Wednesday of Lent I

In view of the selfishness and self-absorption that pervades our culture, we hear these days about the “Me Generation.” One psychologist, however, refers to it as the “Don’t Blame Me Generation.” She writes, “it is based on a belief system like this: ‘I am more important than most people; I am good; therefore I am incapable of doing bad things.’” What we have, she concludes, is a generation of people who don’t think they need to change anything about themselves.

In today’s gospel, Jesus spoke about another generation of people who didn’t see their need for change. Through his very presence amongst them as the incarnate Son of God, this generation was presented with something far greater than the wisdom of Solomon and the preaching of Jonah. Yet still they didn’t change; they just didn’t see the need. Jesus might very well have directed his words to our “Don’t Blame Me Generation” of today. And indeed he does.

In contrast, the people of Nineveh, when they heard God’s word through Jonah, recognized their need for change. And when they repented in sackcloth and ashes, they learned that God never spurns a humble and contrite heart. You and I will experience this as well, whenever we embrace our need for change and repent. As we celebrated in today’s psalm, God has mercy on us in his goodness; in his compassion he wipes out our offenses; he washes us from our guilt; and cleanses us from our sins. So while “Don’t blame me” may be the cry of our generation, Jesus invites us to make “Have mercy on me” our cry of faith.

Monday of Lent I

A youth minister once shared with me how he had led a group of young people in song outside a high security prison. After some time, hands were seen sticking wet pieces of toilet paper on the prison wall’s small slit windows. Letters began to emerge, then a complete message. It read: "Pray for us." "We went to visit our brothers in prison," the speaker explained to me, "because Jesus was a prisoner too."

As I listened to this, I recalled another conversation, this time with a parish volunteer. Her pastor had asked her arrange for parish children to stuff Christmas goody bags of toiletries for local inmates. She was appalled at this suggestion and flatly refused. Those people were being punished for their crimes, she insisted; they didn’t deserve any goody bags.

What a contrast between these two people. Both are committed Catholics. Yet they held very different attitudes about the exercise of mercy. In today’s gospel, Jesus makes clear what he wants our attitude to be. He spoke of prisoners, the sick, the poor, and strangers in our midst - people we might be tempted to judge, condemn, dismiss, ignore, or neglect out of selfishness, indifference, and hardness of heart. Yet Jesus refers to them as his brothers, and explained that we serve him when we serve them. His challenge to us today, then, is to extend mercy to others, just as he has showered his mercy upon us.

First Sunday in Lent

This past Wednesday- Ash Wednesday- marks the beginning of Lent, which a priest I know calls "Our season of good intentions." I know exactly what he means. So often we begin Lent with the best of intentions. We think that we’re really going to take it seriously this year and have a good, holy Lent. And sometimes we do! But at other times our Lenten experience doesn’t always live up to our good intentions.

Sometimes this happens because we try to do too much. You know, we’re going to give up this, give up that, fast, pray the rosary, and go to Mass every morning, and so on. And we might manage to keep it up for a few days. But then we burn out and get discouraged. We wind up with spiritual indigestion, because we’ve bitten off more than we can chew. In the spiritual life, we can’t go from being Homer Simpson to Mother Teresa overnight. Therefore, we need to be realistic and take on a Lenten penance that is practical and doable.

Sometimes we have a poor Lent because we have a poor attitude. If we dread Lent as a yearly ordeal to endure, then we’ve set ourselves up for failure. It’s like the mother who decided to go to early Mass each morning of Lent, but then complained about it so much that her children begged her to stop. It’s true that Lent is a time of repentance, fasting, and self-denial. But most importantly, it is a season of renewal and conversion in which we can grow closer to our good and gracious God- and that is always an occasion of joy! If we can re-frame our thinking about Lent along these lines, we’ll increase our chances of having a good experience.

Sometimes we have a poor Lent because we aren’t sure what to do. We hear about the importance of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, but we wonder how might we live this out in meaningful ways. It could be that we’re stuck in the same old dull routine. Maybe each year we give up drinking alcohol or eating chocolate- which is fine! But if drinking or overeating aren’t unhealthy patterns in our life, then giving up these things can seem kind of hollow after a while. If that describes you, it’s time for a change. To do this, ask the Holy Spirit to show you where you need to grow as a Christian. And then ask the Spirit to show you specific things you can do. Let me offer a few suggestions for your consideration.

First, pray in the car. We waste so much time in our cars daydreaming or listening to the radio. We can make much better use of that time by praying. We might also try praying while in the shower, pumping gas, folding laundry, or doing the dishes. If we can learn to use these little crumbs of time as opportunities for prayer, we’ll find ourselves praying quite a bit.

Second, have a yard sale! So many of us have accumulated stuff we no longer use. Maybe we’ve talked for years about getting rid of it, but just haven’t gotten around to it. But if we make it our Lenten discipline, we’ll find that extra motivation to get it done. Doing this will liberate us from a lot of things that we don’t need but others might, it will help us to live with gospel simplicity, and it will remind of how blessed we really are. And we can give the money from our sale as an act of almsgiving to the poor.

Third, count your blessings. So often we’re envious about what others have, but we don’t. One way to reverse this, and be more grateful and happier people in the process, is to spend a few minutes each day writing down specific things for which we’re thankful to God. If we did this for 40 days of Lent, we might be surprised at how much we’ve been taking for granted- including maybe God himself.

Fourth, have dinner with your family. Families are gifts from God that are nurtured around the dinner table. Dining together gives us a chance to stay connected and share our love. Studies have shown that kids who regularly eat with their families stay out of trouble and do better in school. Also, honoring the family meal helps us appreciate the Mass, which is our Christian family meal. Unfortunately, today’s lifestyles often prevent families from eating together. Lent is a time we can reverse that trend.

Fifth, kiss and make up. We’ve all hurt other people through our actions or our indifference. Lent is a good a time to reach out, say we’re sorry, and mend the fences we’ve broken. We may have to swallow our pride, but that’s a way for us to become more humble, like Jesus. Because God is love, he treasures relationships, and he calls us to restore those relationships we have helped to drive apart.

Sixth, adjust your attitude toward the homeless. Jesus tells us that we can see his face in theirs, yet so often we turn away from those faces in fear, annoyance, judgment, or disgust. This Lent, we might make it a point to treat them with courtesy and respect, to pray for them when we see then, and to always carry some change in our pockets, to place in an outstretched hand.

There are so many meaningful and creative ways to observe Lent. We can open our Bibles, dust off our rosaries, join a faith-sharing group, study the Sunday Mass readings throughout the week, assist at a soup kitchen, or make a good confession. And I could go on and on. We just need to be realistic, positive, and open to the guidance of the Holy Spirit. If we do that, we may well find that our "season of good intentions" won’t end in disappointment or burnout, but in a renewed relationship with the risen Christ.

Friday after Ash Wednesday

Wedding banquets don’t usually come to mind when we fast during Lent; I’ve never seen fish sticks served at a reception, and I’ve been to more than a few!

Nevertheless, when Jesus was challenged about fasting in today’s gospel, he responded by calling himself a bridegroom, and by referring to us, his friends, as his wedding guests. Jesus was saying that our relationship with him, in many ways, is like a joyful wedding feast.

Jesus wants us to keep this joy in mind as we approach the discipline of fasting. We fast during Lent, not primarily to lose weight, not because it’s a Catholic cultural badge, and not because we need to prove our holiness to God or anyone else. As Catholics, we fast- from food or from anything else that can become a compulsion in our life- to help us grow in freedom, and thus bring us a little bit closer to Jesus. And anytime we grow a little bit closer to our Lord, the result is always joy. You might say, then, that we fast in order to feast- feast upon the new and abundant life that Jesus wishes to pour out on us, during this special season of grace.

Memorial of Saint Polycarp

Christian faith is a deeply personal thing. At its heart is a personal relationship with a personal God. We’re unique, as is the story of our friendship with the Lord.

At the same time, Christian faith is more than "Jesus and me." It’s also a matter of "Jesus and we." Faith in Jesus involves our being joined with Jesus’ body- the Church. And that Church has particular beliefs about who Jesus is.

These days, however, it’s tempting to think: "I’ll believe about Jesus what I want to believe. You can have your beliefs, and I’ll have mine." That seems like such an inclusive and reasonable approach. Unfortunately, it leads many to have a "mistaken identity" about Jesus. And that’s not good, because to see the face of Jesus properly is to see the face of God himself.

Confusion about Jesus’ identity is nothing new. It was certainly true of the earliest centuries of the Church, when beliefs about Jesus were being ironed out. Those involved appreciated how critical that process was. One opinion was not considered as good as another. Some were correct, others were not.

St. Polycarp, a second century bishop, found himself in the midst of those debates. He was a gentle and kind man. His teaching about Jesus, however, was uncompromising. St. Ignatius challenged him to be "firm as an anvil under a hammer" about those beliefs. St. Polycarp took that advice. He ultimately died for it.

Our personal faith in Jesus, and what the Church says is true about Jesus, are meant to go hand-in-hand. After all, as Jesus himself taught- only the truth will set us free.

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday is, to me, something of an enigma. It’s the one day on which churches are full, even though people don’t have to go to church. Ash Wednesday is not a holy day of obligation, but it almost seems to be, because it’s so popular. There’s something special and unique about today, coupled with something we find or feel within themselves, that brings us to Mass on Ash Wednesday.

We might ask ourselves: Why is it that we’re here? Why have we come today? A variety of personal answers could be given to those questions. However, I’d bet that just about all of them would boil down to something alone the lines of "I want to be a better Christian." Or "I want to grow closer to the Lord."

And that’s a wonderful thing, because only God could have given us this desire. It’s God who wants us to be better Christians; it’s God who wants us to grow closer to him. And it is he who, through the Holy Spirit, has planted those desires in our hearts. So we might say, then, that we are here, because God has called us to be here.

That’s a comforting and encouraging thought for us to hold on to today. Ash Wednesday is a day of repentance, when we openly acknowledge our sinfulness and brokenness, and ask God, not only for forgiveness, but for the grace to turn our lives around. For some of us, this can be discouraging and dispiriting. We look at ourselves, we reflect on what we may have done, we consider our lives and our circumstances, and we may conclude that real change is hopeless, or that we’re too unworthy to be forgiven.

That, however, would not be a thought that God has placed in our hearts. God didn’t call us here today to discourage us. He brought us here to bless us, fill us with hope, courage and strength, remind us how much he loves us, and of how much he wants us to love him. As Pope Benedict wrote in a message for Lent, "God is thirsting for the love of every one of us!" It is our task this Lent, through prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, to open ourselves to that love, that we may return some of that love back to him.

Monday of Ordinary 7

A busy bishop wrote of a time in his ministry when he gave greater priority to work than to prayer. He would often speak to others about the importance of prayer, but he didn’t practice what he preached. It wasn’t until fellow priests challenged him about this that he made “quality time” for prayer a daily priority.
Today’s gospel speaks of the importance of prayer. The apostles had been trying very hard to cast out a demon- but they had failed. When they asked why, Jesus said, “This kind can only come out through prayer.” The apostles had seemingly placed prayer on the back burner because they had been so preoccupied with their “work.” Ironically, their work suffered as a result.

We fall into the same trap, whenever we become so focused on getting the job done that prayer becomes an afterthought. When this happens, we might take a cue from Mother Teresa. As we all know, she could move mountains. But only because she was a woman of constant prayer.

“Because I cannot depend on my own strength,” she confessed, “I rely on him twenty-four hours a day. My secret is simple: I pray.”

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

Today’s gospel finds Jesus forgiving the sins of a paralyzed man, much to the astonishment of those who looked on. This episode reminds us that forgiveness was at the heart of Jesus’ ministry. It reminds us also that forgiveness is at the heart of our life as Christians. God offers his forgiveness to us, and he calls us to extend forgiveness to others.

 However, for us to be forgiving people, it’s essential that we be able to forgive ourselves. At first, this may strike us as self-indulgent and narcissistic. Shouldn’t forgiving others be the first priority? Not necessarily, because if we’re unable to forgive ourselves, we’ll find it much harder to forgive anyone else.

When we don’t forgive ourselves, our absorption in shame and guilt leads us to become withdrawn, defensive, and critical. In such a state of self-condemnation, the tendency is for us to condemn other people as well. And ironically, this only adds to our guilt, because as Christians we know that we should forgive them!

When we don’t forgive ourselves, everyone around us suffers- our family, friends, co-workers, even the dog, who might be subjected to a swift kick. And we suffer too- not just spiritually, but also physically. Our guilty feelings generate corrosive chemicals in our bodies that increase heart rates, raise blood pressure, disrupt digestion, tense muscles, dump cholesterol into the bloodstream, and reduce our ability to think straight. Therefore, it’s imperative that we learn to forgive ourselves- for our sakes, for our relationships with others, and for our relationship with God.

 Yet at times, this can be very difficult. We live with regret over choices we’ve made, saying things like “If only I’d done this,” or “If only I hadn’t done that.” Perhaps we’ve engaged in self-destuctive behavior like heavy drinking or compulsive gambling. Maybe we made poor choices when raising our children or taking care of elderly parents. Possibly we’re tortured over past sexual indiscretions, or an abortion. Some people fail to forgive themselves for poor financial or career choices, for rushing headlong into an ill-advised or abusive relationship, or for their contributions to a relationship’s failure. Or it could be that we didn’t do something we thought we should have, like intervening in a family crisis, or stopping a friend from driving drunk.

Whatever the specific details might be, past mistakes and sins can eat away at us. For consolation we might turn to alcohol or food. We might even wallow in our guilt, using bad feelings to ward off the consequences of our actions. In effect, we end up saying: “Hey, look how bad I feel! See how I’m suffering! I’m pitiful and pathetic! I can’t be punished any more than this- it wouldn’t be fair!” In the words of Dr. Fred Luskin, director of the Stanford University Forgiveness Project, this type of behavior is “a crazy form of penance.” He says: “Instead of taking responsibility for what we’ve done by trying to repair the damage or make things right, we punish ourselves by feeling miserable.”

Forgiving ourselves, then, may involve a long and difficult struggle. However, there are several things we can do to begin the process. First, we can make a good confession in the sacrament of reconciliation. The experience of grace and the knowledge that God has forgiven us can greatly help us to forgive ourselves. Confession can also prevent us from slipping into denial or repression. We might also share our troubles with trusted friends who can offer support, care, and advice.

It’s also helpful to apologize to the person or persons we may have hurt. Even if they don’t accept our apology, we’ve at least taken responsibility for our actions and accepted the blame. Similarly, we can try to make amends for the things we’ve done. As we’ve added to the world’s hurt, we can add to the world’s goodness in response. Perhaps we can do something kind to the person we’ve offended. Or if this isn’t possible, we can do something kind to someone else. As Dr. Luskin says: “Do good, rather than feel bad.”

It’s also important to be honest about who we are. Sometimes we have unrealistic expectations about ourselves and set impossible goals. We expect perfection, and when we fail to be perfect, we beat ourselves up in response. In addition, we need to realize that we may have been receiving negative messages from important people in our lives. We’ve been told- both verbally and non-verbally- that we’re stupid, inept, or unimportant. Over time, we begin to believe that this is true- even if it isn’t- and we punish ourselves as a result.

Another thing we can do to help forgive ourselves is to change the way we think. Instead of thinking over and over again about our past wrong, we should instead try to think about God’s love and mercy, or some act of kindness we may have performed. This isn’t a denial of what we’ve done. It’s just a realization that thinking about our misdeeds isn’t going to help the people we’ve hurt. We should never deny our sins, but we shouldn’t become obsessed with them, either.

Finally, it’s essential that we pray, asking God for the grace to forgive ourselves and to learn from our mistakes instead of being crushed by them. If we try to forgive ourselves through the force of our own willpower, we will fail and become exhausted and discouraged in the process. Forgiveness- even forgiveness of ourselves- is always a gift of God. God wants us to forgive ourselves; it is God gives us the desire to forgive ourselves; and it is God who will give us the grace to do it.

Saturday of Ordinary 6

Should we suffer a tragedy or heartbreak, or experience the loss of a loved one, our faith can be deeply shaken. We might wonder why God would allow such a thing to happen, or if he really cares. We might even doubt that he exists at all.

            Jesus knows that any of us can be tempted to think this way. Even his disciples weren’t immune. After his death, they were devastated, scared and confused. They hadn’t really understood Jesus’ words about resurrection. The crucifixion, they assumed, was the end of the story.

            Our Lord anticipated this. That’s one reason why he allowed Peter, James, and John to witness his transfiguration. He wanted to give them something to hold on to, when all else seemed lost. Should they fall into the pit of despair, Jesus wanted them to recall that mountaintop. Their darkness, he hoped, might be broken by his light.

            That’s Jesus’ hope for us too. He invites us to recall the times he’s broken into our lives, whenever we feel that our lives have been broken. It’s always better to light a candle than curse the darkness. Yet when we can’t even light a candle, we can still cherish our glimpses of the Light.

Friday of Ordinary 6

For many of us- and I include myself- the first thing we do in the morning is reach for the snooze bar on the alarm clock! However, I know of some who make it a practice to immediately rise from bed, kneel on the floor, and pray the word “Serviam,” which is Latin for “I will serve.”

            This single word, “Serviam,” reminds those who pray it that our Christian vocation- our purpose in life- is to serve God, serve the Church, and serve our fellow human beings. Our Lord stressed this very point in today’s gospel: If we wish to follow him we must deny ourselves; we are to lose our lives for his sake and that of the gospel. To put it another way, Christianity is more about what we can do for Jesus, than it is about what Jesus can do for us. The Christian life is one not of selfishness, but surrender; not of self-fulfillment, but of self-sacrifice; not of self-service, but of service to the Lord.

            So perhaps the prayer in our heart today might be “Serviam,” as we leave this Mass with the dismissal, “Go forth to love and serve the Lord.”

Wednesday of Ordinary 6

Rome wasn’t built in a day, we often say. And neither, as a matter of fact, are the saints of God.

We see this hinted at in today’s gospel. Jesus touched a blind man to restore his sight, but his first attempt was only partly successful. The man could see, but his vision was blurry; people looked like "walking trees." It was only after Jesus touched him a second time that his sight was fully restored.

What happened here? Did Jesus need a "do over" in order to get it right?　 Not at all. Instead, this story is meant to remind us that it takes time to become the saints Jesus wants us to be.　 To see the way　Jesus wanted him　to see, Jesus had to　touch the blind man twice. For us to see　the way Jesus wants us to see,　he’ll need to touch us　many, many　more times than that.

When it comes to sainthood, you and I are works in progress. If we ever think the work is complete, we’d better think twice! There’s always much more to be done. We need patience with ourselves; we need patience with others, too.

Rome wasn’t built in a day. 3,000 years later, it’s still under construction! And "pardon our dust," so are we. But that’s okay: Our Lord was a carpenter. He knows how to finish the job.

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

After curing a leper of his disease, Jesus him not to tell anyone about what had taken place. However, the man was understandably so excited and grateful that he simply couldn’t restrain himself, and he spread the good news of his healing far and wide. As a consequence, so many people wanted to meet Jesus that he wasn’t able to openly enter a town, and he chose instead to stay outside, in deserted places.

This gives rise to certain questions. Why did Jesus insist that the leper not tell anyone about his cure? Why wouldn’t Jesus have wanted to enter a town openly? Why was he trying to maintain such a low profile by staying in the desert? It’s not because Jesus avoiding publicity or running away from responsibility. Instead, Jesus was concerned that people were getting a mistaken idea about who he was and what his ministry was all about.

Of the great numbers of people who were seeking Jesus, many of them were searching for a wonder-worker or a miracle-maker. It could be that they were sick and hoping for a cure, or maybe they just wanted to witness something spectacular or sensational. Others were looking for Jesus because they had heard he was powerful- a person who might be able to advance their cause, whatever it might have been.

And who can blame them? We too look to Jesus to work wonders for us, especially when we’re sick or in trouble, and we certainly ask him to bless our plans and projects. There are legitimate things to pray for, and Jesus invites us to pray for them. And Jesus does indeed work miracles. He did so in gospel times, and he continues to do so today.

However, problems arise when we understand Jesus as nothing more than a wonderworker. For instance, we might be tempted to give him our time and attention only when we needed something- hardly the basis of a loving relationship. And what if the miracles we seek don’t materialize? Does it mean that Jesus is unhappy with us? Is it a sign that Jesus doesn’t care? Does it suggest that God doesn’t exist at all? Or is it a reflection that we don’t have enough faith?

In a sense, it is a matter of faith, because faith in a Jesus who is simply a wonderworker is simply incomplete. Jesus is God’s fullest revelation of himself to us. If we want to know what God is like, we need to look to Jesus. And Jesus reveals God to be far more than just a performer of miracles. The God revealed by Jesus is a God who entered our world in great humility, and who suffered alongside us by dying on a cross.

As Christians, it’s critically important that we understand this. If we don’t appreciate Jesus’ suffering and crucifixion, we’ll never fully understand Jesus. And if we don’t understand Jesus, we certainly can’t hope to really understand God. And if we don’t understand God, our whole perception of reality and the meaning of life will be terribly and fundamentally out of whack. This is why Jesus is so concerned that people truly know who he is. And the key to this knowledge is his suffering. In the words of Blessed Charles de Foucauld, "It was not by his miracles, (and) not by his good works that Jesus saved the world, it was by his cross."

The disciples struggled with this, however, as is especially clear in Mark’s gospel, from which today’s reading was taken. Time and time again we hear of Jesus’ frustration over their incomplete and sometimes misguided faith. And of course, we can and do wrestle with the very same issue.

Most of us expect God to be able to perform miracles. After all, he is the almighty creator of heaven and earth, as we profess together whenever we recite the Nicene Creed at Mass. The same was true in Jesus’ day- people expected gods to hurl thunderbolts and things like that. Indeed it’s because Jesus was able to perform miraculous cures that attracted so much interest and attention.

However, nobody really expects God to suffer, and that’s why we can get so confused. Because he is God, we expect Jesus to do certain things and act in a certain way, and when he doesn’t meet our expectations, we can became perplexed and even angry. Yet through his suffering, Jesus transcends the idol we sometimes mistake for the real God.

But why did God in Jesus choose to suffer alongside us? He certainly didn’t have to! God is absolutely free- he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want. We’ll probably never know the whole truth of the matter, this side of heaven. We simply have to accept that the answer is ultimately shrouded in mystery. We do have a few clues, however. We know that God is love. And we know that all of us suffer- it’s part of the human condition. And in a suffering world it would be hard to conceive of God as love, if God himself were aloof or removed from the suffering. If he were, it would be very easy to write him off as uncaring and indifferent.

Indifference and love, however, are complete opposites; they are mutually exclusive ways of thinking and being. Love is never indifferent. On the contrary, love is always concerned; love is always involved. So maybe it was inevitable, then, that Jesus would suffer with us, to express his love for us. As Pope St. Leo the Great once wrote: "There was no other reason for the Son of God to be born, than that he might die on a cross."

Memorial of Our Lady of Lourdes

Because we Americans are so fond of caffeinated drinks- not to mention beer and wine- it’s said that up to three quarters of us live in a mild state of dehydration. Our bodies don’t have enough water, and we suffer as a result.

I have a feeling that equal numbers of Catholics walk around in a similar state of dehydration. Not because we’re physically dehydrated, but because we’re spiritually thirsty.

Perhaps this is why Our Lady of Lourdes, in her appearances to young St. Bernadette some 150 years ago, directed her to a spring of water- a spring which in the years since has drawn over 200 million pilgrims, looking for this water to heal them and quench their thirst.

The water of Lourdes speaks to us of another water. During his own pilgrimage to Lourdes, Pope Benedict recalled Jesus’ words that rivers of living water would flow from the hearts of all who believe in him. More than anyone else, this is true of Mary. The living water which flows from her heart is her love for us as mother, which heals and purifies us, and draws us closer to Jesus her son. It is to "quench their thirst at this spring of love," the Holy Father concluded, that ultimately draws people to Lourdes, and this "living water" is the greatest blessing they receive when they come.

Yes, there are miraculous healings at Lourdes- the church officially recognizes 67, and there have been countless other "phenomenal events," as they’ve come to be called. But the greatest healing is to be filled with the hope and strength which comes from experiencing the love of Mary, which flows from the love of Jesus.

We might say then, that Our Lady of Lourdes’ words to St. Bernadette are also directed to us: "Go, and drink from the spring."

Thursday of Ordinary 5

One Super Bowl TV ad from a few years back featured men being whacked by bowling balls, 2 x 4’s, and golf clubs, in addition to being zapped with electricity and smacked on the head by a highway overpass. The point of this was to demonstrate that, with the exception of the taste of diet cola, “men can take anything.” Now, women who have gone through labor make take exception to this claim! However, regardless of who has a higher threshold for pain, men or women, the truth is that most of us, as human beings, don’t want to “take anything.” We don’t wish to suffer, and we don’t like to see others suffer either. This might explain why Peter, in today’s gospel, reacted the way he did when Jesus revealed that he would soon suffer, and die.

The fact remains, however, that suffering is an inevitable, and unavoidable, part of human existence. As Catholics, how do we come to terms with this? We might take a cue from Jesus’ words to Peter: We need to think as God does, and not as human beings do.

God created us in his image: to be like him; to love like him. But for us to love like God, we actually need to suffer. Suffering is part of the “core curriculum” in the school of love. Pope Benedict said as much in his encyclical letter on hope, Spe Salvi. “(We) suffer,” he wrote, “in order to become a person who truly loves.” In fact, to love is to suffer, the Holy Father explained, because love involves sacrifice, patience, forgiveness, and the risk of sharing ourselves with others, who may reject us or hurt us.

In his love for us, the Son of Man insisted that we needed to suffer. And so do we, if we wish to love, like the Son of Man.

Wednesday of Ordinary 5

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching, hearts are in evidence just about everywhere. And that’s understandable, because for us, hearts are a symbol of love. Hearts come to mind when we think about our "sweethearts."

Jesus wants us to think about hearts too. In today’s gospel, he’s concerned that our hearts be clean, and not filled with things that "defile" them. We might say that Jesus is concerned with the condition and health of our hearts, because he wants our hearts for himself. Jesus wants us to open our hearts to his love; he wants our hearts to be united in love; he wants to fill our hearts with the pure and perfect love that only he is able to give.

That’s why, at this and every Mass, we’ve invited to "lift up" our hearts – to raise our hearts to Jesus and place them in his hands, that he might take our hearts, and place them next to his.

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Jesus was busy and in demand, in today’s gospel Great crowds were seeking him out day and night. It seemed like everybody wanted something from him- a moment of his time, a word of wisdom, a healing touch. At the same time, Jesus was on the move, traveling from town to town. Yet we also heard how, in spite of everything he had to do, Jesus rose early before dawn, went off to deserted place, and there he prayed alone, in solitude.

In doing so, Jesus sets an important example for us. Like him, most of us are very busy people. Our days are filled with exhausting demands on our time and energy. But if we don’t make time for solitary prayer, like our Lord did, we can conclude that our commitments, duties, obligations, and our other various pursuits are the "sum total" of our existence. We’ll come to sound like Job in the first reading, lamenting that our days are a drudgery, we work like dogs, living from paycheck to paycheck, and that the days just fly by without any real purpose, and without any real happiness.

However, when we do make time to pray, we’re reminded of "what it’s all about," and we learn about who it is we really are. I say this because the world does its best to convince us that we are someone who we really aren’t. And if we listen, we end up with a false self-understanding, a misguided sense of identity.

Specifically, our unredeemed world places a great deal of importance on several things: Money, reputation, occupation, position, beauty, busyness, and our contacts and connections. In other words, the world values who we know, how much we have, what we’ve accomplished, what we do, and what we look like doing it. And because the world considers such things to be so important, we can conclude that our value as people depends on our having such things. And that’s when we begin our exhausting quest- a quest not only of desire, but also of fear of failure, of the world writing us off as worthless.

This quest, however, also gives birth to the two main enemies of the Christian life: Anger, and greed. When our sense of self depends on what we can get, greed flares up when our desires are frustrated. And when our sense of self depends on what others think or say of us, we get angry when others don’t see us or speak of us in ways we think they should- either because of who we think we are, or at least because of who it is we want to become.

This is why, as Jesus himself shows us, we need a discipline of regular, habitual, solitary prayer. In solitary prayer we struggle to be liberated from this false self-understanding- this ultimately unsatisfying and even destructive way of living our life- by a grace-filled encounter with the gentle, healing presence of the Lord.

Solitary prayer shouldn’t be confused with that time we spend alone, with ourselves. We talk these days of having "me time" in which we can rest, relax, do things we enjoy, and "recharge our batteries," so to speak. And all things considered, "me time" can be good. Indeed, we have a God who has commanded us to rest- every week- from our work and other duties. However, time for ourselves is simply an opportunity for refreshment. In contrast, solitary prayer is an exercise in conversion.

Regular, solitary prayer leads to conversion in which our old self dies, only to be replaced a new self- a new self rooted in Christ and animated by the Holy Spirit. In solitary prayer we’re forced to leave behind all those things we normally cling to in order to give our lives meaning: Friends, associates, work, projects, telephone and e-mail. We don’t have a mirror to gaze into or anything to entertain and distract us like books, music, and TV. In prayer, it’s just us and God.

We may resist this encounter. We’ll often want to run back to these things we’ve been clinging to, because they’ve been our security blanket. We’re afraid to cross the "bridge of change," as author Peggy Rooney has put it, and we don’t want to make the determined effort that real change requires. Being alone with God may make us feel weak, vulnerable, broken, and sinful- qualities we don’t like to recognize or acknowledge about ourselves. We’re afraid of what God may say to us or what he may ask of us to do. Anxiety and complacency, anger and resentment, may very well rear their ugly heads when we pray.

However, if we maintain our discipline of solitary prayer, God will shatter the shell of our false self, and a new person will emerge- a person that God created us to be, a person not driven and shaped by the demands and expectations of the world around us. In the words of the great spiritual writer Henri Nouwen, "We can slowly let our compulsions melt away and begin to experience the freedom of the children of God. And then we can look back and see with a smile and realize that we aren’t even angry or greedy anymore."

Friday of Ordinary 4

King Herod was a terribly conflicted man. He enjoyed listening to John the Baptist, but at the same time, he wanted to kill him. Herod knew John to speak the truth, but he feared truth’s consequences. So instead of facing the truth, Herod tried to sweep it under the carpet by having John thrown into jail.

But don’t we sometimes know the truth, but fear its consequences? Maybe we know we have to break that bad habit, but we don’t want to make the effort. Maybe we know we need to work on a problem in a relationship, but we’re worried about getting into a big fight. Maybe we know we need to make a difficult decision, but we procrastinate out of fear. Or maybe we know that we were wrong about something, but we won’t admit it or apologize, because we’re too stubborn.

In situations like these, we’re tempted to ignore the truth, instead of dealing with it courageously and constructively. The problem is: Whenever we try to avoid the truth, it’s going to come back and haunt us. King Herod actually thought that John had come back from the dead in order to haunt him! For us, we’ll be haunted by mental anguish, spiritual anguish, and even physical anguish in the form of ulcers, headaches, and backaches. Our lack of peace will affect our work and our relationships, because we’ll either become short-tempered and irritable, or we’ll retreat into our shell, and isolate ourselves. In short, whenever we deny the truth, we are denied peace.

Today’s gospel, then, presents us with a choice: We can walk Herod’s path, and become a captive to our fears. Or we can follow John the Baptist and discover that it is only the truth, even with its price, that can release us, and set us free.

Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

There’s something wonderful about candlelight, isn’t there? It’s mysterious, comforting, joyful, simple, and relaxing. For we Christians, candlelight can speak to us of Jesus himself- he who is the light from light, the light of the world, the light that shall not be overcome by darkness.

            Today we celebrate the feast of the Presentation of the Lord, traditionally known as “Candlesmas,” because the liturgy begins with our bringing blessed candles into the midst of the church.

We do this in memory of what we heard in today’s gospel: How when Mary and Joseph brought their child into the great Jerusalem Temple, Simeon, a faithful man filled with the Holy Spirit, proclaimed Jesus to be the  “light of the nations.”

            This occasion of Jesus’ coming to the Temple is symbolic of Jesus coming to us, his people, because Scripture speaks of us as living stones of a living temple, of which Jesus himself is the capstone.

            Through the Holy Spirit, Simeon and Anna recognized Jesus coming to them as a baby. Through the Holy Spirit, we recognize Jesus coming to us in so many ways: in his word proclaimed in Holy Scriptures, in our sufferings and our joys, in the faces of the poor and vulnerable, in the faces of our Christian brothers and sisters, in the midst of this liturgical assembly, in the person of the priest standing at the altar, and supremely in his Body and Blood given to us in the Eucharist, the one pure sacrifice foretold in the first reading, from Malachi.

            When Jesus came to Simeon at the Temple, Simeon rejoiced and burst into song. We rejoice today that Jesus comes to us, we who are the temple, and that we have a loving savior who is so close, so intimate, and so near.