You might have missed a most interesting line in Luke’s gospel today. Jesus is “resolutely” heading to Jerusalem with his entourage, after ministering around the Sea of Galilee. He knows his hour has come. They pass through the previously hostile cities of Samaria, which is the quickest way to their destination, and the Samarians will have none of it. Interesting. Remember, Jesus has revealed that he is the Messiah to them before the Jews, and he upholds them as the model of charity in knowing who is thy neighbor. Yet Luke writes: “On the way they entered a Samaritan village to prepare for his reception there, but they would not welcome him, because the destination of his journey was Jerusalem.” Very interesting. Now why might that be?
I’m going to wander down a path further than maybe I should, but I think it’s the right way as I see a light at the end. Slip on their shoes for a minute. They’ve been maligned, neglected, and ostracized by the Jews, but made to feel respected, beloved, and welcomed by Jesus. Rumor has it that he’s the Messiah and they, the Samarians, are the source of that truth. He’s ate with them, instructed them, and healed their wounds - on the inside and out. They are a changed people. Elevated by his presence and preaching. They know him. They love him. And want him to stay by their sides and in their hearts forever. They want to protect him from his destiny with death, not yet understanding the resurrection. They’re hurt and beyond upset that he won’t stay. I get it. When you love someone, you want to be with him. Forever. That’s what it’s like to be in a relationship with Jesus.
In the end they just have to say, “Go. We can’t do this anymore. We can’t hurt this much, this hard. You are not welcome here this time.” If Jesus was passing through Hastings on his way to the Cathedral to meet his demise, what would you say? #pleasedontleaveme
“It is especially sobering to learn that when Pew surveyors asked the question, ‘Which comes closest to your view of God: God is a person with whom people can have a relationship, or God is an impersonal force?’ only 48 percent of Catholics were absolutely certain that the God they believed in was a God with whom they could have a personal relationship.”
I’m here in Phoenix, giving my Mom a respite from the daily grind of caring for my Dad. He’s in the mid-stages of dementia, you know, and some days are just hard. Hard on the mind, body, and soul. As I type this column, he’s nodded off in his favorite recliner, oblivious to the fact I’ve dropped his life partner off at the airport, I think. I imagine there will be moments when he asks when his wife is coming home from the grocers or stretch class or from coffee with friends. I’ll just say she’s spending time with friends, and she’ll be back on Sunday to celebrate Father’s Day. Maybe show him the calendar on the fridge that I will use to mark the days.
My Mom grew up in abject poverty and when I was born, things weren’t much different. My two brothers followed me in quick succession, and we made a simple home. After my fifth year, my biological Dad decided he didn’t really like the demands of family life and off he went, never to be seen again. I imagine he regretted that choice, but I never really knew.
I asked my Mom If she ever imagined that she would be where she is today – in a place of financial stability and the security of authentic love. She thought about it for a minute and replied that it was a miracle. And the miracle was that the man I call my Dad fell in love with a young woman and three children and made them whole.
That’s what a Father does for those He loves. That’s what Jesus does for us in the Eucharist. He makes us whole through His sacrificial love. And that, my friends, is the true miracle. #happyFathersDay
Ah, to be young and in love. I gained a delightful daughter a few weeks ago, as my son married the love of his life. They wanted to tell the world that LOVE is BEAUTIFUL and worth celebrating. Their love is the best kind of love: patient and kind, other-focused, rejoices in each other’s success, not jealous nor rude nor grudge-bearing. It is the kind of love we long for, fight for, and protect once it’s found. Their love is based on admiration and equality, in all the right ways. Together they moved into a recently-purchased house this week, and my son told me that they purchased this house within ‘his’ means, so that his lovely bride could choose to work – or not – and follow whatever professional dream she may have. He wants nothing but her happiness and allow her to flourish in her personal and professional life. He wants to look out for her. It seems there is a bit of chivalry in my son – he wants to protect his wife not because she is weak, but because she is so incredibly valuable to him.
And so it is with the Trinity, yes? The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit has so much love between them, that it naturally spilled out into creation. And that creation – you and I and everyone and everything else – is so incredibly valuable and beloved to them. They desire our happiness and want us to flourish. They are patient, kind, supportive, gentle in their correction, and believe that every single one of us is worth dying for. #thankyouJesus
Their love for us is forever young and eternally beautiful. It rejoices in this Truth. Their love for us bears all things, believes in all things, endures all things. Their love never fails us. #a1Corinthians13love
At the height of Covid, my Delta ap refused to let me log in. I needed to book a ticket for my daughter’s wedding in Wyoming and flights into Jackson are only once-a-day; time was of the essence. I called the Delta customer service number and received this response, “Your call is important to us. We are currently experiencing an overwhelming volume. A service representative will be with you as soon as possible. Your call will be answered in the order it was received. The current wait time is… 3 hours and 45 minutes.” Since I desperately needed to get my ap to work and/or book a ticket, I had to wait. I set my phone on speaker mode and proceeded to clean the house. It was a bit stressful. I didn’t want to make too much noise lest I miss the reps voice. The hours stretched on, and the silence was only broken by a voice reminding me how important my call is and not to hang up.
Waiting on hold is hard. Waiting for a test result is even harder. Awaiting immanent death is excruciatingly difficult. But what about waiting for something you know is going to come, but not sure when? Like the turn arrow signal at General Siebenaler and Hwy 55? If I’ve just missed that turn arrow, I pull out my phone and scroll through Facebook. If I’m going to be there awhile, I need a distraction to pass the time.
How about waiting for Jesus to return? It’s been for-ever since the disciples left Bethany, all super-excited for both the coming of the Holy Spirit and the re-descent of Jesus. If you read Acts of the Apostles and Paul’s letters closely, you’ll see that most folks thought Jesus was coming soon, so evangelization was urgent. “They’ll come back to faith when they’re older,” said no one. The Apostles spread the Good News with passion. Paul was relentless in his pursuit of conversion. Followers of Jesus were on fire for the faith. No one was distracted from bringing new souls to Jesus. #whatsyourdistraction
All 84 of our Confirmation candidates have now received the final sacrament of initiation, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, received the supernatural gifts intended for them! In two weeks we’ll have the Rite of Receiving, and you’ll be able to see their smiling faces and transformed souls.
It’s interesting… they are a little unsure of these gifts for themselves, but when I ask them which ones their parents received, they can identify who-has-which-gift in hot minute: wisdom, understanding, counsel, fortitude, knowledge, piety, and fear of the Lord. The same for fruits of the Holy Spirit: charity, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, generosity, gentleness, faithfulness, modesty, self-control, and chastity. We also receive particular charisms from God - these are things like discernment of spirits, prophecy, speaking in and interpretation of tongues, leadership, administration, evangelization, service, and leadership, to name a few.
These are the weapons the Holy Spirit generously provides, so that we can fulfill our mission in this war-torn walking-wounded world. Paul certainly had the gift of fortitude, the fruit of patience, and the charism of evangelization. Peter perhaps had wisdom, faithfulness, and leadership. St. Elizabeth Ann Seton seems to have been given fear of the Lord, charity, and administration. Which brings me to YOU.
Which has the Holy Spirit given you and how do you use it to build up the faith in others and the Church in general? Or are you using them for yourself? You see, you have free will to use the gifts of the Spirit however you choose. Perhaps you received the gift of wisdom and parlayed it into a successful financial advisory career or the gift of counsel and have a lovely mentoring role in a Fortune 500 firm. Or fortitude (perseverance) in grinding work you aren’t fond of or a personal piety that gives you a pretty amazing prayer life. Those aren’t bad things, of course, but the true purpose of your gifts is to build up the Church of God. When you do, they become strengthened and, well… supernatural and superabundant. And pretty amazing, actually. #builduptheChurch
We had an amazing family practice physician when we lived in California. He taught me how to reset a dislocated elbow, gave me a home otoscope to check for ear infections, and tried to do as much as possible through phone consultations for our four kiddos under-the-age-of-ten. He realized accidents and illness didn’t happen only during the daytime; his after-hours service forwarded my call every time. Such a gift to our family.
Towards the end of our West Coast stint, I thanked him for the care he provided to our family. I asked him how to find a new family physician who was pro-life and large-family friendly in Minnesota. He paused and said, “I don’t do abortions as you know, but I do support a woman’s right to choose. My favorite aunt died in a botched back-alley abortion, and I’ve never forgotten the devastation it brought to my family. Abortion must be medically regulated.” I was stunned. This family-friendly, Christian, generous, and medically-trained man supported the taking of an innocent and ensouled life in the womb.
I get it. Grief is devastating. The loss of a life changes you. It alters the way you process events in order to facilitate healing. Something horrible happened in culture when we legalized abortion, and in order to heal from it all, the narrative must change. The arguments are now over the right to a procedure or the right to privacy, not the rights of a newly-developing child. We’ve had to accept sexual freedom and reject consequences to hide the scars of immorality. We’ve shifted from personhood words like heartbeats and fingerprints to less-personal ideas like legal precedence and personal choice in order to heal the brokenness.
But authentic healing only happens through love, the self-giving and sacrificial kind-of-love Jesus commanded us to live. “My children,” Jesus calls each one of us in today’s Gospel, knowing us before we were conceived in our mother’s womb, “love one another as I have loved you.” This is the kind of love that transforms grief and re-imagines a culture where every child conceived is adored and beloved. #Mychildren
There is a lot going on in our reading from Acts of the Apostles today. Paul has been given the mission of bringing the Good News of Jesus and the Resurrection to the Gentiles (which includes anyone who isn’t Jewish, regardless of nationality). It’s early in his post-conversion life, in fact it’s his first preaching assignment. The disciples have accepted him as one of their own, and it seems the Holy Spirit has destined him to travel with Barnabas to a small Roman town with a significant Jewish population, Antioch of Pisidia. Once in town, they immediately head to where folks gather: the Synagogue. Here, the law and prophets are read, and the synagogue officials, noting the presence of the very intelligent and well-respected Pharisee named Saul, ask him “for a word of exhortation.”
Oh boy. Saul-now-Paul gives them an exhortation they are not expecting: An Old-Testament-laden sermon about how Jesus fulfills the prophecies of a Messiah! Yikes! We skip over this sermon in today’s reading, and fall headlong into the drama. Immediately after this service, the leading Jews tell Paul and Barnabas to “remain faithful to the grace of God.” As in, stop this nonsense about Jesus. But word gets around. People talk. You can imagine the whispered conversations, yes?
The following Sabbath, everyone, almost the entire city, gathers to hear Paul and Barnabas speak about Jesus. And the Jewish rabbis are not happy, not happy at all. They speak with the “violent abuse” of jealousy and rage against our heroes. But the Gentiles are delighted, for they felt like they finally belonged to a community where everyone is treated as equals. Which infuriate the rabbis further (hierarchy, anyone?), so they recruit the leading Jewish women and secular men of the community to have Paul and Barnabas expelled from town, for they’ve upended the social order. The last-shall-be-first and love-thy-neighbor-as-thyself. Speak gently and judge not. Defend dignity and morality. Sins-forgiven not sacrifice-for-sin.
Whew. But that’s what following Jesus means. To be “filled with joy and the Holy Spirit,” when persecuted for talking about Jesus or upending the social order. #belikePaul
I read a book over the Triduum/Easter titled “Numbering My Days,” by the 30-something college professor, Dad, and Catholic convert, Chene Heady. He wrote this slim volume after spending a year contemplating the liturgical readings and how they exercised influence on his daily decisions. Some of those choices were small: how to be more present to his toddler, for example. Some were risky: whether to give a witness talk to a room full of college freshman and faith-dismissive colleagues. Still others were life-altering: should they buy a bigger house or have another child. What has stayed with me throughout these last few weeks is how Dr. Heady took the readings to heart and pondered how they concretely influence his world. And this is indeed the subtitle: “How the Liturgical Calendar Rearranged My Life.”
Simon Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, and James and John have spent the last three years of their lives rearranging their lives to accommodate the Word Made Flesh: Jesus. They left family and friends to follow him around Judea, listening to him preach, watching him heal the broken and broken-hearted, asking questions, vocalizing concerns, and imagining what this coming Kingdom might look like.
It certainly wasn’t the chaos of rejection, the suffering and death on the cross, the laying of Jesus’ body in an unmarked tomb, followed by its unbelievable emptiness three days later. Yet that’s how it all shook out, yes? It seems as though the disciples process these unlikely turn of events by simply going back to what they know, the business of fishing. It appears the first Easter is relegated into the hold of their memories, while nets and fishhooks are retrieved. Life goes on as before. Nothing changes.
But Jesus seeks them out, reminding them that he will be with them as they love the world into rebirth. He is the one they will still orient their lives around, the One who will still number their days, order their weeks, and arrange their years. So. Does your post-Resurrection life look different? Or have you gone back to the same-old, same-old? Jesus is waiting. #rearrangeyourlife
I was at my home parish throughout the Triduum and Easter, catching up with old friends and making new ones, amidst the beauty and glory of the liturgies. It’s a small community, where no one is a stranger, really. We caught up on the Good that’s happened while I’ve been away, with long hugs, sweet laughter, and joy in abundance. As with all communities, it’s not been without its sorrows too. Some delightful souls have gone home to be with the Lord, and a couple more are in the process of unpacking their earthly baggage, preparing to meet Jesus with nothing but open arms. There were a few folks ‘missing in action’ too, although as it turns out, they were just missing in our action - they had joined our local megachurch.
Here’s where our readings today come into play. “Many signs and wonders were done among the people at the hands of the apostles,” means that lives were changed through prayer and friendship and looking out for one another in a meaningful way. John ends up on Patmos because he “shares in the distress, the kingdom, and the endurance we have in Jesus,” which means that suffering isn’t absent from life, but holding Jesus in his heart and in his work makes it all worthwhile. Jesus appears to hiding disciples, greeting them, “Peace be with you,” meaning that faith can overcome any angst in our troubled souls.
That is the Good News: Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection makes a difference in the way we live ours. We worship each Sunday in reverent joy, we reach out to neighbors in distress, we share in the joys of new life, and help shoulder the burdens of sorrow. We gather together outside of Sundays, encouraging one another to live a life of virtue infused with hope. We wrap justice in mercy and forgiveness. We speak with gentle tongues borne from a grace-filled heart. Our faith lives are not separate from professional ones, we bring Jesus everywhere. This kind of authentic witness is what draws folks to a faith community. Let’s make it ours. #churchiseverywhere
In 2010, Iraqi militants attack Our Lady of Salvation Catholic Church in Baghdad during Sunday night Mass. Popular youth speaker Chris Stefanick recounts this event in a Confirmation video I show to our youth. In Chris’ worldwide travels, he came to know a few Catholic families in Baghdad, who happen to be at this Mass. He began receiving texts that went something like this: “Pray for us. Heading to Mass. Know it might be dangerous.” A few hours later, “Militants surrounded Church. Tell your people to pray.” And much later, “Attacked. Chaos. Friends dead. Pray for us.” Chris calls everyone he knows, gathers his family and heads to Mass. As they walk in, Chris spies a young teen playing a video game in the back pew alongside parents typing on their phones. It stops him cold. Recounting the story, he looks squarely into the camera (and at us) to say, “How can it be, that 2,000 miles away one teen risks his life to worship the Risen Jesus and here in my town another teen just doesn’t care?”
I know this is an odd way to begin an Easter column, at a church whose mission is to create joyful disciples and whose vision is to be a community that radiates Christ’s love to everyone we meet. It’s not what I thought I would be writing, but the Lord wouldn’t let this one off my heart. You see, when we look at the cross high above our sanctuary each day at Mass, we see the intermingling of unfathomable love and unimaginable sacrifice. Jesus walked the Via Dolorosa because he knew his Resurrection would change people’s lives. He knew that no one escapes suffering and setback in this life, but that a deep and abiding faith in Him alongside a community of like-minded believers would alleviate the hardship of it all. We are hope-full, eager for more, prayer-filled, service-oriented people because we believe life with Jesus is a wonderful adventure. Are you tired of a distracted and boring life? Curious about a life filled with meaning and purpose? Come and see. #AdventuresatStElizabethAnnSeton
I’ve spent a week with my parents, soaking up time and wisdom, as only the Lord knows how our lives will unfold and intertwine over the coming year. Most evenings we watched Judge Judy and Jeopardy, two diverse manifestations of wisdom, yes? One seeks the truth of the matter at hand, while the other seeks the knowledge of an individual, but both show us a bit of what we would consider wisdom. A question on Jeopardy went something like this: “This road is named for the way of suffering,” to which the contestant replied, “What is the Via Dolorosa” for the win. She knew what it was, but I wonder if she had any inclination of how hard it to navigate the narrow paths and sudden turns of such a road, or what truths the way of suffering beholds.
So it is with Palm Sunday. We know so much about the Last Supper, the arrest in the Garden, the betrayal of Judas and the denial of Peter, the sudden change in popular opinion, the division between sinners, and those final bold moments of the cross. We could easily identify the players in the category of The Last Hours of Jesus and make a bid for Final Jeopardy.
But do we try to understand the reality of the drama and seek the Truth of the meaning of suffering? Where do you stand in the drama at hand? A disciple breaking bread with the Lord, unaware of what is to come? One who defends the laws but not with mercy? A bystander upset by the inflicted violence? Or someone who prefers to not be involved in matters of faith? Persecuted or outcast for your belief? Under physical duress through no fault of your own? Undergone a reversal of fortune or a sudden loss in popularity? Jesus knows exactly where you stand and feels your pain. Or your apathy, which also pains him.
Life isn’t always fair and earthly justice doesn’t always prevail. The question is if you’ll allow Jesus to walk alongside you in life. Which is the Truth of matter at hand. #JudgeJudyapproved
My Instagram account was hacked a few weeks ago, despite my feeble attempts to protect my online space. If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook, you know my response. It went something like this:
“Dear Mr./Ms. Hacker,
For what it’s worth, I hope all the folks in my Contact List pray for the conversion of your soul. I hope that you are covered in kindness, smothered with grace, and succumb to the power of the Holy Spirit to do Good in this world. Clearly, you are talented and have time on your hands. Please use your gifts to bring peace and joy to the world.”
In addition, I asked my Instagram peeps to send photos of Bible quotes to the person impersonating me, since I am all over that kind of thing. In some respects, it’s a worthless response. I highly doubt a hacker/bot is going to read any quotes or take any delight in knowing that folks are praying for the conversion of his/her soul. But I have to do something, like the father in today’s Gospel of the prodigal son. I have to believe that the father thinks about and prays for the son who is lost in the indulgent ways of the world, in the same way that our Father in heaven thinks about and prays for all the lost souls, having the time of their lives without recourse to virtue.
I believe this because I was once a prodigal daughter, even though I showed up for Sunday Mass each week. My Sunday definitely did not spill into my Monday; I was lucky if those spiritual graces even made it to the afternoon’s repast. I believed in God the way that the son believed he had a father. It just didn’t make much of a difference in my life, you know? Like my hacker whose life isn’t changed by prayers or Bible quotes. So…The question that must be asked this fourth week of Lent is: “Do you know that our Lord is thinking about you right now?” #Hewantsyourheart
We’re in week three of Lent, and I have to ask, “Are your Lenten disciplines bringing you into an intimate relationship with God? Or do they just reflect your own personal strength?” I often wonder what Moses was thinking about his life before he met God in the not-burning bush? Here he was, a Prince of Egypt, surrounded by royalty and luxury, and living the good life. But he kills an Egyptian overseer, the Pharoah uncovers his crime, and Moses runs to Midian to escape sudden death. Moses is an important Egyptian to the priest Reuel, and thus gives his daughter Zipporah in marriage. Shortly thereafter, Moses has the coveted son, Gershon. Moses now has it all… a lovely dowry from Zipporah, a fine reputation from Reuel, and a firstborn son. It’s much like he had in Egypt, except this time he’s amassed it all by the strength of his own hand. Life doesn’t get much better than this.
Until it does, for Moses meets the God of the Israelites upon Mount Horeb.
Moses has an intimate encounter that he never dreamed possible. A God so intense that His presence consumes a bush without destroying it. He removes his sandals and hides his face so that there is nothing between him and the God of creation. No barriers. No filters. No obstacles. Just God and Moses. And like the created bush before him, Moses is surrounded and captivated without injury. Isn’t that the purpose of Lent? To be intimate and captivated by Jesus?
Yes, Moses goes on to give excuses as to why he cannot do God’s work, and I’m not any different: I’ll look foolish. No one will believe me. Or listen to me. I’ll not speak eloquently. I’m not holy enough. Please send someone else. But like Moses, God will provide. It will not be by my hand, but by God’s grace, out of an abiding love for me. So. Are your Lenten disciplines bringing you into an intimate relationship with God? Are you bearing good fruit? #ponderingLent
Ready for your next Lenten question? Again, it’s pretty straight-forward: “Are you interested in transformation, or are you not?” I’m not completely sure Peter, James, and John knew what they were in for at the beginning of their three-year adventure. Fishermen by trade and friends by choice, they first met Jesus after a long night of unfruitful work, remember? They had been toiling all night on their own and caught not a single fish. The boys let Jesus in their boat and the next thing you know, their life is changed. Transformed, you might say, though I’m not sure the three of them knew how this new itinerant lifestyle was all going to shake out. They all took a risk, like their ancestor Abraham before them. Look where? Do what? Walk with Whom? Are you kidding me? It’s a dangerous and unsafe world out there beyond our comfort zones. We might get lost on unfamiliar paths, or be persecuted for the faith, or even die to our selfish interests! Yep. It’s true.
Love is risky business, you know.
And the basis for transformation. We can’t do it ourselves. We cannot follow in Jesus’ footsteps, doing-what-he-did, saying-what-he-said, setting out on this Lenten adventure without the grace of God. Which is why you are here at Mass, so although I asked you to go home if you didn’t want to follow Jesus last week, I really want you to stay. The Eucharist, Jesus present-body-and-soul, is a sacrament, yes? And a sacrament is an outward sign, instituted by Christ, to give…? Grace. Amazing grace. Grace to be a follower of Jesus, because in this culture, it’s about the only thing we can count on to get us through the week. It’s also the only thing we can count on if we want to transform our hearts to change our actions. That, and the love Jesus has for you, a love so deep and so wide that he stretched out his arms to endure the nails and said, “this much.”
So. Are you interested in transformation, or are you not? #gowithgrace
Welcome to the first week of Lent and the question for today is a simple one with a yes-no answer: “Are you interested in getting to know Jesus better, or are you not?” If you are not interested in knowing Jesus in a personal way - which changes the way you work and move and think in the world - then I encourage you to leave Mass and go home. It’s not that I don’t want you here, I really, really do. It’s just that the Lord loves you too much to leave you where you are, and if you aren’t interested in that kind of transformational love, then why are you here?
I don’t think the Lord died for you out of “obligation” or because it was “a sin if he didn’t.” Being fully human, he had free will, so he didn’t have to be tempted, humiliated, beaten, or crucified so that you could be fully alive in a culture of death. Nope. He didn’t “have to” suffer taunts and threats and bodily harm so that you could be made whole in this broken world. No sirreee, Bob. He didn’t walk among the outcast, heal the sick in mind and body, or preach to those in need because he wanted to “enjoy community” with his friends. Sorry.
Jesus did-what-he-did out of love. For you, reading this column. Yes, YOU. Absolutely YOU. A deep, adoring, and abiding kind of love, an I-want-the-best-for-you relationship, a soul-to-soul kind of love, the kind that we spend so much of our lives chasing. The crazy adventurous kind of love, with stunning peaks and golden valleys, and some dangerous terrain where you never let go of each other, because a memorable adventure always includes overcoming an obstacle or two. A love that never fears and never fades. Jesus’ love is not the kind of love that you can fall out of, because it is the most perfect love of all
. But it is one you can walk away from.
So. Are you interested in getting to know Jesus better, or are you not? #transformation2022
We’re continuing in the sixth chapter of the Gospel according to Luke this weekend. We began with blessings and woes, moved into how to treat our enemies, and now end with looking within our own soul. That’s what Jesus does: brings to light the collective cultural sin that everyone sees, only to show the hidden darkness of each individual soul. I’ve been pondering my soul for awhile now, since my word of the year is “transformation,” and I am pretty sure the Lord is talking less about my work in this community and more about my inner disposition.
It’s our inner disposition that reflects our outward actions, Sirach also reminds us. The fruit of the tree shows the care it has had, the fire of tribulation exposes the strength of the mold, and words reveal the state of one’s mind. He is one insight-filled prophet, that Sirach, and his book is worth reading on a regular basis.
St. Luke, our physician-turned-evangelist, is constantly honing in on the miracles of Jesus, probably because he knows a miracle when he sees it, given his work as a doctor. Many miracles are associated with these five little words, “Go and sin no more,” which is what we, as faith-filled disciples, are called to do. Even when it’s hard. Paul would know, he’s speaking to a community under intense pressure to follow the ways of ‘cultural love’ rather than showing Jesus’ love: “Be firm, steadfast, always fully devoted to the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord, your labor is not in vain.”
Working on your spiritual life, learning about the tenants of Truth, falling in love with Catholicism is never in vain. It is always a fruitful endeavor. We enter Lent this Wednesday, and I encourage you to join a small group or show up at a Bible Study, Watchmen, or Women at the Well event. Register for Fr. Dave’s Friday evening Lent class. Or just grab two friends and agree to check in once/week to encourage one another on your Lenten journeys. Do something. Anything. You won’t regret it. #nurtureyoursoul
Unlike the early Christians, most of us here in Hastings and in our faith community don’t greet our archrivals or bitter enemies on a daily basis; we’ve learned to ‘place nice in the sandbox’ once we hit adulthood. Other communities are not so lucky; race riots, political shootings, and gang revenge occur at an alarming rate. And in our middle- and high- schools, that time in life our children work out how to become wholesome adults in a broken world, it’s common to hear, “so-and-so hates me” or “that-person is making my life miserable.” And indeed it’s true, usually because of a pattern of familial brokenness, parental neglect, improper example-setting, and trauma/drama in the tormenters own world.
It’s no different for King Saul and the newly-anointed David. Saul’s popularity is waning, David’s is rising, thus division is in the air. Some prefer Saul to rule but many now prefer David. Saul has given a shoot-to-kill no-questions-asked bounty for David’s head. Yet God’s blessing (last week, remember?!) is upon David and despite his external circumstances, he is calm and clear-headed, at peace, and hope-filled. Saul’s army is unknowingly camped near David’s hideaway; it would be easy for David to cement the kingship through his killing of Saul. Yet the taking of a life, even of one’s enemy, is not of God, so David defers to the Lord and treats his enemy with mercy, eschewing the cultural rules of warfare.
Which is what Jesus repeats in the Gospel today: “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.” We are also to take insults without response, give generously, and refrain from revenge or demanding earthly justice. As Paul simply says, “bear the image of the heavenly one,” Jesus himself.
This is why the Gospel message is often called, “radical.” We are called to sacrificial love. We are to go against the tide of social expectation, to rise above the cultural demands of justice, and let Jesus have the final say at the pearly gates. Radical, right? #beradical
A friend of mine scoffed when I told him that February 3rd was the feast day of St. Blaise and suggested that he, who was suffering from a sore throat and raspy voice, should have his throat blessed. It’s not his thing, I guess, and it saddened me. I imagine there are many among us who might think the same way. A shrug of the shoulders, a shake of the head, and a polite smile of decline often accompanies this idea of receiving a blessing from the priest who stands in persona Christi, in the person of Christ. Here it is, from Jesus himself, who states that being blessed is the highest gift a man or woman could possibly receive in the midst of distress: Blessed be the poor, the hungry, and the grieving. Blessed be the insulted, the hated, the denounced, the excluded, because they choose to be joyful disciples of Our Lord.
Jesus spoke in Hebrew or Aramaic, and the word Jesus would have used for “blessed” is baruch. a word embedded with deep desire and encased in love. The words baruch ata Adonai begin the Great Shema, “Blessed are you, our Lord,” the sentence that the Jews recite every morning. A slightly altered phrase, baruch haba, “blessed is the one who comes,” is said every time a guest enters your home. It’s the word faith-filled Jews use to honor God and guests, and thus has powerful meaning.
This word baruch means to be safe and secure, knowing you are surrounded by the providence of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. No matter how the worldly spirits attack your physical, emotional, spiritual, or social well-being, you are protected by a God who loves you beyond all telling. That is what it means to be blessed; not that trials will not befall you, but that you are protected and beloved. Which brings us to a place of inner happiness, contentment, joy, and hope. Those invisible things that matter most and cannot be taken away from us, despite our external circumstances. #TakeablessingGiveablessing
I write this before I leave for Arizona to visit my elderly parents. My brother and I have received some unsettling texts and heard some disappointing news, and decisions need to be made. But the sun should be shining, and if not, you don’t have to shovel rain. My brother and I will have meals with our parents, watch a bit of football, Judge Judy, and the Nightly News, and reminisce about our respective growing up years. We’ll talk about the realities of life, and make decisions based off news we’d rather not have heard. This is the ordinary drama of life, though there is nothing ordinary about it.
Like Isaiah, it’s possible for us to cry, “Woe is me!” when the realities of life are too much to bear and the burdens too heavy to carry. Or be frustrated like Paul, who writes to the fickle people of Corinth, “I am reminding you of the gospel which I preached to you,” as he hears news he would rather not know about his fledgling church. Paul wants so much for them to accept Jesus into their hearts, so that the daily battleground looks and feels more like a well-tilled and fruit-filled garden.
We find both Isaiah and the Corinthians at the elbow of Simon Peter, too. He’s been toiling on the sea throughout the night, all on his own accord, and come sunrise, woe and frustration are his companions. Us too, sometimes. Our work is Monday through Saturday, and our worship is Sunday. In between masses, we don’t often think on the Lord or how He might help us in our daily work, the “ordinary hours” of everyday life. But that is exactly where the Lord wants to be, walking beside you in the ordinariness of life, in the midst of the day-to-day decisions you need to make, some of which are more difficult than others. Because without Jesus, our lives come up a little empty. We work hard with little to show for it. The Lord wants more for you. Abundantly more. Are you willing? #extraordinarytime
You know that our family was the beneficiary of an unexpected and life-changing event: the birth of a sixth child. I read today’s passage from Jeremiah often, soaking up the Lord’s wisdom. “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, before you were born, I dedicated you, a prophet to the nations I appointed you.” Yes, Lord, I know. You have a plan for this beloved soul, and we’ll be the ones who nurture her faith as well as the practical matters of life.
We’ll do it as Paul instructs, with love. For when we raise our children out of duty and obligation, we sound like gongs and cymbals, forsaking the love song of the Lord. We’ll do our best to be kind, shunning jealousy and rudeness. We’ll apologize for our wrongdoings and rejoice in her success. We will love this child into adulthood and the Lord’s plan for her, since we see only “indistinctly, as in a mirror,” and not fully, as does the Lord.
The same principle holds for all parents and all children, and the Church recognizes the gravity of parenting as well as the dignity of the unborn. Abortion, the taking of a life whom the Lord knew and loved for this world, is always wrong. As Jesus reveals his Word to the hometown folk in the Gospel today, he points to outsiders who see the truth, then turns to see his own people filled with fury.
Hmmmm. Our Church professes that human life must be protected from the moment of conception [Catechism 2270]. “Since the first century the Church has affirmed the moral evil of every procured abortion. This teaching has not changed and remains unchangeable [2271]. The inalienable right to life of every innocent human individual is a constitutive element of a civil society and its legislation [2273].” Do these truths cause some to be filled with fury and want to drive them out of town and hurl them headlong into the abyss? Maybe. But Jesus kept to his mission and passed through the midst of them. As should we. #protectingtheunborn
Oh Nehemiah, you had me at “today.” As in, “Today is holy to the Lord, your God. Do not be sad and do not weep. Go, eat rich foods and drink sweet drinks, and allot portions to those who had nothing prepared; for today is holy to our Lord.” Yep, that’s what Sundays are all about! To gather as a community, hear the Word of God, partake of the Eucharist, then join with others side-by-side for more fellowship with donuts and coffee. At Mass, we bring our crosses and our gifts to the Lord, laying all at his feet. He turns it into something Beautiful for God, leaving us joy-full and Spirit-filled, knowing it’s all in the hands of the Lord. Then at fellowship afterward, we build up the body of Christ.
For we all are one body in Christ, as Paul writes to the people of Corinth today. Sunday Mass is where we come together: If one of us is hurting or in need, we set this person before the Lord then do our best to help. If one of us is rejoicing, we rejoice alongside them. It’s true! We as a community here at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton hurt when you are suffering and rejoice at your good fortune.
Since the beginning, this is how life is to be celebrated, with Eucharist as the source of all, and Sunday the absolute pinnacle of the week. How AMAZING is that? As Luke channeling Isaiah would say, ‘What better glad tidings are there? How liberating is that? Isn’t a vibrant faith community a sight to see?’ It’s why neglecting or rejecting Mass for other lesser gods (sports, cultural events, or even laziness under the guise of ‘rest’) is a mortal sin and needs the restorative balm of confession before heading back into communion with the Lord.*
Let’s make this a year “acceptable to the Lord” and celebrate Sunday, the Lord’s Day, with the reckless abandon of Love amidst community. #fulfillingScripture
*Missing Mass because of illness or serious threat of illness is never considered a mortal sin. Please stay home if you are feeling unwell.
If you follow my posts on Facebook, you know that my word-for-the-year is “transformation.” For the past four years, I’ve sat with the Lord in prayer and just asked Him to send me a word He wants me to live out. That very first year the word that kept floating to the top of my mind was “war.” At first I saw it in a St. Joan of Arc sort-of-way, fighting epic battles against culture and saving souls for Christ. Alas, it turned out to be a battle of wills: my will and God’s will. It was a war of epic proportions; I wanted what I wanted, and I wanted it my way or no way. Turns out there’s a third option and that’s God’s way, and it’s the one that unfolded, much to my abject resistance and much shouting in the darkness of my sanctuary. A few of those wounds are still healing, though in hindsight, everything was as it should have been.
I then spent a year with obedience (sigh…) and a year with simplicity (not bad!). Now we head into a year of transformation. Like “war” it is a word fraught with peril. Mostly because… I don’t want to change. I like who I am, sins and all. The Lord will forgive them, again and again, right? Jesus loves me just as I am, right? Well… yes and no. Yes, Jesus loves me, for sure; I feel His love sitting in Adoration each morning. But Jesus loves me too much to leave me where I am, so no, the Lord is looking for me to go deeper.
The Lord wants to call me “My Delight” and my work “Espoused,” as He told Isaiah. He wants rejoice over the way I use my gifts in the world, as Paul writes to the Christians of Corinth. He wants me to be transformed, like water into wine from the Gospel today. The Lord doesn’t just want this for me, He desires it for everyone who walks through our doors and peruses our website. That means YOU. Are you ready? #readyornot
My nephew and future-niece have two children together and are planning a September wedding on the Land, which is how they affectionately refer to the vast acreage my nephew’s mother owns. At my visit with them last summer, they asked me to baptize both their “littles” in the creek that runs through the Land, either before or after the wedding. At the time, they were in a bit of spiritual swirl as their newborn entered this world with a clef palate, club foot, and a heart abnormality, and the big questions of life and death were front and center.
We conversed generally about God, faith, and the point of baptism, which is to lessen the bond of original sin as well as bring a soul into a community of faith; a community that will support and nurture them as they tackle parenthood amidst the chaos of culture. They weren’t attached to a faith community, so I encouraged them to try out a few and see which one ‘loved them’ best.
On my return drive home, I began to ponder baptism. What I said to my future niece is true, but perhaps not the fullness of Truth. In trying to use words and ideas she would understand, I couldn’t go deep into the concepts of sacramentality, ongoing salvation, sanctifying grace, or even the indelible seal of Christ on the soul. These are the theological ideas that Catholic parents agree to at Baptism, as well as presenting their child for acceptance into our faith community. We give our pledge to help these new parents nurture their children in the faith too, remember. We are to ‘love them into our community.’
We’re changing things up here at St. Elizabeth’s, slowly but surely, forming disciples and creating a vibrant faith community. The next time you see a Baptism announcement in the bulletin or are at a Mass with a baptism, let’s love this new soul and family into community by sending a card, offering a meal, or smiling at Mom and Dad when a toddler is just being a toddler at Mass. #baptismisonlythebeginning
Did You Know?
The Catechism of the Catholic Church (1213-1274) teaches that the Rite of Baptism has six essential elements: (1) proclamation of the Word of God; (2) acceptance of the Gospel and subsequent acts of conversion; (3) profession of faith; (4) the pouring of water and anointing with sacred chrism; (5) the outpouring of the Holy Spirit; (6) admission to Eucharistic communion. [1229]
Infant baptism was practiced since the time of the Apostles, as we read that entire “households” received baptism (Acts 16:15, 33 for example). Church documents from the second century (Pastoralis actio) confirm the practice. [1252] In regard to children who have died without baptism, “the Church entrusts them to the mercy of God.” Jesus’ tenderness toward children “allow us to hope that there is a way of salvation” for unbaptized children. [1261]
Baptism imprints on the soul an indelible spiritual character, which consecrates the baptized for worship. Because of this, baptism is not repeated. [1272]
By our baptism, we are members of the common priesthood, called to be prophets, and own a share of Christ’s kingship. [1268]
Ordinary ministers of Baptism are the Bishop, priest, and deacon. In case of necessity, any person can baptize, if he/she has the required intention of baptizing in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. [1256]
The Catechism of the Catholic Church is simply a statement of Church doctrine regarding both faith and morals. Commissioned by John Paul II in 1985 and published in 1992, John Paull II writes in the Introduction, “[This catechism] is offered to all the faithful who wish to deepen their knowledge of the unfathomable riches of salvation…. showing carefully the content and wonderous harmony of the Catholic faith.”
In 2005, the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) also released a Compendium of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, whose Introduction was written by Cardinal Josef Ratzinger. It is a simplified and reader-friendly version of the Catechism, formatted in question-and-answer style.
My husband once worked for a German-based company, and took many a trip to Düsseldorf while working for them. There were a number of things he liked about the European way of life. Their largest meal is at Noon, a sweet with coffee begins mid-afternoon, and dinner is served late in evening, usually with friends and family, after the day’s work fully ends. Everyone receives six weeks off in the summer to recharge. All women who raise children at home receive a stipend. Culturally, they are practices we want to adopt here in the States, yes?
Spiritually, the holy days (holi-days) were also intriguing. My husband shopped at the Christmas markets… in January. He was invited to a gift exchange… in January. He had the time of his life at Christmas parties… in January. In Germany back-in-the-day, the Epiphany weekend was when everyone threw big joyous parties, exchanged gifts, and spent time with extended family, colleagues, and friends. Christmas Day was reserved for worshiping the Lord, from Whom all good things are gifted to us. Families would gather for worship and a very large post-Mass main meal, then perhaps give small familial gifts on the day of Jesus birth. The focus was solely on Our Lord.
I’d like to adopt this practice. Let’s celebrate on the day and in the way that those wise men did, because wise they were, these magi from the east. You see, they’ve been watching and waiting for something life-changing, and when they find it, they drop everything and focus on what matters. They look to a civil authority for permission to search, but when they realize authority has ulterior motives, they refuse to submit. They are joy-filled when they encounter Love Incarnate and humble themselves before the babe-in-the manger, this Prince of Peace and King of the World, and offer him all that they have at that very time. They encounter the Light of the World - then become that light for others. That is a wisdom-filled way of life, indeed, and one we should model. #newtraditions
My husband is third in the line of thirteen children born to his Mom and Dad. All single births, mostly 18-24 months apart. To take a break from the chaos of diapers, feedings, and keeping kids busy, they would get out of town for a day. My husband tells the story of the day they spent at a park in Davenport, Iowa, meeting rarely-seen relatives coming from the opposite direction. There were tons of kids and a lot of adults; it was a beautiful day for a family reunion and everyone was making the most of it. As dusk fell, his happily exhausted parents packed up both cars and headed home, accidentally leaving my husband behind, each parent thinking he was in the other car.
It was a while before he noticed his family was gone, since there were other random people at the park and he was playing with a ton of kids he hadn’t met before. It wasn’t until he went looking for his closest brother that he noticed he was left behind. He says he wasn’t afraid, knowing they would fetch him eventually, so he hung out on the swings closest to the parking lot.
I imagine Jesus knew that Mary and Joseph would fetch him eventually, so he hung out at the place that was the whole reason for their trip: The Temple. While he was waiting, he listened and learned… and then had a few things to say for himself. By the time Mary and Joseph returned four days later, the teachers (Pharisees) were astounded by his words and his reasoning. I wonder where those same Pharisees are 21 years later, when Jesus returns to teach in the Temple, as “astounded” is not a word Jesus uses to describe them.
I wonder too… Are we still astounded by Jesus’ words? Do we let the Gospel message penetrate our hearts, minds, and actions? Or are we lost in our own world, like the Pharisees who forgot how they once hung on his every word? Mary and Joseph found Jesus. My husband’s parents found him. Can Jesus find you? #lostandfound
I still smile when I think about the first homily our new priest gave upon his arrival to our little church hamlet in Mahtomedi. His opening lines went something like this: “I think you’re pregnant. You’re about to give birth to something big. I can feel it,” he said. We all looked at each other and a bit of nervous laughter came from our pews. We wondered where this was going and what these words meant for us.
Like Mary and Elizabeth in our Gospel today, a few prophetic words changed the course of history. Mary expects to be married to Joseph, birth lots of children, and live a long life tending hearth and home in Nazareth amidst her people. Elizabeth expects to be known as “the barren woman” of her community, tending to Zechariah until her death. Neither of those expectations happened. Both of their pregnancies were unexpected. Both of their lives were forever changed.
Yet both were at peace with the turning of the world by God’s hand. Back in my little hamlet, some surprising things happened. We went into labor, and some pangs were a ten on-the-Richter-scale. We consolidated staff, closed our middle school, and balanced the budget. Painful moments, absolutely. We became incredibly focused on our mission to be disciples of Christ and went on to create something beautiful for God. We paid off our debt, hired to mission, reorganized, and re-prioritized. We celebrated our successes, lamented our setbacks, wept over our losses, and encouraged each other united in faith.
We’re going to have some labor pains here in our faith community too. We have a new mission and vision, but what does that mean for ministry? Our attendance is lower than we’d like, therefore giving is less than we need, so some things need to change. It feels as though we’re starting labor… and preparing to give birth to something beautiful for God. I ask you to join me in prayer and fasting over the course of the upcoming months, that our labors be fruitful and our joy complete. #newlife
Paul writes to his persecuted friends in Philippi, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I shall say it again: Rejoice! Your kindness should be known to all.” He’s reminding them (and us) of their mission as followers of Jesus: Bring the Goodness, Truth, and Beauty of the faith - wrapped in grace and kindness - to a culture in desperate need.
Paul knows about desperation. He’s writing this letter while he sits in Nero’s prison, awaiting death. “Kindness” and “joy” are not words anyone would use in a sentence with Nero’s name nor regime, unless it’s talking about the qualities both are not. Nero douses followers of Jesus in oil then lights them afire to use as torches alongside the roads to the Coliseum to the delight of many. He feeds Christians to the wild animals for cultural amusement. Nero marries a young boy, Sporus, who greatly resembles his late wife, out of regret for murdering her. Clearly, the words and message of Jesus have fallen on rocky soil in the house of Rome.
What about the house of Hastings? Or the house of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton? Or our own individual homes? Do we consult the wisdom of holy men and women of the Church, “What should we do?” as the followers of John did, or allow the ways of the world to dictate our actions, doing what we want and thinking as we please? Do we rejoice in our suffering when chastised for speaking the Gospel truths in kindness like Paul’s people, or are we silent in the fear of opposition?
Are we disciples of Jesus who petition the Lord with thanksgiving, without anxiety? Does the Word of God guard our hearts, minds, and actions? Do we share our coats with the homeless and our daily bread with the hungry? Are we generous with our income and stingy with our lies? Do we ‘fear not’ and ‘sing joyfully’? Are we filled with hope over the expectation of Jesus’ second coming? These are the words of Scripture today, the Good News for all to hear. #JesusiswhereTruthandLoveunite
I like to say that our sixth child was the best thing that ever happened to our family, though it didn’t seem like it at the time. It was the beginning of a new era; our firstborn was on the cusp of eighteen and our youngest was entering kindergarten, so my world was about to change. Oh, the things I could accomplish while everyone was in school! As a SAHM, my days would be free to volunteer in the classroom and attend Monday morning prayer group. I’d make dinners that did not contain mac-and-cheese. I could travel with my husband or even re-start that abandoned undergraduate degree. It would be a time of Endless Possibilities and I dreamt about all of them. So when two red lines appeared on that little white stick, I could hardly believe it. “I know how this happens,” I cried to my husband, “but how did this happen?! Why now?”
I plodded throughout an emotional wasteland, contemplating another five years of being bound-to-a-baby and dashed-dreams. “Why now,” I asked the Lord.
The Lord chose a curious time to reveal a message to his beloveds in our readings today. Baruch trudges alongside the devasted Israelites to their new home in a foreign country. Paul sits in a dark prison awaiting a beheading by Nero. John the baptizer is in the desert, praying and fasting. All three of these occasions are marked by distress, desolation, and loneliness. You see, the Lord speaks to us in the midst of difficult situations because… we’re listening. We want an answer. We need an answer full of hope and wrapped in joy. That’s what Baruch, Paul, and John received. Me too.
Our daughter was born in the waning days of May, with five boisterous siblings who joyously celebrated her arrival. She was sicker than most, as it turned out, and we nearly lost her a time or two. My days were consumed with doctor visits, nurse check-ins, and medical journaling. Our kids learned so much about sacrifice, love, and what it means to be a family. Yep, said the Lord, “Exactly why now.” #inthefullnessoftime
Abundant New Year’s blessings to you! No, Sarah hasn’t printed the wrong column here. Today is the first Sunday of the new Church year. Advent marks the turn of a new season, and it is indeed a beautiful season for new beginnings, one filled with hope and joy! The prophet Jeremiah tells us as much, yes? “The days are coming, says the LORD, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and Judah. In those days, in that time, I will raise up for David a just shoot; he shall do what is right and just in the land.”
It might not seem like it after all these years, as justice and righteousness appear to be in short supply. It feels like a hard and cruel land right now. We are weary of the virus and its effect on our lives. Our tempers are quick, yet our patience is short. Our anxiety is high and our morale low. We sense a cultural unrest and an undercurrent of persecution for our faith beliefs. Division and despair lurk in the darkness. It seems not much has changed since that time when God the Son entered the land and rocked our world.
Yet Jesus - our poor King who is but rich in grace and mercy, overflowing with love, and resplendent in hope and peace – is doing what is right and just in our land, through us, who are His disciples. My brothers and sisters in Christ: “May your faith increase and may you abound in love for one another and for all,” so that our sleepy hearts are awakened and watered with grace, peace, and mercy. May we then enthusiastically “conduct ourselves in a manner pleasing to the Lord”! This, and only this, will allow us to bring the same to our neighbors here in Hastings.
In this new year my friends, I beg you to let this land know we are Catholic by having our hearts set joyfully afire and doing what is right and just for Love Incarnate. #nodrowsyheartshere
Back in the day, Fr. Erik Lundgren, and I studied together at The Saint Paul Seminary and School of Divinity. I was working towards my Masters in Theology while he was after his Masters of Divinity. We both took the hardest class at SPSSOD: Christology with Dr. Hipp, a brilliant professor who taught on the Antiochene and Alexandrian schools of theology and focus, their application to Thomism, and how they play out in the ‘Who Is Jesus’ question of today. Heady stuff. Erik and I would fist-bump each other across the aisle if either one of us happened to answer a class question correctly. And then, joy-upon-joy, he was assigned to my home parish, St. Jude of the Lake, as his teaching parish.
On this glorious ‘Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe,’ I expected him to distill Dr. Hipp’s class into language that a layperson could understand, and I practically slid into a spot on the center aisle. I wanted a good seat to watch the intellectual fireworks.
There were fireworks alright, but not the ones that the sports-minded athletic-driven denizens of Mahtomedi were expecting. Fr. Erik talked about the reasons Daniel was writing as he did. The Jews were currently under the thumb of the Greek despot Antiochus Epiphanes, who cruelly imposed and enforced the worship of his many gods: Zeus, Hera, Ares, and Apollo. Many Jews simply chose life over death and practiced idolatry. They planned their lives according to the calendar-of-the-gods, sacrificing offspring and animals, and gave of their wealth to circles of bronze and wreaths of ivy. They neglected worship of the One True God, the One who loved them beyond all telling. It wasn’t a new story, he said, as the ancient Israelites worshiped the gods we still worship today. “You know,” he said, “the Ba’al gods: Basketba’al, baseba’al, volleyba’al, footba’al and their minions-in-crime, hockey and choir, y’all.”
This weekend we celebrate Jesus as King of the Universe and center of our world. When you look at your calendar, i-phone, bank account statement, and the rooms of your home, what does it look like you’re worshipping? #takealonghardlook
Our beleaguered prophet Daniel is prophesying to an Israelite community that is again in dread of war. The ongoing battle between the two great houses of men – Antiochus of the Seleucid dynasty, “king of the north” and Ptolemy of the Kingdom of Egypt, “king of the south” - are about to engage in yet another epic battle of power, wealth, and ego. Lying between these two major man-made-gods-of-war is Israel, a simple people fiercely devoted to YHWH, the Lord God. This war will be fought in their olive groves, atop their grazing lands, and on the roads of small towns and villages. Old men will be forced into battle and old women will be forced to feed the army in front of them. Sons will be conscripted, and daughters enslaved in an unholy way. Every man, woman, and child will be considered a weapon of use by the invading warriors at hand. At the bitter end, the winner will force the people of God to adopt its polytheistic faith practices. Or die. William Sherman said that “War is hell,” and for the Israelites, it will be.
Enter Daniel, hero and prophet of the Lord God, “At that time, there shall arise Michael, the great prince, guardian of your people! It shall be a time unsurpassed in distress... [But] at that time your people shall escape, everyone who is found written in the book.” Hope! At long last! Hope for the spring crops, for the lambs and the kids, and for the good honest people of the One True God! Long live Daniel!
Alas. Daniel was wrong. Antiochus Epiphanes won the war and ravaged Israel, enforcing Greek gods and pagan practices on the people of God (see 1 Maccabees).
The Good News for us is that Daniel was also right. A new soul was formed when heaven kissed earth; one wrapped in wisdom, bathed in mercy, and schooled in servanthood. One who became our Guardian from sin and the everlasting horror and disgrace of hell. His name is Jesus, and he will come again with power and glory and angels. Amen! #itsallinthetiming
In my eighth-grade year, I was a newspaper carrier who delivered the afternoon daily. I vividly recall reading the Watergate stories walking from house-to-house and the front-page photo of a smiling Nixon with his arms outstretched and fingers in a V position is clear in my memory. And the saga of the Patty Hearst kidnapping. I knew right then and there that I never wanted to be famous nor wealthy. It only gave you trouble and heartache. In the midst of all that grand drama however, a very young teenager was struggling. She wasn’t popular, pretty, nor monied, and kids can be cruel sometimes. She had a very favorite light purple dress with daisies embroidered on the front pockets and along the hem. She thought it was the ‘hippiest’ and ‘coolest’ thing she owned, and knew her Mom sewed long into the night to make it. Turns out it wasn’t a fan favorite amongst the other teens, and it was a long day of snickering and sideways glances. She didn’t even have time to change after school, as she picked up papers near the bus stop and had to get right to work. While delivering papers though, a very elderly widow with kind eyes opened the door to receive her afternoon paper by hand. She looked directly at me, took the paper out of my hand, smiled, and said, “That color looks very pretty on you. You should wear purple more often.” I thanked her and turned quickly away, not wanting her to see my tears. My Mom and I were both redeemed. Her generous comment to a teen with sad eyes was a simple act with extraordinary results.
This is what the two widows in our readings today did too: gave generously. Some people have money, some have words, some have time, and even others have prayer. Everyone has a gift to give or some treasure to sacrifice. Even Jesus, you know. He gave up his heavenly existence to take on the form of a man, die an excruciatingly painful death, so that we could enter heaven… an extraordinary act of unfathomable generosity. #justgive
It is the thirty-first Sunday of “Ordinary Time” in our Church calendar, yet the readings feel absolutely extra-ordinary. These words found in the book of Deuteronomy are words that every Jewish person recites every morning and evening, and are the first verses a Jewish child memorizes: “Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD alone! Therefore, you shall love the Lord with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength.” Amazing words. Words that Jesus said every morning and evening and were the first he memorized. It was also found in the mezuzah affixed to the lintel of Mary and Joseph’s home. Upon moving into their home, Joseph would have carved a mezuzah, written this verse on a tiny piece of parchment, then rolled it up to fit in his small mezuzah. When he nailed the mezuzah in place for the first time, Joseph would have blessed it by saying, “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who sanctified us with His mitzvot [613 commandments] and commanded us to affix a mezuzah.” Anyone entering their home would touch a finger to the mezuzah and recite our opening line as a way of showing honor and praise to the God who loves them. A small gesture of extraordinary importance, right?
It’s the little things in life that turn a ho-hum day into a day worthy of the Kingdom of God. A beautiful sunrise, a nose-buss from a toddler, coffee with an old friend, the soft touch of a lover, or a brief phone call with an answered prayer. Nothing is outside the providence of God who loves us fiercely and intimately, and desires nothing but our authentic happiness. For the Lord loves us with all with his heart, with all his soul, and with all his strength too. A huge gesture of extraordinary love, yes?
What is even more amazing about these readings is their ability to move and work in our lives, for this kind of extraordinary love demands a simple response in our ordinary time. What might yours be today? #thelittlethingsmatter
The calendar is quickly rolling down the days towards the darkest day of the year, the Winter Solstice. The sun is just rising as I pull into the church parking lot, instead of greeting me as I pull out of my driveway. There’s just a little something unsettling about the darkness, you know. So many things we can’t see clearly: Is that a car with a broken headlight or a motorcycle? Where is that golf course landmark? I’ve been down these roads before, but everything seems a tad unfamiliar in the dark of late October.
Our Confirmation teens watched a video by Matthew Kelly last week on the topic of choices. It was a lovely video that began with a young dating couple planning to meet at a new church; they each get into their respective cars, turn on the GPS, and head off into the great unknown. Naturally one of them turns off the GPS and winds up driving around a metropolitan city. Neon lights are flashing in the dark and people-having-fun are everywhere. He’s totally lost and in unfamiliar territory.
This episode reminded me of the Israelites in the first reading from Jeremiah. They’re towards the end of their Babylonian exile, but have wandering around in the darkness of polytheism for 70 years. They had turned off their proverbial GPS when they started acting like the rest of the culture… worshipping other gods, treating the poor with contempt, neglecting service on the Holy Days, and silencing the prophets who predicted darkness.
Jeremiah reminded me of how little times have changed. How sometimes we’re wandering around in the darkness of familiarity. We know where things are and how things should go, but something isn’t quite right. We aren’t seeing things clearly. We’re a little blind, like Bartimaeus hiding in a tree, trying to climb high enough out of the drama of life. Our blind man, tired of his darkness, called out to the Lord in his uneasiness, regardless of what others thought, for he knew something few others did: Healing happens in the light of the Lord. #climboutofyourdarkness
I stepped into the Catholic church at the end my eighth-grade year, the year of my parents' wedding. What most people don’t understand when I tell the story of their seven-year courtship and annulment process that culminated in their marriage, was that it was an emotional time for me. Not just because I was thirteen, but also because I was headed into a season of incredible loss. Everything I knew and loved would be taken from me. I’d be leaving the farm, abandoning my friends, sharing my mom 24/7 with a man I liked… but. She was first and foremost my Mom. Mine. She loved me first. And best. I didn’t mind sharing her love sometimes, but as a permanent gig? No way.
So it was me and all that sitting in a pew at my first Good Friday afternoon service. It was back in the day when the congregation really participated in the drama, you know? When the people in the pews had parts and roles, churches were dark and stark, and deep purple covered everything in sight. You just knew something big was happening.
What was happening was a memorial to suffering, the kind of suffering that Isaiah and Jesus talk about in the readings today. A time when we recall the redemptive suffering of Our Lord. How he gave up perfection to be fully human – which means a life imbedded with a suffering he never knew before birth. Yet suffering is often where we meet Him, for pain is a conduit for grace. Knowing he suffered allows us to bond with Him; authentic friendship has a common and unitive feature. Therefore, suffering is an opening for a deeper friendship with Our Lord.
On that particular Good Friday, as we started reciting the words, “Crucify Him,” I began sobbing. I got it. Really understood it. Neither Jesus nor I asked for any of this-and-that. But it happened, nonetheless. But love multiplies when it’s shared, expands when it’s given away, and eternally present, especially when suffering is involved. It’s like Jesus spoke to my heart, “Love is all that.” And it is. #apermanentgig
After a long day of hiking with the Hubby at Frontenac and an evening dinner al fresco at one of the local diners, we decided to take the scenic route home. It was late in the evening and even though the sun had just begun to set, we thought new scenery would keep him alert at the wheel. At first, we could see the crops and farmhouses clearly, but as the sun dropped below the skyline, the images became shadowy shapes, and then… it was pitch black on the back roads.
Except for those huge farm lights. Those we could see strung out across the landscape, lighting up the darkness - and it made me smile. In summers on the farm, when my brothers and I ran out the door to catch fireflies at night, Eleanor would always yell out behind us, “Keep to the light!” We would, naturally, head out into the Great Beyond. We figured that if we kept the light somewhat in sight, we were free to have fun, running and roaming in the dark. We thought we knew better than Eleanor.
In the dark, though, we ran into trees, tripped over branches, and got caught in the chicken coop wire. We toppled into the creek more times than I care to admit. I even stepped on a nail once, and Eleanor pulled it out with pliers, doused my foot in mercurochrome, and wrapped it with bandages. That pain-filled week marked the end of my night marauding.
That’s what happens when we drift away from the light of the Lord to run amok in the darkness, neglecting the wisdom of God. The lure of culture and its disregard of the Commandments, like fireflies-in-the-dark, tempt us with fun and excitement, but it’s a dangerous place to be. Sure, we know Jesus is out there ‘somewhere,’ but we fail to keep him in our sight. It’s time to keep to the light, as Eleanor (and Fr. Dave) would say. It’s time to joyfully allow the Son light up our souls, and as a faith community, radiate that love for all to see. #stepintothelight
I managed to find my way to my parents' home in Cedar Rapids without a Bob’s Road adventure, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I drove straight there and back, with nary a missed turn or detour. That rarely happens. Since the drive was going so smoothly, I stopped, opened my Podcast app, and randomly chose a show. I specifically typed ‘Christian podcast’ as opposed to Catholic, because I wanted to see what the rest of the world was up to. Turns out God did too.
I ended up on Passion & Purpose, a podcast hosted by Louie Giglio. He and his wife Shelley are founders of Passion City Church in Atlanta and have a mission to amplify the name of Jesus in the world. They do this by ‘planting churches.’ To plant a church in the evangelical world is to be driven and focused on mission and vision. The Giglios plant small churches that strengthen and repair families, so that they clearly see the healing power and grace of the Savior. At the end of their podcast, I realized why God wanted me to hear their message.
We’re going to re-plant a church, right here on the edge of Hastings. We have the building and the people already, which is why it’s a ‘re-planting.’ We are going to be singular in our mission and vision. We want to invite and form faith-filled and Spirit-led people to join us in our ‘why’. Our mission is to form joyful disciples who want to make Jesus Christ known and loved. All of our programming will focus on this singular mission. We’ll start with adults and sacramental families, and host classes, courses, retreats, and even a mission week.
This endeavor will bear fruit and we’ll look different in a few years: Our vision is to be a vibrant community that radiates Christ’s love and hope to everyone we encounter. We’ll become a community of witnesses to Jesus and the faith. Other people will see what we have here and want to be a part of it.
We know we’re going to encounter resistance and skepticism. We know that some people will say, ‘no thank you’ and go elsewhere. But we are going to rely on the power of the Holy Spirit, the guidance of Our Savior, the wisdom of the Father, and the intercession of St. Elizabeth Ann Seton. We are going to be a happier and holier community who are truly blessed by the Lord. It’s going to be quite the adventure. Want to join us? #plantingforJesus
Robin Williams [God rest his weary soul] is known for saying this: “I used to think the worst thing in the world was to end up alone. But the worst thing in life is to end up with people who make you feel alone.” I’ve been thinking about that recently, as we watched an enlightening video on friendship at Women At the Well a few weeks back. Mary Ellen’s Thursday morning group also happened to be reading a chapter in a book that focused on friendship and community building that very same week. What is it about community that draws us in… why do we feel the need to belong in a relationship with others or to a movement that is bigger than the sum of our parts?
Perhaps it’s because we are created in the image and likeness of God, and since the Godhead contains three persons, united eternally in friendship and companionship, we are drawn to community. Not just a community of individuals congregating in a space, but a gathering of souls who generally care for one another, who are present for one another, and who listen to our life’s joys and struggles.
Our faith community is one where we should love the Lord with all our heart, with all our mind, and with all our strength, and our neighbor as ourselves. A community where we trust one another to do what’s best for the other. One where we speak the truth with gentleness, honesty, intelligence, and hope. One where we make the Lord known and beloved of all we meet.
And as the readings today remind us, we desire a community where jealousy, judgement, super-abundant luxury, and the repetition of sin do not find a place, but speaking of the goodness of the Lord, taking care of the poor, the innocent, the broken, and the lonely do find a home. Where we lead everyone, no matter where they are on their faith journey, toward the Lord. And that will be a community of authentic friendship where no one feels alone. #amenRobinamen
My son called me late at night about eight years ago, and I remember it vividly. “We can’t get Hannah to stop crying. What should I do?” Hannah is his six-week-old daughter, and while a beautiful and innocent soul, she wasn’t an easy baby. He’s cradling her in his arms. I can hear her newborn wail; there’s no other sound quite like it, you know. I hear the panic and frustration in his voice and feel the helplessness of his position. He desperately loves the innocent child in his arms.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus has gathered his disciples and embarked on, what was suppose to be, a quiet and intimate retreat. Jesus thought they were finally ready to hear the fullness of Truth: this mission isn’t going to go the way they expected, but trust in the plan, it’s going to be better than they can possibly imagine. Instead of absorbing that reality and forming a faith that won’t splinter in the dark of night however, the disciples fall prey to fear and argue over primacy. Jesus must have been incredibly frustrated. They’re now returning to Capernaum, to a house they know well.
It’s their home-away-from-home, that sacred place of laughter, tears, growth, grace, and companionship, also called the domestic church. It’s a traditional Jewish home, shared by many, full of love and support. Jesus still needs to teach his friends what discipleship looks like. So he sits down, summons the twelve closer to himself, while the rest of the household listen intently. He knows his words haven’t been working, but his actions might, so he takes a child from his mother – the Greek word is paidion, meaning infant – cradles him in his arms and effectively says, ‘Discipleship is dying-to-self-interest service, and this kind of service involves suffering, physical and spiritual. Have no fear, for I will be there, watching over you as a father loves and protects his newborn.’ I wonder if there is some desperation, helplessness, or frustration in his voice, like there was in my son’s, “I can’t get them to understand. What should I do?” #whatshouldwedo
The actor who plays Jesus in The Chosen series, Jonathan Roumie, posted a Fr. Mike Schmitz video titled, “Praying in a state of mortal sin.” As Mr. Roumie is a Catholic man on fire for his faith and takes every opportunity to evangelize, he uses his personal Facebook page to further Catholicism. The Chosen - which paints with broad theological strokes and uses a variety of colors from the Jewish, Catholic, and non-denominational palettes - also has a Facebook page with a significant following. Most folks follow both entities. Mr. Roumie and his evangelical director, Dallas Jenkins, recently met with Pope Francis and photos were shared on these two pages.
The anti-Catholic rhetoric was astoundingly vitriolic. As a disciple of Christ, Mr. Jenkins refused to take part, often responding to ludicrous accusations with a laughing emoji or simply writing, “Stop. Now.” I was shocked. Running and working in Catholic circles, I’d never heard such things, not even in the Baptist church of my youth. The Chosen social media team spent hours deleting the darkest offenders.
Here’s the thing. The Israelites of Isaiah’s time and the early followers of Jesus in Paul’s era wouldn’t be surprised, but would nod in solidarity and show us their scars. They heard the words of derision and opposition, felt the sting of betrayal and shame, and knew the welts of beatings and buffets of bitter rebuke. Yet they persisted in doing the work of faith with joy in their eyes and love in their hearts. They fed the hungry, protected the orphans and widows, and treated all with dignity regardless of social status. They did not return an eye-for-an-eye or a tooth-for-a-tooth, knowing that adage would leave the entire world blind and hungry in a never-ending circle of cause-and-effect. No. They not only kept the faith, but showed the world was faith and following Jesus really meant, regardless of the consequences. They might have lost their lives in bearing that cross, but they saved their souls in the heavenly exchange of suffering for redemption.
Oh, that we would do the same. #bebold
My aging parents live on the outer edge of Marion, Iowa for the summer months. Recent transplants, they moved from their home of thirty-plus years in Dubuque to be close to my brother Rick. Although I am their only daughter, they decided to spend their sunset years near Rick, who was endowed with more fix-it-skills than I. Which means that I make a trip across the border at least once a month.
Since they are in a new place and I don’t exactly know my way around middle-Iowa, I rely on my MapAp Girl to direct me. The thing is… she gives me a different way to circumnavigate Waterloo and Cedar Rapids every. Single. Time. And most of those involve a mixture of gravel and semi-paved roads surrounded by cornfields. I affectionately call them all “Bob’s Road,” a nod to a quirky line in the cult-film Twister.
This past weekend was no exception, and I found myself setting off for home via Bob’s Road. This time, however, the gas gauge was fairly close to empty, as my plan was to fill up before merging onto the main highway outside of town. Normally I love the steady sound of rubber meeting gravel and the familiarity of farm country, but not now. I looked at various farmsteads, wondering who might take in a wayward SUV and wouldn’t take advantage of a single-lost-girl situation. Gosh, I dislike uncertainty and not knowing whom to trust.
There’s a lot of that going around in the world right now, yes? We’re all a little lost, a little hesitant, and wondering whom to trust. I think the deaf man in today’s Gospel felt the same way. Notice he didn’t ask to be healed; his friends begged Jesus for his healing. Maybe his trust tank was running on empty, drained by false promises of others. Maybe he was nervous, not wanting to be the object of spectacle. Maybe he was afraid, unsure of what may come. All excellent reasons to shy away from the Lord and not ask for healing. But Jesus healed him anyway. #trustintheLord
“What is the point of all this religion stuff, anyway? Seriously… I see a lot of people who say they went to church and believe in God, but they sure don’t act like it. I can’t tell them apart from my atheist friends, and frankly, my friends who don’t go to church are a lot kinder than the ones who do.”
I hear this in my evangelization world, and it’s hard not to agree sometimes. When folks look around at Christians, sometimes it’s… well, disappointing. I wonder what Moses and James and Jesus might see if they were sipping coffee and people-watching in downtown Hastings on a Saturday morning? Or filing papers in a front office? Or cleaning lockers in the high school? Or trolling the internet? Would they recognize us Christians?
Do we stand out in the crowd for all the right reasons? Or all of the wrong ones?
Moses is urging the Israelites to look and act different than the polytheistic religions around them because YHWH is different. James is writing to the early Christians begging them to light a path of humility, kindness, and hope for others to follow, as he wants them to look different than the rest. And Jesus. Jesus goes deep, as He is wont to do: your actions must be deeply-felt and rightly-ordered, because you can’t give what you don’t have.
Which brings us back around to the question, “What’s the point of all this religion stuff?” If your Mass persona doesn’t reflect your daily personality, then there is no point. Just stay home. Stop giving Christianity a bad name. Stop making it easy for folks to point a finger and whisper, “Hypocrite in the front row...”
Because the point of “all this religion stuff” is to create a culture and a community where virtue flourishes and love of neighbor finds a home. Where sinners and saints are oftentimes the same person, because no one is perfect you know. Where Jesus resides, not only in our hearts but in our homes. Where the only difference between Monday and Sunday is a Sonrise. #takeSundayintoMonday
I wanted to write about a birthday hike at Afton and having to choose one way or another, each a seemingly good choice. But my brother’s words from last September keep tugging at my heart. “I always turned left when I should have gone right,” and my thoughts can’t quite go anywhere else. Grief is a curious thing.
Today I see a hurting Joshua, at wits’ end with his people. “Choose!” he cries, “Decide if you want to follow the Lord or follow the world. And if it’s the latter, just go. But I’m following the Lord, and I hope you’ll come with me.” He’s tired of the one-foot-in, hedge-your-bets, and try-this-just-once approach. I get it, as I’ve been there. Sunday I’ll do this, but the rest of the week I’ll do that.
Paul is no stranger to grief and frustration either. He hasn’t been gone from Ephesus all that long, and already they’re backsliding. He’s letting those foolish folks know a life in Christ looks more like marital love and not teenage lust. After counseling them against impurity, fornication, greed, and vulgarity, he urges them to choose a life of love, unity, and peace. Choose how they want to live.
And Jesus. What can we say here? It’s a different kind of grief. A different kind of frustration. He lays out his plan for the last Passover meal he’ll ever preside over, telling his disciples that instead, he’ll be Present in the meal… as bread for the life of the world. Crazy, right? Who would believe that? Jesus says, “Choose. Decide if you want to follow me or follow the world. And if it’s the latter, just go. But I know who I am, and I hope you’ll come with me.” #fullcustody
It’s just like a woman to cause chaos.
In all the epic dramas of the faith, a woman is always lurking just beyond the epicenter. Eve, Sarah, and Rebekah, the matriarchs of Genesis; Miriam and Deborah, the two pivotal prophetesses; Leah, Rachel, Jael, Ruth, Naomi, Susanna, and Esther, strong women who saved and paved the way for the great Jewish leaders; Zipporah, Tamar, and the woman with eight sons martyred before her eyes. These were women who drew a line in the sand and took a stand for justice. Then we have Jephthah’s daughter, Dinah, and Jemima, innocent casualties of the faith whose names are immortalized in Scripture though their sad stories you may not know. Women like these caused a stir and were relentless for the faith.
But don’t forget the women who gave their love and lives for Jesus: Mary of Magdala, Martha and Mary, Mary the wife of Clopas, Joanna, and many other women who cared for him during his ministry; and Chloe, Claudia, and Eunice, who came to believe in the resurrection and life of the Lord and changed their ways. We also have Junia, Julia, and Lydia, businesswomen and leaders in the early church, though their roles and stories have perhaps been downplayed through the years. There are so many women like these who challenged the status quo and were unyielding for the Lord.
Mary, the Mother of God, stands beneath and before, above and alongside these women. She is in a category unto herself. Strong. Innocent. Faithful. Poised. Seasoned. Incorrupt. Timeless. She is a woman whom men hold in awe and women admire. She pays close attention to the poor, tends to the simple-minded, and the children of the world have a special place in her heart. She is an enigma shrouded in mystery, yet she touches the hearts and souls of mankind in a very real and tangible way. She has the power to alter and amend the course of history. Every move she makes in the world points to her Son. She is a woman who causes chaos in the best possible way. #belikeMary
Last year, the dynamic Protestant preacher Francis Chan made headlines. In a publicly-posted sermon to his congregation, he spoke about Jesus present in the Eucharist. He begins with mystery, devotion, ecclesia, unity, and what it means to be in communion with each other. In the middle he talks about the continual worship that happens with all the angels and martyrs in heaven, and how we are united in that worship here on earth. He adds that since there is a communion between the citizens of earth and those in heaven, reverence is a must: “A casual atmosphere translates into casual worship.” He contends we should never forget that in our worship, we are surrounded by all those physically present and all those spiritually present, including the angels, the saints, the Virgin Mary, and all those who have died in faith. He then says he’s been studying church history and has come to realize that there’s more to worship than a Bible passage, good music, and a great preacher. “Let’s get serious about this… I am partaking of the body and blood of Christ. Somehow and in some way.” He ends with a plea for the body and blood of Christ to be at the center of worship and closes with an admonition to his congregation that if they do partake of the body and blood of Jesus Christ on that day, to be worthy and reverent.
Protestant preachers erupted in condemnation, protest, and angry accusations of heretical teaching. Catholics stepped up to defend him, naturally, and Chan’s latest video sermon is on listening to God in the silence of the heart. And here we are at Mass today, in the midst of the Bread of Life discourse, shadowed by a Catholic identity crisis on the Eucharist; only one in three Catholic believe the Gospel, that Jesus is body-soul-divinity-present in that tiny little host. If a Protestant preacher takes this seriously, perhaps we should too. #EucharisticRevival2022 #startafire
Yeast and I are not friends. I desperately want to have a growing relationship with the leaven for wheat, but every time I reach out in friendship, my hopes are dashed. We get together over coffee, and I tell her how lovely her work in the world is, how necessary she is for the rising of the dough, and we make great plans together; dreams involving warm whole-grain bread just dripping with butter. I happily sigh and ponder God’s bounty in the Word and on the table. Alas, when the timer dings and the oven door opens, it’s more like… well, that The Ten Commandments film and those bricks that the Israelites made out of straw and water in the mud pits? Yep.
The readings this weekend are all over bread. The Israelites complain that they are starving – when they still have cattle to butcher. The crowds of Jesus’ time are looking for bread – when there’s wheat in the fields. So, what gives?
All these folks are feeling unfulfilled and disoriented, just like us sometimes. We want something other than what we have in front of us. We want something new and exciting to tempt the palate. It’s found, and we indulge. But eventually that gets old, so again we want something new and exciting… and an endless loop of longing forms.
We also find ourselves wandering through the market, looking at the many packages that claim to have Truth as the main ingredient. Even in the Catholic section, there seems to be a variety of options to choose from. It’s turning us into a confused and divided people with deceitful desires when that was never Jesus’ intent. We should be the leaven of life, the “holiness of truth,” as Paul writes. What we can say for absolute certainty is that Jesus IS the recipe for a very full and satisfying life, and that the altar bread becomes the host for His body through the mystery of the Holy Spirit. This is Truth. This is the foundation of the Mass - and the reason we come hungry each Sunday. #feedothers
We’re talking a lot about evangelization, discipleship, mission and vision statements, and the battle to keep our parish from dying out or Catholicism becoming irrelevant in our lives. We had a pretty sweet war room set up in the St. Clare room as we discern where we want to be in ten years and map out a strategy to get there. First thing on the list? Prayer. Jesus prayed over the five barley loaves and two fish - and fed over five thousand people. In a very real sense, we want to do the same.
We want our sacred space filled with five thousand souls who come to hear the Word, be fed by His bread, and belong to His church. We want to be a place where children laugh, adults sing, and everyone shares what they have with those who don’t. Where Jesus is known and loved, the joy of the Gospel is alive in our hearts, and hope radiates from our church and school communities. We want visitors and newbies alike to think, ‘What’s going on over there?’ and come check us out.
Isn’t that how Jesus ended up with five thousand folks on the hill? Isn’t that why Christianity multiplied exponentially even under a culture that was incredibly self-centered and cruel, where intense persecution and death were a given at conversion? I mean, Emperor Nero tied Christians to a tall pole, doused them with oil, then lit them on fire – human streetlights - to light the road to the Coliseum where other Christians were thrown to the lions for sport. Aaaand, the early Christians lost their property, their standing in community, and their jobs to boot. The question that absolutely must be asked: Why would one ever become a Christian?
Because the early Christian disciples behaved differently, and their communities looked like nothing the world had ever seen before. Their inner transformation of joy was followed by an outward focus on love of neighbor and hope. The pagans took notice. Whatever was going on there, they wanted to be a part of it, no matter what the cost. Isn’t that what we want here? #startpraying
We are burying my younger brother this weekend.
This sentence has sat at the top of this column, all by its lonesome, for days. I don’t know where to take it. I found it ironic that the Responsorial Psalm today is, ‘The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want,’ because I’m struggling here. You see, I still want my baby brother hanging around with his college-age daughters and being there for me when I have a tech question or need some advice. I miss his presence too. I can’t tell you how many times my remaining brother, Rick, and I painfully joke, “Where’s Ron when you need him? Just like him to abandon us when times get tough. We need the tiebreaker opinion.”
Yes, Rick and I joke about Ron, because if we didn’t laugh we’d cry. He did abandon us in a way, committing suicide last November. He was a man who thrived by living on the edge in every aspect of his life – literally riding his bike up mountainsides for fun. But each peak had to get bigger and be better. More complicated. Inherently technical. Push to the limit. You know how it goes. Life is all fun and games until… it’s not. After re-reading Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, I think my brother was looking for the kind of peace that Paul wrote about. He thought he could find it high on a mountaintop or in his own amazing accomplishments. It was always just up ahead, around the bend, or in the next big move. Yet it was elusive. I’m pretty sure we all know a lot of folks like that, who are looking for peace in all the wrong places.
There were lots of folks like that in Jesus’ time too. As Jesus steps off the boat and reads the souls of the crowd before him in today’s Gospel, he is moved with pity. He knows that they are looking for something, but what they really need is some One. One who will give them a peace that the world cannot give. #stoplookingelsewhere
There I was, weeding my rocks. Again. Yep. I’m not gardening again this year, but I do have this long sidewalk leading up to my front door with an equally long and wide rock area running alongside it. Once upon a time, a tall and beautiful row of bushes made a home in the rocks, but as a result of a beetle infestation, only the rocks claim residency… along with a few pesky subleasers called clover and carpetweed that definitely make the place look low-rent and unkept. I either needed to condemn the area or rebuild something beautiful for God. I chose the latter.
I knew that just pulling the weeds wasn’t going to help. I’d evicted them many times before, but they kept popping back in for extended visits. I needed to push the rocks aside, dig deep to get rid of the dirt that had accumulated, then push the rocks back into place, one space at a time. It was a long, slow, and sometimes painful process, but super satisfying in the end.
This is what it takes to revitalize a Catholic culture too.
First, we can’t just keep doing the same things we’ve always done, hoping that our loved ones return to the Mass and community we love so much. I know we are all channeling our inner-Amos from today’s reading; Amos didn’t want to shake things up, he just wanted to be a simple shepherd. But God called Amos to something new and he’s calling you and me too.
Next, we have to go deep, and it starts with rooting out our own weeds and getting rid of the dirt that’s accumulated. St. Paul tells the Ephesians that they are to be holy and without blemish in order to accomplish His will. Those are wise words for us too.
Finally, it’s going to be a long, slow, and sometimes painful process. Growth and transformation aren’t easy - and they take time. But don’t worry because you’ll be among friends. That’s why Jesus sends his disciples out in groups to build something beautiful for God. #strengthinnumbers
For the past seven years or so, I’ve been teaching a Women’s Bible class at a couple of different parishes. My academic training is in Sacred Scripture, and I have a penchant for the Old Testament. One fall session, we were looking at the OT prophets. There’s a lovely book by Abraham Heschel simply titled, The Prophets, and it’s a gem. I never tire of reading through it and I glean some new insight every time.
Heshel is a man of deep faith who had seen a lot in his sixty-five years on this earth. As a Jewish scholar during the dark history of Germany, he lost his mother and three sisters to a variety of horrendous anti-Jewish campaigns. And yet he refused to dismiss the presence of a powerful and loving God who is intimately involved in the affairs of the world, and thus lived out a literary and personal campaign for peace and justice. His daughter writes, “My father did not tell his audience what they wanted to hear, but told them what they needed to improve.”
Today’s three readings do the same. Ezekiel reveals God’s anger to the idolatrous Israelites, while Paul reveals Jesus as the God who removes our sins to give a new and exciting life in Christ. And Jesus… well, we know Jesus as priest, prophet, and king of this world and the next. Not everyone believed Jesus, just as not everyone bought into Paul’s message or listened to Ezekiel.
And not everyone is going to listen to you and me. In our prophetic role (evangelization) given to us by virtue of our baptism, we are going to experience a few rebellious souls, a couple of thorns in the flesh, and more than our share of folks who will take offense at our attempts to share the faith and/or bring up the past to diminish our future. But if it didn’t stop Jesus, Paul, Ezekiel, and Heschel from speaking up, why should it stop us? #channelyourfavoriteevangelist
Today’s long version of the Gospel includes the account of “the hemorrhaging woman,” which is sandwiched within the saga of the healing of Jairus’ young daughter. That’s a ton of healing going on in only a few short verses. It’s also worthy to note that these two healings are of women; the young daughter of a synagogue official and a nameless woman who has been suffering for twelve years. Neither have power or standing in the Jewish community life.
You see, Jesus isn’t interested in the power and standing we’ve accumulated; he’s interested in us simply as his Beloved. It’s not what we do in this life that defines us, it’s who we are. It’s why the church defends the lives of the unborn, the aged, the terminally ill, the imprisoned… those souls who are limited in their contributions to society. For Jesus, it’s not about our DOing, it’s about our BEing.
What ought we be? Well, disciples of the Lord, first. As the Good Book says, we should “love the Lord with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our strength.” That’s the Great Shema (Deut. 6:5), the constant daily prayer of every Jewish man, woman, and child. Jesus would have prayed it often. He loved and followed the will of his Father, and we love and follow the will of both of them. That makes us disciples.
Second, we are built for community. Since we are created in the image and likeness of God, and as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are an eternal community, we too need others in our lives. Our hemorrhaging woman’s medical condition marks her as ‘unclean’ and therefore places her outside of all community life. She is isolated. Alone. Unable to worship.
Jesus heals Jairus’ daughter and the hemorrhaging woman not because of what they do, but for who they are. Next week we welcoming everyone back to Mass as the dispensation to watch online is lifted, and we are all invited to participate in community life. Encourage others. Invite friends. Be healed. Come as you are. #disciples
We’re at the Twelfth Sunday of Ordinary Time, and what do the readings reflect? Simple sermons about fig trees and mustard seeds? Sharing meals with friends and frenemies? Relaxing in the shade of olive trees? Sorry. We get storms, waves on high, and violent squalls. Is that what comes to your mind when pondering ‘ordinary time’? Those aren’t the first thoughts that come to my mind. Ordinary time is when the day-to-day tasks of life take on a simple rhythm of their own. Routines have a little more margin for error and life feels a bit more weighted with calm.
Why would the Church, in her infinite wisdom, conjure up images of thick darkness, waves breaking over boats, and perishing under the weight of distress as we enter the long gentle season of ordinary time? It’s true that having Jesus in your lifeboat brings a sense of safety to your adventure. It’s also true that Jesus has-your-back and will quiet the storms of your life. It’s even true that Jesus has the power to work miracles in his authority over nature, having been its Creator. Yes, Jesus is there in the middle of our squalls. It’s absolutely true that storms arise without warning. All are authentic pondering points of the readings today. But let’s look a bit deeper here and veer off course a bit.
The disciples sitting in the boat have been following Jesus around for a little while now. They’ve seen him heal Simon’s mother-in-law, heal a leper or two, cure a paralytic, and tell some great parable about a sower and seeds. There’s something about Jesus, but they can’t quite put their finger on it. He’s different, for sure, but they aren’t sure how different. Until the quieting of the raging sea and then saving them from imminent death. Now they are in awe. Now they get it.
Jesus is not only a preacher and a healer, he’s a Savior. He saved them from drowning, in both a literal and spiritual sense. And the course of their life is forever changed. I wonder if ours can be too. #clearingapath
When I worked at the University of St. Thomas, I would make the daily drive from Mahtomedi to St. Paul. It wasn’t a bad commute, but I there was no ‘easy’ way to get there. I tried freeways, frontage roads, neighborhood roads, and even a bus route, but every path was fraught with either road construction or congestion. There simply wasn’t an easy way to get there. Much like the road to heaven, yes?
I eventually found a path that was right for me. One where my prayers would bear fruit, I felt the shade of the Lord in the heat of the commute, and my lowly withered attitude-tree blossomed. It was an Ezekiel-inspired route that included up-and-down climbs and long lazy roads with a few stoplights to help keep me focused. It became familiar. Comfortable.
Then one day, as I was making my way down Pierce Butler, a new fenced in section over rocky land appeared, with a great big sign that read, “Future Home of Piercing Faith Church.” I smiled. Piercing Faith. Super cool. I couldn’t wait to see how the building would look, who I might see working on it, what their charism was, and how they might change the culture of Frogtown. I drove by every day with anticipation. Only… nothing ever happened. Weeks, months, years went by. No cornerstone, no workmen, no excitement. No trees, no shade, no plantings, no fruit. There was nothing other than an empty field with a chain-link fence in all those many years.
Our faith life can be like that. We’re comfortable. We know the way to our destination and there’s no reason to shake it up. We have a routine and it works for us. We know where the rocks in the field are and the only kind of seed that will grow in that soil, and it’s not mustard in Minnesota.
Or is it? What if the mustard seed is the kind of faith that probes our soul and searches our hearts? A piercing faith that moves us to build something beautiful for God? #weareunderconstruction
My dear friend posted a Facebook photo of transplanted daisies that belonged to her mom, and memories of summers spent on her parents’ farm floated before my eyes. I spent many childhood summers on that farm under Eleanor’s care, while my mom worked two jobs to support me and my two brothers. I remember the scent of homemade apple butter, the pale look of thick potato soup, and eating eggs every which way. I learned how to get chickens from the coop to the plate, when to walk the beans, and the delicate art of peeling apples with a paring knife. I found it interesting that the first thing I thought of when I saw the daisy photo was food. When I think about it, food is the first thing that comes to mind at special events, yes? We all have something in our culinary history that makes us close our eyes and smile.
Jesus did too, I imagine. As a Jewish boy, he grew up with the scent of homemade bread, the sound of the presses turning olives into oil, and the sight of lambs led to the slaughter. And that Passover meal, full of memory and aroma: zeroah, a lamb's shankbone; beitzah, a roasted egg; haroset, a paste of fruit and nuts; mar'or, a bitter herb; and last, but not least, the unleavened bread called matzah and the four cups of wine, called arba kosot. It is here, amongst the scent of childhood and the smell of familiarity that Jesus chooses to change the meaning of bread and wine.
Because we don’t need what Jesus did as an example for us, we need who Jesus is to abide within us. We need to be sustained and nourished by the Lord himself. Yes, we are earthly creatures who need the fruit of the earth, but we also need the angel’s bread of sweetest grace, the bread and wine we hallow, the heavenly feast of living bread. It is here we receive the strength to follow the Lord wherever he leads, to be disciples of the Lord. #tasteandsee
The Easter season has come to a close. How do we know? Because we hear from the Old Testament once again. #bestillmyheart Of all the Old Testament readings, where do we begin? Genesis, Jeremiah, or Judith, the amazing books of new beginnings? Nope. Job, Judith, or Tobit, the delightful books of struggle and starting over? Guess again? How about Susanna, Sirach, or Esther, those lovely books containing words of wisdom and encouragement for the faithful? Oh, gosh no. We get Deuteronomy, the opening lines of the final book of the Pentateuch, containing all of the laws of the fledgling Israelite community. Ummmm. Okay?
Definitely okay. It’s the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity, and each of our three readings brings out something we need to know. Matthew emphasizes the mission of the church to make disciples for the Son of God. Paul’s letter to the good people of Rome emphasizes the power of the Holy Spirit to ward off fear under intense suffering and persecution. Our Deuteronomy reading reminds us that God the Father is indeed powerful and His commandments are worth living – and dying – for. It’s perfect.
Mostly. You see, because of the magnitude of Paul’s letter and Jesus’ final words of commission to make disciples, our little Deuteronomy reading is often ignored. But if we look closely, it’s the basis for all we know. Moses has led the people out of slavery and is preparing their hearts to receive the rules by which they should orient their lives. He reminds the Israelites of God’s strong hand and amazing miracles for the journey. He recalls the terror unleashed upon their enemies. He recounts the experience of hearing God speak to him. He tells the people that God created man upon the earth, then chose them, and only them, to change the world.
Therein is the soul of the matter. God has chosen you for something big. Yep. You. God is looking right at you with a twinkle in his eye and a ‘we can do this together’ attitude. Moses asks, “Did anything so great ever happen before?” We might do the same. #pondering
One of the things you’ll learn about me is that, like Fr. Dave, I’m a fan of The Chosen series. I love how it blends the theological imagination of the Scriptures and the historical realities at the time of Jesus. As I’m praying my way through the readings lately, I hear the voices of the disciples in disagreement with each other, then asking the answer of the Master. Sometimes Jesus is pretty straight-forward, “Come and see.” Sometimes his answer is a question, “How many loaves do you have?” And every once in a while his silence means, “We’ll talk about that later,” and something exciting is about to happen.
This week’s Pentecost readings marks the end of Eastertide. We’ve been walking alongside Peter, James, and John, and all the other disciples who have been hanging on Jesus every word, watching miracles, healing the sick, sidestepping Sadducees and challenging Pharisees. We saw the disciples go two-by-two to teach and preach and heal on their own. We heard Jesus’ talk of vines and branches, sheep and Shepherds, narrow gates and open hearts, and how to love each other as he has loved us. We watched the unfolding of betrayal, abandonment, cruelty, and certain death. Then we heard the amazing news from Mary Magdalene, and listened incredulously to the men who recognized Jesus in the breaking of the bread. He. Is. Risen! Alleluia!
So where do we find our intrepid disciples in today’s reading? Rejoicing on the streets? Shouting from the rooftops? Winning folks for the Lord? Nope. Not yet. You see, they still need something else. They need the presence and peace of the Lord, the grace of confession, and the strength of the Holy Spirit to rock their soul and challenge their world. That’s what we need too. We need the Spirit to take hold and take charge, so that we can change this world for the better, each in our own way and using our own gifts. That’s what a “Director of Evangelization” helps with.
How might that look here? Well, we can chat about that when I arrive. #adventures
Laura Stierman started as our Director of Evangelization on June 28. She brings a lot of experience from parish life and has a great zeal for evangelization. Laura will help us develop and implement an overall evangelization plan which corresponds to our mission and vision. She will be part of a team that will develop and implement the curriculum for all our adult and youth formation so that it is missionary and evangelical. Welcome to SEAS, Laura!