remote foreign village.

As Jesus himself said,

A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and in his own house.

Evangelizing at home may seem all too much like Mission Impossible.

But when words don’t work, we can still try action and example and service.

Saving ourselves and saving the world is quite a mission.

To try that alone would indeed be Mission Impossible.

Jesus told us: It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle

than for one who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.

(And look around the world—we are indeed the rich.)

His disciples were shocked; they believed that wealth was a sign of God’s favor.

So they asked, Then who can be saved?

And Jesus answered:

For human beings it is impossible, but not for God.  All things are possible for God.

 

Acting alone, we can’t save ourselves and we can’t save the world.

But God is with us to make it possible.

He’s in control; he’s sending us to help in his work.

We are his representatives, his hands and feet, his physical presence in this world.

His servants—and each others’ servants.

As we heard in today’s Gospel:

Whoever wishes to be great among you will be your servant.
For the Son of Man did not come to be served
but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.

We’ll probably never be called to give our life in the way Jesus did.

But we are called to devote our lives to others.

To share the gifts we've received: our faith, our time, our talent and our treasure.

To complete our mission.

To do our part in building the Kingdom of Heaven on earth.

To make that Kingdom not only possible, but real.

29^th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Mk 10:35-45                                    Read this Scripture @usccb.org   

Sunday/Daily Visitor

It’s been almost a year now since we started using the new words of the Mass.

And also with you, became – And with your spirit.

Lord I am not worthy to receive you, became –

Lord I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof,

Those were the words of the faith-filled Centurion.

He initially asked Jesus to come to his house to cure his dying servant.

But on further reflection decided he was unworthy to have Jesus enter his house.

So, he told Jesus that he needn’t come.

He greatly impressed Jesus with his faith.

He had complete confidence that Jesus could just as easily cure the servant from afar.

Mary, in today’s Gospel, seems far less concerned about her unworthiness.

She’s happy to have Jesus enter under her roof, and to just sit and listen to him.

Her sister, Martha, is anxious and worried about preparation, hospitality and many things.

But even she doesn’t express concern about her unworthiness.

Jesus was their friend and visited with them often at their house.

The house they shared with their brother, Lazarus.

As they came to fully realize who Jesus was, they surely also realized their unworthiness.

But at the same time, they also recognized their continuing friendship.

They may not have been worthy; who could be?

But they knew that Jesus wanted to be with them.

He came of his own accord.

In our Mass, just before communion, we echo the words of the Centurion.

We don’t mean them in the same literal sense he did.

We’re speaking figuratively, referring to Jesus entering not our house but our selves.

But we do mean to express the same unworthiness that the Centurion recognized.

The same unworthiness that Mary and Martha also recognized.

And we realize that no one can be truly worthy of that visitation.

We can and should profess our faith, like the Centurion did.

We can and should prepare and serve, like Martha did.

But that doesn’t make us worthy to have Jesus enter under our roof.

Yet, unworthy as we are, he comes to us anyway.

At his choosing; as a friend.

And he’s told us what he would like for us to do when he comes.

We should follow Mary’s example and choose the better part.

We should sit with him.

And listen.

Read This Scripture at usccb.org

Tuesday of the 27th Week in Ordinary Time

Lk 10:38-42

Guardian Angels

Who really believes in angels?

The ancient Greeks and Jews spoke of angels.

Plato’s writings show that he believed in angels.

Our Sacred Scripture, both Old and New Testaments, have many references to angels.

Jesus, himself, often spoke of angels.

We have a few recent examples.

In our Gospel on this memorial of the Guardian Angels, Jesus says of the “little ones”:

… their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father.

And last Saturday, on the Feast of St Michael, St Gabriel and St Raphael—

Yes, they’re called Saints, but they’re better know as Archangels—

Jesus said:  … you will see heaven opened

and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.

The Pharisees got their share of criticism from Jesus.

But they were more in tune with Jesus than their rivals, the Sadducees were.

Pharisees believed in angels; Sadducees didn’t.

We don’t find angels mentioned in our Creed.

They’re not among the required articles of faith.

And yet, most of our saints, theologians and leaders have confirmed their belief in angels.

To name just a very few:

St Peter and St Paul confirmed their belief in angels.

As did St Thomas Aquinas.

And Pope Saint Gregory the Great and Pope John Paul II.

The Church makes its position pretty clear.

Designating October 2^nd as a memorial for Guardian Angels,

And September 29^th as a Feast for the three Archangels.

Belief in angels may not be explicitly required, but it certainly seems to be presumed.

Our culture and art suggest a widespread belief in angels. 

Little Zuzu believed in Clarence and other angels in It’s a Wonderful Life. 

In fact, a survey last year indicated that 80% of Americans believe in angels. 

But how strong is that belief? 

How "real" are those angels to us?

What do we do with that belief?

Some of us have neglected our guardian angels since childhood.

We made them victims by association, with Santa Claus and Easter Bunny.

Those of us who have done that should consider Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel:

Whoever humbles himself like this child
is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.

And we might recall that old prayer from childhood:

Angel of God, my guardian dear

to whom God's love commits me here.

Ever this day be at my side

to light, to guard, to rule and guide.

Read This Scripture @ usccb.org

Mt 18:1-5

Who Are My Mother and Brothers?

When Carlos [our lector] started this morning,

I wasn’t sure if he was reading scripture or fortune cookies.

Maybe I’m just hungry.

Those Old Testament proverbs are full of ancient wisdom.

The Jews didn’t have a monopoly on that.

The Chinese and others had similar insights and observations on life.

Those proverbs all suggest proper behavior for getting along.

Some people might consider them from a merely humanistic view:

How to win material wealth and happiness;

How to gain the respect of our fellow man.

For us, they’re part of our Sacred Scripture.

They do guide us in our worldly quests and our behavior toward other people.

But we recognize that they also pertain to our relationship with God.

They guide us toward the Good.

They are the word of God, guiding us in following the will of God.

Today’s Psalm readings emphasize that theme:

Guide me, Lord, in the way of your commands.

And Jesus sums it up in today’s very brief Gospel passage.

Short as it is, it can raise a couple distracting questions first—

Jesus had brothers!?  No, not in the biological sense.

Is Jesus disrespecting his mother!?  No, quite the opposite.

But then we get to the real point of our Gospel.

The real Good News message.

Hearing the word of God and acting on it makes us members of Jesus’ immediate family.

He considers us to be as close and as beloved as his own mother and brothers.

With a prize like that at stake, we should all be hungry.

Hungry to hear and act on God’s word.

Read This Scripture @ usccb.org

1 Prv 21:1-6, 10-13

Ps 119:1, 27, 30, 34, 35, 44

Lk 8:19-21

Remembering Peter Bis

The next time I see Pete, we’re going to pull up a couple comfortable chairs

And enjoy the mild refreshing breeze under a big shade tree.

We’ll talk about the last time we got together.

The places we’ve been and all that we’ve learned since our last conversation.

We’ll both understand what those earlier days were all about.

Why we did what we did.

And didn’t do what we didn’t do.

We all have our memories of Pete.

Maybe from just his quick greeting as we passed by.

Or a moment’s pause for a brief chat.

Or maybe a deeper conversation when there was time for that.

Some of us first met Pete about 8 years ago.

He came to Mass here every day for a couple months.

He looked like an average guy.

Neatly dressed and groomed.

He was quiet.

I don’t recall him speaking to anyone.

Then he was gone for a few months.

But he came back again,

This time limping and using an empty wheel chair for a walker.

And then the wheelchair started to fill up with bags and books.

And then suitcases piled on top of that.

Until it was overflowing.

He also grew more talkative.

And we got to know him.

And it became obvious; Peter Bis was definitely not your average guy.

We’re all unique, but he was more unique than most.

He was well above average in many ways.

His truly amazing memory.

His clear intelligence and humor.

His broad experience.

His fantastic imagination.

His ability to attract and engage all who passed by his “office” under the tree.

He knew trivia and he knew current events.

He could carry on a conversation on just about any subject.

It seemed that Pete knew a lot about many things.

And a little about everything.

Pete was an amazing fellow.

Even at a casual distance.

It was amazing to see his almost constant friendly demeanor.

Despite the summer heat or winter cold.

And whether he was actually feeling cheerful or not.

It was amazing to see his truly incredible memory in action.

If the foot traffic past his tree was heavy,

He’d greet dozens of people in the span of a few minutes.

He knew them all by name.

And if they’d ever told him, he knew the names of their spouses and children—

Even if he’d never met them.

About six years ago, my uncle was visiting from Kentucky.

We stopped and talked to Pete for a minute or two as we headed for Union Station.

On our way back, my uncle gave Pete a cup of coffee he had bought for him.

A few months ago, out of the blue, Pete said to me,

So how’s Uncle Dave?

I once told him he should take a job as a greeter at Walmart.

That he’d be a legend in the corporate annals.

He was offended at the suggestion.

He said he was too skilled for that, overqualified.

He had much more challenging and important work to do.

And he did have many talents and skills.

He could rebuild an engine, or rig up a wagon train of assorted carts.

He could sketch portraits and landscapes and engineering diagrams.

Once, during his boat period,

He drew detailed plans for adding masts and sails to a large boat.

It looked like a professional, architectural drawing.

I assume he understood all the engineering and nautical principles behind his plan.

I can only assume, because I certainly didn’t understand all that.

He scoured the boating magazines looking for the right used boat.

One day he told me he’d found it.

He dug into his files and pulled out an article about mothballed Navy ships.

You could buy them for just $25,000 or so.

He said he could get that much from a lawsuit; Pete knew a lot about the law.

His plan was to get a 150 foot ship, refurbish it himself, add those sails,

And take to life on the seas.

I questioned whether that was even possible.

He told me he’d learned a lot working in a shipyard in Oregon.

He was convinced

And he was convincing.  I had to believe that he might actually be able to do it.

He was equally convinced of other things.

But he couldn’t convince me.

His courtship of Lady Di.

His extraterrestrial origins.

His current assignments with the international intelligence community. 

And the many conspiracies at the root of his and the world’s problems.

There are lots of amazing stories about Pete.

And our presence here today highlights one of them.

Why did we all decide to devote our time to this Saturday afternoon memorial?

It’s because Pete touched each of us, personally, in a special way.

Perhaps more deeply than we even realized.

And he touched hundreds or thousands of others who will always remember him.

How many of us will accomplish that in our lives?

Pete shared all he had with us.

He shared himself.

As we remember and celebrate the good times we shared with Pete,

We might also feel at least a little twinge of guilt.

Why do I have so many of life’s luxuries, and he had so few?

What more might I have done for Pete?

He was happy with a returned greeting, a little conversation,

A little banter and humor, maybe a coffee with tons of cream and sugar,

or a sandwich.

Maybe we even tried to give him more than that.

Maybe we were frustrated by our inability to make things happen.

That’s all a part of who Pete was.

Pete doesn’t need anything from us now.

Except our prayers.

But we can take what Pete taught us and be more aware of others who do need help.

We can do that hands-on; spending time with them, simply greeting them,

or at least acknowledging them when they speak to us.

We can support the organizations that reach out to those in need.

Catholic Charities is an excellent example; it has many programs for people in need.

Including the homeless and those with physical and mental health challenges.

Capitol Hill Group Ministry directly helps the homeless and others in need.

And helps to coordinate programs among the congregations here on the Hill.

We can support government assistance programs when they come under attack.

Helping the needy is more than just a nice thing to do.

It’s our duty.

We can’t be like Dives, the rich man in the famous Gospel story.

He would leave his opulent home in his fine garments after a sumptuous meal.

And step over the body of poor Lazarus, lying and starving in his doorway.

To use the old cliché, I know I’m preaching to the choir.

Anyone as self-absorbed as Dives wouldn’t be here today.

But as today’s Gospel passage notes, we’re called to do a lot better than Dives.

We’re called to be that seed that fell on rich soil.
The ones who, when they have heard the word,
embrace it with a generous and good heart,
and bear fruit through perseverance.

We’re called to not only act, but to set the example and spread the word to others.

I said before that Pete taught us; Pete was indeed a teacher.

He taught us that everyone we walk past deserves to be recognized as a real person.

Even if their appearance is deceiving.

If Pete had sat in silence, looking down at the sidewalk.

Or if he’d called for our attention with less friendly, less charming, words,

We would probably never have gotten to know the Pete inside there.

But he got our attention.

He attracted us to himself.

He let us look inside his mind.

He shared what he was thinking.

He shared his plans, his imagination, his history, and even his faults and prejudices.

We’ve been walking past his vacant spot under the tree for a few weeks now.

And each day growing a little more accustomed to the emptiness there.

And that unheard greeting.

Over the years we had come to take Pete’s presence for granted.

And now, we’re reminded that we’re all just passing through this life.

We might be drawn to think about our own mortality.

Today’s reading from Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians,

Offers consolation and great hope for Pete and for all of us.

Paul talks of raising from the dead.

The resurrection of the body.

And we know that we have a compassionate God who loves each one of us.

A God who is all merciful.

So, we have great cause for hope that we will share in that resurrection.

In a real sense, Pete was right, he was an extraterrestrial.

We all are.

We’re all living in an alien world.

But this world is being transformed.

And someday it will be the world that God intends for it to be.

And we will be raised from the dead.

Raised to new life in new glorified bodies.

And our glorified, perfected selves will each have plenty of time.

Time to join the glorified, perfected Pete for a long chat –under a heavenly tree.

Saturday of the Twenty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time
1 Cor 15:35-37

Lk 8:4-14

Read this Scripture @usccb.org

The Life of the World to Come

In our penitential rite at the beginning of Mass we often say:

You raise the dead to life in the Spirit.

We believe that, and we all look forward to that.

In fact, we end our creed saying:

I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus demonstrates that he has the power of God.

He amazes the crowd by raising the dead.

But not to life in the Spirit, and not into the world to come—but back into this world.

The Gospels tell us of only three instances when Jesus did this.

We’re told that he cured many—hundreds, maybe thousands—who were suffering.

But we’re told of only three that he raised from death back to this life.

This son of the widow of Nain

The daughter of Jairus, the synagogue official.

And, of course, Lazarus.

In reporting his healings of the sick, the evangelists often make special note of the fact that Jesus was moved by compassion for those suffering individuals.

In these three cases of raising from the dead,

Jesus was similarly moved by compassion for the suffering individuals.

But those suffering people he pitied weren’t the dead,

They were the survivors who were left behind.

Jesus wasn’t moved by the widow’s son.

It was the widow herself who evoked his pity.

He saw her weeping and understood the emotional pain she felt from losing a child.

And he knew the hardships she would face as a poor widow with no one to support her.

She didn’t ask for his help, he immediately empathized with her.

He may have seen in her the suffering his own mother would endure.

And it wasn’t the official’s daughter who evoked his compassion.

It was Jairus and his wife.

He saw their faith and humility when they came to him.

He saw their weeping when they reached the girl’s room.

Jesus didn’t know the dead son or daughter, but he did know Lazarus.

We’re told that he knew him well, and loved him.

But his compassion went out to Martha and Mary.

He wept with them at the tomb.

Jesus told us that if we’ve seen the Son we’ve seen the Father.

So, seeing Jesus, it’s clear that we have a most compassionate God.

A God who loves each one of us, individually.

A God who takes pity on us in all our sorrows and our sufferings.

And so, it seems a great sign of hope that Jesus sees no need to pity the dead.

Tuesday of the 24^th Week in Ordinary Time

Lk 7:11-17                                   

Read this Scripture @usccb.org

That's What It's All About

A few years ago the philosopher/deadpan-comic, Steven Wright, posed a question.

What if the Hokey Pokey really is what it’s all about?

The audience loved it—he got a big laugh.

And I thought it was a great one-liner.

So I decided to share it with you.

I thought of doing a little demonstration too.

But I’m not sure St Joseph’s is ready for liturgical dance.

And you all know it anyway.

You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around ...

And that’s what it’s all about.

It’s a silly song.

But when you think about it for a while, you realize ...

It just happens to contain an important nugget of truth.

Steven Wright was accidentally onto something.

The Hokey Pokey really is what it’s all about.

Putting your whole self in.

Shaking things up.

Turning yourself around.

Today’s reading from Isaiah tells us that the Lord opens our ears to hear new things.

Things we hadn’t heard before, or hadn’t paid attention to before.

And when we do hear, we’re supposed to respond.

Take some action.

Shake things up.

Maybe change something we’ve been doing.

Or do something we’ve been neglecting to do.

Turn ourselves around.

Our second reading from James says that too.

Take action.

Faith alone is not enough.

If we’ve been complacent and inactive,

It’s time to shake things up, turn around and do some good works.

Feed the hungry, clothe the needy.

In our Gospel, Jesus asks his disciples who they think he is.

Peter says You are the Christ.

And Jesus confirmed that Peter was right.

What a fantastic, exciting thing for the disciples to know.

They were all companions of the Christ—the Messiah.

They could just see the glorious path ahead of them.

Marching on with the power of the Christ.

Heading off to an easy victory over all their oppressors.

But then Jesus shook things up.

He told them which path they really had to take.

They had to join him on a path through his messy passion and death.

That’s not the path they wanted.

Peter took him aside and told him not to say such things.

Surely, he said, Jesus should never have to experience such suffering.

And maybe that struck Jesus as a pretty attractive idea.

He really didn’t have to go through with all this.

Maybe Jesus himself was tempted for a moment to try to work out a different path.

Something less tortuous.

But our Gospel says, Jesus almost immediately turned around.

And he rebuked Peter, saying Get behind me, Satan.  You tempter.

He was telling Peter to turn himself around too.

To stop thinking like humans; to think like God.

Another name for this turning around is conversion.

Conversion isn’t just one dramatic event, like St Paul being struck on the road to Damascus.

It’s a series of big and little turns.

And we’re constantly and repeatedly called to conversion throughout our lives.

Certainly, when we know we’re going seriously astray, we hear that call to turn around.

But even when we think we’re doing pretty well.

There’s always something to fix, something to do better at.

No matter how good we are.

No matter how well we’re doing.

We’re never fully, directly on course.

And God is constantly calling us to make those adjustments, great or small.

And turn directly back to Him.

Even if there’s a cross on that path.

That might be particularly true when we think we’re doing well.

When we’re complacent.

That may be the time we most need to shake things up.

To renew and reinvigorate our commitment.

To put our whole self in.

To see that true path to that glory that awaits us.

And turn ourselves around.

It’s an iterative, lifelong process.

And indeed, That’s what it’s all about.

24^th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Is 50:5-9a;  Jas 2:14-18;  Mk 8:27-35                                    Read this Scripture @usccb.org     

Six Degrees of Separation

There’s a theory called Six Degrees of Separation.

It says that we are separated from any other person on earth by no more than six degrees.

For example, you could pick a random name from a random foreign country phonebook.

And you would have a friend (1), who has a friend (2), who has a friend (3), who has a

friend (4), who has a friend (5) who is also a friend of that randomly chosen foreigner (6).

The theory has never been fully proven.

But there have been a number of interesting experiments that support it.

One counted the links needed to get an email forwarded from the first person,  

Through a series of mutual friends, to the ultimate random target person.

The experiment used 25,000 pairs of people.

And found that the average number of links needed was—6.

Thinking about today’s saint—Pope Pius X,

I wondered what linkage he and I might have through time.

I was ordained by Cardinal McCarrick.

He was consecrated a bishop by Cardinal Cooke.

Cardinal Cooke was consecrated by Cardinal Spellman.

Cardinal Spellman was consecrated by Cardinal Pacelli

(who later became Pope Pius XII).

Cardinal Pacelli was consecrated by Pope Pius XI.

And Pope Pius XI was consecrated by today’s saint, Pope Pius X.

So, that was just six links.

Not exactly the same concept as the links between living people; but still interesting.

You might be surprised at how few degrees separate you from a canonized saint.

I know a few people who knew Mother Theresa, so for me, she’s just two degrees away.

The further back you try to go, the more links you’d need.

Pius the X was our 258^th pope; St Peter was our 1^st.

So it’d take me a lot more than six links to get back to St Peter.

But in today’s Gospel, St Peter asks Jesus:

What’s in it for those of us who follow you?

The simple answer from Jesus was, eternal life.

So, if St Peter has eternal life, he’s actually alive now.

And through the Communion of Saints, we can still talk to him directly.

We don’t need intermediaries; we can consider him our own first-degree friend.

And trust that—saintly guy that he is—he’ll be kind enough to return that friendship.

Our first-degree communion with saints isn’t limited to formally canonized saints.

We all directly knew people who have now gone on to eternal life in sainthood.

And, as when they were on earth, they’re still our first-degree friends.

And all the other saints are potential first-degree friends.

Maybe that will be one of the great joys of eternal life—

Renewing and establishing billions of first-degree relationships.

That and fully realizing our zero-degree separation from the mystical body.

Tuesday of the 20^th Week in Ordinary Time

1 Ez 28:1-10;  Mt 19:23-30

Read the Word at usccb.org