Christmas

Christmas music. Christmas presents. Christmas cookies. Christmas trees. Christmas cards.
The upside? Lots of ways to celebrate Christmas.
The downside? Plenty of distractions.

It's a good idea to take a moment and think about why we celebrate Christmas. And I don't mean why, at some point, a Roman emperor decided to supplant the pagan celebration of Mithras with the birth of Christ so the church could celebrate Christmas on Decemeber 25th.

And I don't even mean pondering the how of Christmas: the humble birth of our God and King on the outskirts of a small town in the backwaters of the Roman Empire. Sure, there is plenty of significance to the fact that Jesus was born in such meager conditions, in a stack of hay and in closer proximity to manure than we might like to imagine.

Today let's take some time to think about the why of Christmas. Why did God come among us? Why did we need Jesus' public life and ministry? Why did Jesus need to come so he could suffer, die, and be raised from the dead?

These are huge theological questions and I won't pretend to know all the answers.

But I do think today is a perfect day to celebrate what Karl Rahner described as the Incarnation: God's irreversible commitment to all humanity. Despite the fact that humans repeatedly disobeyed God's commands, rejected God's covenant, ignored and persecuted God's prophets, instead of repudiating these ungrateful, wayward people, God got closer. God became one of us to communicate -- in the clearest way possible -- God's will for our lives. In other words, Christmas is the day we celebrate the meaning of life.

Of course I'm referring to the Greatest Commandment: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind” and “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” [Matthew 22:37, 39]. God can't get any clearer than this.

Jesus is the Sacrament of God -- the visible sign of God's invisible grace -- to proclaim and remind us that this is why we're here. And as we celebrate and honor the sacramental nature of Christ, we ought to also take a moment to appreciate how Christ points to the Church, the "universal sacrament of salvation," the abiding signal of Christ's Spirit alive in the world. And certainly, the church is marked by a sacramental life through ritual, symbol, and the reading and reception of Scripture.

The sacraments we celebrate and share are means of encountering the mysterious grace of God in the most direct way possible. In this way, the sacramental life of the church manifests what is holy and mysterious -- most importantly, that God is with us (CHRISTMAS!).

Perhaps this is most lucid in the Sacrament of the Eucharist. Here, the bread and wine are indispensable for conveying God’s presence. In order to, as St. Augustine posits, “become what we receive,” the church celebrates the ritual of the Last Supper by gathering around a table to take, bless, break, and share bread. Of course, it would a critical error not to link this experience of grace with the nature of its communal celebration: all share and become the Body of Christ. For this reason, the Eucharist is the “source and summit” of the Christian life, individually and communally [cf. Lumen Gentium #11].

This is not to suggest, however, that the mark of sacramentality is reserved to the seven sacraments. In fact, the church itself is a sacrament because it is a sign that makes present the reality to which it points, that is, God in our midst. More fully, as Karl Rahner writes, the church “is the abiding presence of that primordial sacramental word of definitive grace, which Christ is in the world, effecting what is uttered by uttering it in sign. By the very fact of being in that way the enduring presence of Christ in the world, the Church is truly the fundamental sacrament, the well-spring of the sacraments in the strict sense.” We turn to these sacraments for grace because, due to finitude and sin, we fall short of the holiness to which we are called. The rituals of the sacraments reconcile us to the vertical and horizontal communion with Christ and the church. They remind us that, through thick and thin, God is always with us. In real, personal, and sometimes even tangible ways. No matter what.

So today, as we ponder the Christ child born unto us, let's not only take in the family and friends, the food and celebrations, the lights and sounds of Christmas, but also this "irreversible commitment of God to all humanity" and how this is expressed not just today, but each and every day through the Church and the Sacraments. These "sacred doors" are open to us in our daily life, but it's up to us to enter this world, soak in God's loving presence, and allow ourselves to be transformed by "becoming what we receive."

In fact, the truth of Christmas is not only the meaning of life and the Greatest Commandment; the truth of Christmas is that WE are called to live IN and WITH Christ to BE Christ for one another.

In the words of St. Teresa of Avila, "Christ has no hands but yours."

Today let us ponder how we use our hands, our eyes, our ears, our mouth ... our whole lives to witness that GOD IS WITH US and that GOD SAVES (the very meaning of the names Emmanuel and Jesus) -- not just today, but all our days.

Hate to Wait

Today is the Fourth Sunday of Advent.  This year we actually have four days to this week.  Last year we had two.  The year before?  One.  And most people don't mind, because we just hate to wait.  And Christmas is no exception.

But the world had to wait thousands of years for the Incarnation.  I suppose we can wait a few more days.  The hope is that we make the most of this time of anticipation, using it to make room in our hearts for HIM who will redeem us, save us from sin and death, and give us the grace to enjoy eternal life with God and the communion of saints. 

They say "all good things come to those who wait."  Or "patience is a virtue."  And how many times have we said something, done something, or sent off an email that we later regret because the comment, action, or angry retort was premature, lacked the full information, or was just some visceral reaction that we'd otherwise revise more peaceably?  

Maybe, in addition to this week of anticipation, awaiting the birth of Christ, the entrance of His light and love into our lives, and the witness of His saving word and deed to the history of the world, we could learn a thing or two about patience?  Instead of spending time watching movies that try to remind us of the "Christmas spirit," to be grateful, generous, and kind or to remember that this life IS a wonderful gift, maybe we could slow down, relax, and enjoy life more every day?  Instead of cramming visits with friends and family into this one special week, what if we made more time for the people who matter most to us?  What if, instead of sending out a Christmas card to update everyone on how things are going for us, we took time, once a week, to find out how things are going for someone else?  What if, instead of rushing to the mall to buy a bunch of things for people to show them how much they mean to us, we spent time with people who are lonely, sick, afraid, or even incarcerated and gave them a greater gift -- that of our time?

A few months back, I wrote about not just making the most of Lent, but actually striving to be challenged enough by those 40 days to be changed by Lent and to carry its sacrifices and discipline in prayer, service/almsgiving, and fasting into the rest of the year.  Perhaps, with the last few days of Advent which remain, we could find ways to carry this anticipation and appreciation with us to change the way we see and live in the world in the New Year.  And instead of celebrating the light and love of Christ only at Christmas, maybe we could find concrete ways to find it in others and share it with everyone we meet?

With the days that remain, maybe we can find something from this Advent or Christmas Season we can adopt into our lives to carry the Good News of Christmas with us all year long.

That might make the wait for next Christmas a little bit easier.

And it will certainly make our world a little bit brighter.

Gaudete!

Today is the third week of Advent, or in pre-Vatican II language, Gaudete Sunday!
Gaudete means "Rejoice!" Why? Because there's just one more week of Advent (after this one). Jesus is almost here! Rejoice!

It took me a while to understand this. What's the point of rejoicing in the midst of this time of preparation? Shouldn't we save the rejoicing for Christmas?

In a word, no. We are supposed to live the joy of Christmas (and Easter, for that matter) each and every day. Although our eyes are fixed on Christmas and the coming of the Incarnation in our world and in our lives, the joy of Christmas transforms the present.

David Bosch argues that, "in the Christian faith, the future indeed holds the primacy … not because the present is empty, but precisely because God’s future has already invaded it." In A Theology of Hope, Jurgen Moltmann insists that our lives are to be lived in "active hope" which doesn't just fixate on tomorrow, but which allows us to be fully open to the present.

Knowing what we know -- that the Incarnation is coming, that the Resurrection lies ahead (well, at least according to our liturgical calendar -- in reality, these events have already come and transformed the world), that grace triumphs over sin -- we have EVERY REASON to REJOICE TODAY.

In a previous post, I quoted a line from Nietzsche, who famously asked, "You say you are a Christian, but where is your joy?" This is a terrific challenge for us, this week in Advent. This is a reminder to LIVE what we read in today's second reading (1 Thes. 5:16-24):

Brothers and sisters:
Rejoice always.
Pray without ceasing.
In all circumstances give thanks,
for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.
Do not quench the Spirit ...

The future transforms the present. It's like "It's a Wonderful Life" or "Back to the Future" or a million other movies that try to show us the value of life, what a precious gift this is, and not just to KNOW it, but to live differently because of it.

So this week, live with JOY in your heart. Let the joy of Christmas and the joy of Easter transform the way you see the world. And through the joy you live and share, let that transform the way others see you, so you can, like the saints, be a "little mirror," reflecting the glory of the future that awaits us.

Avery Dulles

Cardinal Avery Dulles passed away today, on the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. He was 90 years old.

Although most of the obituaries about him are brief since his eminence's passing is still so recent, there is a longer obituary in today's New York Times (probably since they had it already written and ready for print once the news came from Fordham). I saw Cardinal Dulles in May 2006 and even then he was quite frail. Apparently, the polio which plagued him in his youth returned, taking from him the use of his legs, then his arms and even hands and throat. He hasn't been able to speak or type for months. I can't even imagine what his life has been like recently.

Anyway, his story is a remarkable one. And no matter what you believe about this prolific theologian (that he was too conservative or just plan boring: a joke he often made is that there is dull, there is duller, and then there is Dulles), you cannot deny his incredible love for God and the Church.

In particular, I find his conversion story especially beautiful. In February 1939, he was walking along the Charles River in Cambridge (as a Harvard student) and saw a tree budding. He wrote in his second book, "A Testimonial to Grace" (in 1946), that in looking at the tree, “The thought came to me suddenly, with all the strength and novelty of a revelation, that these little buds in their innocence and meekness followed a rule, a law of which I as yet knew nothing,” he wrote. “That night, for the first time in years, I prayed.”

His conversion shocked his family and he has been -- without question -- one of the most important American Catholic theologians in history ever since.

I always find it fascinating that often times, the best Catholics in this world are people who started out having no love for God, no desire to be in relationship with Him, no idea that God has any relevance for their lives. If nothing else, that ought to challenge the rest of us to take the gift of faith that we have been given and reconsider just what a treasure it is!

If you'd like to read the NY Times obituary, you can find it here:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/12/13/us/13dulles.html?partner=rss&emc=rss
I'm sure there will be better articles from various Catholic News Services in the coming days. I'd invite you to learn a little bit more about this man and his tremendous love for God and the Church.

And I am willing to bet that any time you spend with anything Cardinal Dulles has written, you'll find it worth your while.

Yes

Do you think about heaven?

I have to be honest. I don't spend much time thinking about the hereafter. Maybe it's because no one really knows what to expect. We have these images of floating on clouds, angels playing on harps, and everyone enjoying some kind of bright, shiny utopia.

Seems about right, to tell you the truth. Peter Kreeft has a book on Heaven (subtitled "The Heart's Deepest Longing"). Now, he probably doesn't have any kind of expert, insider information to share, but I enjoy his perspective. He insists that heaven is more wonderful than we could imagine, it is our heart's deepest longing: to be in full communion with God and all our brothers and sisters (now that I think of it, that sounds a lot like the Gustavo Gutierrez quote I cited last week). Kreeft leads his reader on a quest for heaven and his basic point is that heaven SHOULD make a difference in our lives. Even if we can say so very little definitively about it.

Kreeft is convinced (and convincing) that we are offered heaven through Jesus Christ. All we have to do is say "Yes."

Our lives, then, are how we say "Yes" to Christ. And it's not like we have to figure it out on our own: that's what the gift of Scripture, the Church, and Tradition are for. But we have to say Yes!

This means that the moment we get out of bed in the morning, the way we live ought to change. Our life ought to be marked by ecstasy (joy), fearlessness (courage), and above all LOVE for God and one another. After all, as today's second reading [2 Pt. 3:8-14] attests, what we have been offered is life with the Lord -- an eternity so wonderful that one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years is like one day (I think that's beautiful).

This is good news. Very good news. And it was the message of John the Baptist, when he preached repentance for sins and baptism in the Jordan River [Mk.1:1-8]. And as we hear in today's Gospel, hordes of people followed him to the River to be forgiven and set their lives aright. But John was not interested in leading these people to heaven; he was focused on pointing them to the One who could: Christ. John is a prophet in the truest sense -- like the prophets of the Old Testament (Isaiah, Hosea, Daniel, MIcah, Elijah, etc.) -- he calls attention to the ways we have wandered from the covenant with God, the ways in which we have become selfish or proud or refused to love or be loved. Prophets call us out, and then call us back so once again we can live with ecstasy and fearlessness and love. And once again, be reminded that our lives need to be a YES to God so we can spend eternity with God, who is Love, FOREVER.

I don't think many people spend a lot of time thinking about heaven. And that's probably not a good thing. Because if we realized that how we live TODAY, right now, is what determines how we spend ALL ETERNITY, I think our lives would be significantly different.

That's why we have been given the saints, I think. They are like prophets, though not all of them are as vociferous (in fact, if we take St. Francis of Assisi to heart, the goal ought to be to "preach the gospel always, using words only if necessary"). Their lives -- which, to be clear were far from perfect -- are like little mirrors, giving us a glimpse of heaven. They remind us to think about spending all eternity with God and that ANY price we pay here, in this life is worth it. Like John the Baptist, the saints call us to repentance for the forgiveness of sins. They call us to reconcile ourselves with God and one another. They call us to lives of not only faith, hope, and love, but ecstasy and fearlessness. They call us to say Yes to Christ.

It's easy to think that there are saintly people and there's everybody else. But this is dangerous thinking. This is the kind of thinking that gets us off the hook. It's what allows us to not spend time thinking about heaven or how our lives are a Yes to God. We convince ourselves that that job is reserved for a select, few, really holy people. That's not true. Saints are just like everybody else. They just say Yes to Christ.

We're all called to be saints. We're all called to live in a way that makes us worthy of the Promise which Christ has given us. We're all called to -- like John the Baptist, the prophets before and after him, and the saints we read about and encounter today -- point to the One who beckons the world to its flourishing and its perfection.

As Peter Kreeft reminds us:

What do we want? Infinite Joy. Very well, here He is. Now what? Just say "Yes."

Is that it? Yes. Just keep saying "Yes."

Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes ...

May this week of Advent be our "Yes" to Christ and the start of a lifetime of repeating it.

Advent Conspiracy

JUST. PLAIN. AWESOME.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eVqqj1v-ZBU

[WATCH IT NOW!]

Advent Resources

Now that Advent is here, I thought I'd share some resources to make this an especially prayerful and peaceful time of preparation.

From Pax Christi:
http://www.paxchristiusa.org/news_Events_more.asp?id=1489


From Sacred Space:
http://www.sacredspace.ie/advent/


From Creighton University:
http://www.creighton.edu/CollaborativeMinistry/Advent/


From the US Conference of Catholic Bishops:
http://www.usccb.org/advent/


And of course ... there's always the Examen, the trusted daily reflection we've inherited from St. Ignatius:

1. Quiet yourself to become aware of God's presence.
2. Gratefully review the day from when you awoke to this point.
Gratitude is the foundation of our friendship with God; walk through your day in the presence of God and note its giftedness, your moments of joy.
3. Tune into your emotions.
Reflect on the feelings you experienced during the day.
Discern how God is calling you to be in relationship with Godself through these feelings.
4. Choose one feature, exchange, or event from today and pray from/with it.
Ask the Holy Spirit to help you elicit something during the day that is particularly important.
5. Look forward to tomorrow.
Ask God to comfort and strengthen you for tomorrow's challenges.


Any other prayers you'd like to share? Please feel free to post below!

pax et bonum!

Today is More Precious Than You Think

Advent is here. That makes me happy.

Advent gives me an excuse to break out of the routine, to be more intentional about prayer, and ... let's face it: it means Christmas is almost here.

Why do I get so excited for Christmas? I'd like to think it has more to do than the music, decorations, thoughts of presents, cookies, and snow. I'd even like to believe it goes beyond seeing friends and celebrating with family. I think it has something to do with the themes of the holiday season: peace, joy, hope, and love.

Whenever I think about Christmas, it gives me a big sense of CONNECTION with all humanity.

I felt this way a few weeks ago while I was in Manhattan. In Rockefeller Plaza, they were setting up the giant Christmas tree. Thousands of tourists were gathered around to see the workers climb the scaffolding and hang the lights on the tree. There was an excitement in the air: Christmas is almost here! And we got to bask in that anticipation together.

And to be sure, there is PLENTY of anticipation this time of year. The decorations, music, and even the sales in the stores all get us geared up for December 25th.

I suppose Advent is all about pacing ourselves in this anticipation. It's not just about being totally zeroed-in on December 25th; Advent is about an ongoing project of preparation each and every day. It is a task to be present in each day. After all, as I was reminded by some graffiti in Manhattan a few weeks back:

TODAY IS MORE PRECIOUS THAN YOU THINK.

That's what today's Gospel (Mk 13:33-37) tells us: This day is more precious than you think. And getting caught up in the Christmas anticipation can make us lose sight of the gift that is TODAY.

Jesus tells us to be watchful and alert NOW, TODAY, TONIGHT and not wait until tomorrow. Not only is this true for Advent, but it is true for our entire relationship with Him. I think it's easy for people -- and especially young people -- to put off their faith in God. It's easy to think that it will mean more to us when we're older, when we want to get married or have a family of our own, or perhaps even when we're near death.

But the sad and scary fact of the matter is that we have no idea how long this gift of life will be given us. And the truth is, for all our planning, hopes, and dreams, we cannot count on tomorrow. Today is more precious than you think.

So my hope is that Advent will be a time of fruitful prayer and abiding peace for you -- not because of the general sentiments of peace, joy, hope, and love this holiday season -- but because you find the time to be quiet and still, to seek your God who is MADLY in love with you and is SO eager to show you what a precious gift you have been given, each and every day.

Gustavo Gutierrez says it best, in my opinion: the whole meaning of life is to be in communion with God and in solidarity with all our brothers and sisters.

The story about Joseph and Mary not being able to find any room at the inn the night Jesus is born is an allegory for the world making room for Christ. Let's use these next four weeks to make room in our hearts for the God who loves us, desperately desires to be in relationship with us, and who calls all of humanity into a solidarity far deeper and wider than the peace, love, and joy (or the tinsel, lights, and presents) of this holiday season.

Let's do it TODAY. Because this day is more precious than you think.

Fair Warning

Today is the Feast of Christ the King. This doesn't really resonate well with Americans, since our nation was born out of protest against a king. And I could go into a long recapitulation about how kingship is viewed in Israel and why this imagery is important and compelling -- even today, in this country -- but ... I won't.

Instead, I'd like to focus on today's Gospel, Matthew 25:31-46. In Matthew's account, this is Jesus' last public sermon. It's kind of like his punchline, I think. It's what he's been driving at during the past three years (well, that and the Cross and Resurrection, which I don't mean to diminish to any degree).

Today's Gospel is the famous instruction to feed the hungry, give drink to those who thirst, clothe the naked, heal the sick, and visit the imprisoned. There are many, many things that strike me about this passage, but I will focus on three.

1) This is the basis of judgment for a people who weren't previously warned. Jesus conjures up this image of divine judgment to separate the sheep from the goats and THIS is the basis for judgment: how we care for our neighbor. It has nothing to do with going to the Temple to make a sacrifice and pay homage to the Lord. It has nothing to do with ritual or purity. The Final Judgment is about LOVE and how we LOVE one another. And this is the case for people who weren't even given fair warning (although that's not entirely true, considering the warnings of prophets like Amos and Micah). Can you imagine what this judgment will be like for us, who have been given fair warning? In other words, Jesus is trying to say, as loudly and clearly as possible: PAY ATTENTION. THIS IS IMPORTANT!

2) The sheep and goats are separated by Christ the King and they don't know if they are a sheep or a goat. This should have served to wake up Israel, God's "chosen possession." Here, Jesus drives at another crucial point: your salvation is not won by your birth into a specific nation or religion. Your heritage does not guarantee you eternal life. How you live, how you care for and love others is what determines if you are a sheep or a goat. Although this was surely directed at Israel at the time, I think it speaks volumes to cradle Catholics today. We can take many things for granted. We can be content knowing that we have been baptized, that we show up for church, and that we're good people in general. Jesus is telling us this isn't enough. We can't be content with our comfortable little lives. We can't compartmentalize our faith into something we only deal with for one hour on a Sunday. We have to go to the margins, to the people who have been alienated and made vulnerable by society and not only love them, but meet their needs: give them food, clothing, heath care, and education. We live in a "great Christian nation" but there are millions of Americans who haven't been given the care they need. In other words, two thousand years later, we still haven't heeded this Gospel.

[cue dramatic music -- this is a major indictment of this "Christian" nation]

3. Karl Rahner writes about the unity of love of neighbor and the love of God. That is exactly what this Gospel is about. In this passage, the people ask, "When did I see you, Lord?" because they are caught up in a vertical understanding of their relationship with God. Jesus is challenging them to see their relationship with God as both vertical AND horizontal. Again, this is nothing new. The prophets of the Old Testament constantly railed about the lack of "shalom" (right relationship) between the people and Yahweh and between the people themselves. Love of God and love of neighbor is a BOTH/AND not an either/or. That's why, when Jesus is asked what the greatest commandment is, he responds, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your mind and all your soul AND love your neighbor as yourself" (Mt. 22:36-40).

In A Theology of Liberation, Gustavo Gutierrez argues that what is missing most in the world today is a theology of neighbor. The statistics about individualism in our country and the 1.5 billion people living in extreme poverty certainly indicate there is truth to this claim. We have lost a concept for being neighbors to and for one another. We have turned a blind eye to those in need because we don't want to feel obliged or commanded to help someone else -- they should help themselves, after all! We are a nation which prizes personal responsibility, which means that people have to take care of themselves. But that is NOT what Jesus is talking about in this Gospel. He isn't saying that the hungry need to feed themselves, the naked need to find their own clothes, and the sick have to get their own medicine. Jesus is telling us that we must provide for those who can't provide for themselves.

And whether or not we like kings in this country, we have to know that, in the end, the final judgment will rest on whether or not we do precisely this.

And we won't be able to say no one gave us fair warning.

Plenty to Go Around

Have you ever noticed that you cannot buy a small tube of toothpaste?
Before you get Jerry Seinfeld's, "What is the deal with that?" voice stuck in your head, just go with me on this one.

It's impossible to buy small containers of toothpaste. You can either get teeny tiny travel-size tubes or you have to get a commercial-grade amount. Unless you're living with a bunch of people who are obsessive about brushing their teeth, these economy tubes could probably last you half a year. But have no fear, it comes in packs of 3 or 4 tubes, so you're set until the next time you have to move.

So, do we let this toothpaste last us half a year? Heck no! We pile that toothpaste on, and if some falls off, so what? We'll just squeeze more out. And instead of squeezing every last drop out at the end, we'll just move on to the next tube -- after all, there's plenty to go around.

But this wouldn't be the case if we had small tubes of toothpaste. Because then we'd be extra-frugal with it. We'd just put a little dollup on the brush -- only enough barely enough to get the job done. After all, we'd have to make this toothpaste last, right? And make it last, we would.

Marketers know this about us. So this is precisely why you cannot buy small tubes of toothpaste. Or shampoo. Or laundry detergent. Because if you only have a little bit, you'll be frugal with it. But if you can only get it in economy size, then you might as well be reckless with it. After all, there's plenty to go around.

This difference in behavior between excess and scarcity is something we see whenever gas prices fluctuate. When prices fall, we're in hog heaven. When prices climb, we start second-guessing all those extra trips or we might even consult a public transportation schedule. This is a fundamental basis for the relationship between supply and demand.

And it relates to our theology, too. For example, in the Middle Ages, scholastic efforts placed greater significance and sanctity on the Eucharist. The laity felt unworthy to receive it, so they stopped consuming the Eucharist each Sunday. Instead, they only sought to be in its presence, to be able to catch a glimpse of its radiant grace. Hence, the birth of Eucharistic Adoration. Anyway, the point is, when the eucharist became more scarce, we placed greater value on it. In fact, even today, some people argue against going to daily Mass and receiving communion each day because one possible result is that it becomes an ordinary part of our routine and we lose the reverence and awe that this Sacrament deserves.

Supply and demand. Jesus and talents.

In today's Gospel (Matthew 25:14-30), Jesus gives us a parable about receiving talents. Although this was a kind of money in Jesus' day, we can also translate the word "talent" how we do today and understand this in a sense of the gifts that we receive.

And quite easily, we can see that the servant who got the most talents handled them with the most risk. The servant who received the least talents was far more conservative (and buried them in the ground so as not to risk losing them). The theology of excess engenders in us a sense of openness and boldness; a theology of scarcity gets us into a much more defensive and even suspicious posture.

It'd be easy to draw a quick lesson from this parable: great reward requires great risk. And to some extent, that's absolutely true. But it's also not exactly what Jesus is driving at here.

Instead, Jesus is trying to get our attention, trying to shake us free from the theology of scarcity, in which we convince ourselves that what we possess is both precious and in short supply. So instead of being open, bold, generous, and making use of what we have been given, we bury it, hide it, preserve it -- in other words, we do nothing with it.

But Jesus' point is that what we have been given -- gifts, talents, opportunities, abilities, experiences, relationships, lessons, victories, and defeats -- are to be put to use. What we have been given isn't for display purposes only; it's not about keeping it safe from decay or devaluation. Instead, it's about making the most with what we have been given, no matter if we think it's a lot or a little.

Because, in the end, what we have been given is God's infinite LOVE and abiding grace. And because it is infinite, there is no end to it. A few months back I wrote a post about how this love ought to be given so freely that we even squander it. Love certainly isn't a possession that we need to be neurotic about saving or protecting. It ought to be something we are risky with: for only then will we be rewarded with anything. Or, as St. Francis captured so well nearly eight hundred years ago, "it is through giving that we receive."

Just like toothpaste we buy in bulk, our talents, and more importantly, God's love, ought to be something that we use and use and use without worrying about it running out.

And why not? There is plenty to go around.

With Justice For All?

This is an exciting time. But it is also a difficult time. Because as our nation goes to the voting booth tomorrow, we'll be choosing the leadership which will be making important decisions which will not only shape our lives, but lives of people the whole world over.

What an awesome responsibility.

People have much to say about this -- people who have more time and expertise than me -- but let me just commend two websites to you as you go about making your prudential judgment on who is most fit to lead our nation. Who will do the most good for human dignity? Who will lead us towards justice and peace? How can be once again be "one nation under God with liberty and justice for all"?

I know, for Catholics, abortion is a deal-breaker. It was for me in 2000 and 2004. But we also have to keep in mind that being Pro-Life means protecting life in ALL its forms: in the womb or a baby; as an immigrant or prisoner; old or young; healthy or sick; fat or skinny; gay or straight; rich or poor; white or black or brown or whatever; American or not.

Abortion is ONE life issue -- and to be honest, it's not one that Republicans have a terrific record on. What has George W. Bush done to lower the rate of abortions in this country? And how has his "respect for life" been evident in the torture, death penalty, immigration policies, and the war in Iraq which have taken place on his watch? And if Republicans do care so much about the most vulnerable lives (those in the womb), where are their social programs to help the children born into poverty?

The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops have enjoined Catholics to look at the BIG picture and NOT be single-issue voters. Their document on "Faithful Citizenship" speaks to this and I have posted the link below.

www.faithfulcitizenship.org

I also recommend to you this document from Catholics United for the Common Good. It's another helpful way to consider the big picture when it comes to being Pro-Life.

http://www.catholics-united.org/files/pro-lif e-means-all-life-en.pdf

In the end, however, we cannot go to the polls tomorrow, make our selection, and think our job is over. Whomever is elected and then inaugurated on January 20th, 2009 has a long road ahead of him. And that will be just the start of our work. We need to elect a president who will work with us to promote the common good. And we cannot forget that our responsibility extends far beyond the election season.

And we cannot forget how urgent our responsibility is today. Today, the richest one percent of U.S. households account for more than one-third of the nation’s net worth, more than double the combined wealth of the bottom 90% of Americans. A select few continue to enjoy prosperity, while more than half a million Americans remain homeless, 36 million live below the poverty line, and 47 million are still without access to health care. The United States may claim to be “one nation,” but it hasn’t delivered “liberty and justice for all.”

Realistically, it's up to us -- not a single political candidate -- to create change. So vote for the person who will help you make that change. And then, let's get to work to ensure liberty and justice for all.

Persistence

If you like kung fu movies, you know the story well.  A young man decides that he wants to dedicate his life to the study, practice, and art of a certain spiritual and physical way of life.  The young man climbs a great mountain, enters the sanctuary, bows to the old sage, and asks to enter the community.

Invariably, the young man is either rebuked or admitted but given such menial and banal tasks that it tests his patience.  But until the Master understands the commitment of the young man, he does not give him the opportunity to learn and develop.  The young man doesn't take this as an insult, but merely a test of one's character, mettle, and desire.  

Once he has proved himself, the young man can begin his studies, practice, and new way of life.  Today we see this very archetype at work in the Gospel (Matthew 15:21-28), when Jesus is approached by a Canaanite woman, asking for her daughter to be healed.

The image that many of us hold of Jesus would anticipate that Jesus would graciously and generously oblige this poor woman, heal her daughter, and be on his way with a kind and encouraging word.

Instead, Jesus ignores and insults the poor woman before relenting to her plea.  I'm not one for exploring the psychology of Jesus in such scenes, but I am a little taken aback by how harsh Jesus is with this woman.  What on earth would make Jesus ignore someone in need coming to Him for help?

I think it is something like the phenomenon we see in those kung fu movies.  Because of his public ministry, great deeds and healings, word of Jesus from Nazareth had already spread far and wide.  The Gospels note that at first, Jesus spoke mainly to his disciples; after three years of teaching, healing, and performing miracles, Jesus spoke also to large crowds who pushed closer to see him, hear him, and even touch his clothing -- all in hopes of being healed themselves.

This had to get tiring for Jesus.  He wasn't a freak show or circus act.  And while throngs of people came to him for a quick fix, Jesus wasn't entirely interested in the short-term.  Instead, he explains clearly in this passage:

"I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel."  

Canaanites were one of many tribes of Gentiles, who although lived in close proximity with the Israelites, were not considered a "clean" people because of their lack of ritual laws, food restrictions, and because they didn't worship Yahweh as their God above all other gods.  But even this Jewish rabbi attracted Gentiles to hear His truth, heed His teachings, and be healed by His touch or command.  Before long, it became quite difficult for Jesus to avoid big crowds and likely, countless requests for healing.

This Gospel provides two lessons for us:

First and foremost, we need to be persistent in our faith.  The Canaanite woman does not leave when the disciples send her away.  She does not relent when Jesus insults her, saying "It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs."  Instead, she is persistent, like the young man who is committed to learn kung fu, shows her character, mettle, and desire.  As an outsider, the Canaanite woman is showing her willingness to be converted to this new and different way of life.

What does this mean for us?  That we cannot turn to Jesus for a "quick fix."  We can't rely on Him to get us through our hour of need but then forget about Him when all is well.  We can't risk watering down our faith (and desire to grow closer to Him as the Way, the Truth, and the Life) into superstition.  

From the outside looking in, Christianity can appear to be like a superstition.  Baseball players cross themselves before going to bat, athletes pray before games or matches, thank Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ when they win (but what about when they lose?) -- and I think we all know a few people who have a quick phrase for pleading to St. Anthony when they can't find their keys or wallet or are quick to bury a statue of St. Joseph when they're looking to sell their house.

Christianity isn't superstition.  And turning our lives over to Jesus for His truth, His love, and His healing power in our lives isn't about a quick fix.  It's about persistence and constant conversion.  Or as a good friend of mine, Fr. Wally once told me, it's about "praying tough."  God knows what's in our heart.  And we shouldn't be afraid of being honest with God about what we want, need, or fear.  But that also means we should be ready to be persistent in order to be invested in the outcome as God is.

Perhaps this is better saved for another post, but it's worth mentioning; I think there is at least one more lesson at work here: as we become disciples and, in turn, offer to teach and heal on our own, we will need to draw boundaries.  We cannot be everything to everyone.  Even Jesus had limits and had to say "no" to people.  It's something that we need to learn to balance in our own lives and, what is more, help those around us better realize that what we have to offer doesn't involve quick fixes, the "right" words or actions or other matters of superstition, but ongoing conversion.

That's what the kung fu master looks for.  It's what Jesus saw in the Canaanite woman.  

And persistence and constant conversion is what Jesus looks for in us.

Nothing to Fear

There are times in our lives when we can't help but struggle. Maybe something bad happens to us or a friend or family member. When we experience tragedy, pain, illness, or suffering, it's easy to grow anxious, get scared, and doubt that we will ever get through this dark night.

Many saints (like St. John of the Cross and the soon-to-be-saint, Blessed Mother Teresa) wrote about experiencing these dark nights themselves. So having them shouldn't be a reason for feeling lost, abandoned, hopeless, or guilty. They are, as St. Ignatius called them, times of desolation, or feeling separated from the love of God.

The truth, however, is that we are NEVER cut off from God's love. Never. This is what we heard in last Sunday's second reading (Romans 8:35, 37-39). And no storm, no matter how big, should ever lead us to believe anything to the contrary.

Jesus is our Lord and the Lord of all. There is nothing in this world which can overcome or even diminish Christ's love for us. That's not only what today's Gospel (Matthew 14:22-33) is about, it's also what the Cross is about. Christ's love is so wide, so deep, so infinite that it overcomes torture, humiliation, and even death. It should go without saying that this love also overcomes storms of every magnitude and duration.

Each of us have personal experience with the storms life brings. These desolations aren't meant to perplex us, strain our patience or trust in God, or get us second-guessing the whole "faith" thing. Instead, these desolations stretch us and challenge us to learn and grow to more fully rely on the Light and Love of Christ and to ultimately realize (and be fully convinced) that the Light and Love of Christ will never waver. But we only realize this when we keep our gaze fixed on Christ, and not misdirect our focus on the wind or waves of the storm. So instead of telling God how big your storm is, tell your storm how big your God is. Or, as St. Francis de Sales said so well:
"We shall steer safely through every storm, so long as our heart is right, our intention fervent, our courage steadfast, and our trust fixed on God."

Peter serves as a perfect example for us in today's Gospel. There he is, walking on the water with Our Lord, but as soon as he looks away from Christ and begins to concentrate on the wind and waves, he begins to sink.

In much the same way, when we get distracted by how bad things are, or how much worse situations could get, we get caught up in the storm, instead of being fixed, like a compass, on the "true north" which will help us navigate through every storm and dark night that life brings.

So when Jesus says, "Do not be afraid!" He is really saying: when you rely on me, there is no storm which will sink us, no dark night which will overcome us; we truly have nothing to fear.

God (ALWAYS) Provides

When I was a junior in high school, I competed in Forensics with a speech about the power of a positive attitude. And it was a rather easy speech to write because there is book after book and study after study which provides mountains of evidence that a positive attitude can single-handedly change not only our outlook in life, but the entirety of our lives.

The power of a positive attitude has become a cash cow for a great many people, whether inspirational speakers, motivational authors, life-coaches, or whoever thought up those posters which remind us about the impact of attitude, leadership, courage, and even customer service.
[A side note: if you're looking for a laugh, check out http://demotivators.com/viewall.html for a hilarious parody of these posters.] Even the new popular, Oprah-endorsed book "The Secret" is based on this fundamental truth: when you put positive energy into the world, good things will come your way.

This is kind of campy to me. And there's plenty more fluff where that came from. Corny quotes about positive attitudes abound ("Your attitude will determine your altitude in life"), but there are quotes which remind us just how powerful this thing called attitude really is (like Thomas Jefferson's quote, "Nothing can stop the man with the right mental attitude from achieving his goal; nothing on earth can help the man with the wrong mental attitude"). And then there's my favorite:

"The last of the human freedoms [is] to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way."
(Viktor Frankl)

But how often do we live what we have seemed to establish as a universal truth? We get annoyed and peeved by small setbacks or the inconsideration of others. We get frustrated and anxious at the first hint of a challenging or ambiguous situation. And we ALL know how much easier it is to complain about something or someone than it is to find (or work towards) a solution.

And this is exactly where we find the disciples in today's Gospel (Mt. 14:13-21). The disciples take in the large crowds, the far distance to any kind of market, and the late hour and declare the situation hopeless. But with Christ, NO situation is EVER hopeless. Because God ALWAYS provides for us.

And as this miracle of the five loaves and two fish attests, God doesn't just provide "enough." God provides more than we could ever need (hence the twelve wicker baskets of leftovers).

Scripture is full of these truths. Our cup runs over. Knock and He will answer. Ask and you will receive. If God closes a door, He'll open a window. Okay, maybe the last one isn't in Scripture. But today, St. Paul says it best in our second reading (Romans 8:35, 37-39):

"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life,
nor angels, nor principalities,
nor present things, nor future things,
nor powers, nor height, nor depth,
nor any other creature will be able to separate us
from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."

Why wouldn't God provide for us? His love for us is infinite and His desire for us is to BASK in that love and EMBRACE the fullness of life. No matter what.

This should be all the motivation we ever need.

Soccer with Seminarians

Two stories to share about an unexpected combination: soccer and seminarians:

in Rome:
http://nbcsports.msnbc.com/id/17314774/


retiring from the MLS to enter the seminary:
http://www.pjstar.com/sports/x1655095420/From-soccer-to-seminary

Happy Reading!

Worth Everything

I spent this weekend packing for our upcoming move. Packing isn't very much fun. Especially when you think about having to unpack everything. It's easy to take the pictures off the walls, but then I remembered how long it took to hang them, making sure they well-spaced and even. And to think we might have to move again in another year! Serenity now!

What made matters worse is that I missed a bachelor party this weekend in Denver. Now the truth is, I couldn't find a ticket out to the Mile High City for much less than $500 and I don't have that kind of money to spend on a single weekend. But it was hard knowing I was one of only a few close friends NOT making the trek out to celebrate our buddy's upcoming nuptials. Especially when I thought about how long it had been since we got the guys together, were able to kick back and relax, reminisce about the good ol' days, and catch up on what life has brought our way of late.

It was hard to miss out on all the fun, the fellowship, and precious time with good, good friends. But you have to make those kind of decisions when you get married. It just isn't fair to leave your wife at home, having to do all the packing by herself. And it isn't quite responsible to drop $500 on a flight for a single weekend when we have bills to pay.

Relationships require sacrifice. And a lot of times, when we're talking about a romantic relationship, time with a loved one, whether a boyfriend or girlfriend, fiance or fiancee, husband or wife that means time with friends (and even family) gets cut.

I think we begin to notice this in high school, but it definitely occurs in college and the years afterward. Your friend starts dating someone new and all of a sudden, you stop seeing them as much. They have plans with their significant other, which means going out together on the weekends isn't going to happen quite as often. Even phone conversations get cut short, especially if your friend is WITH their significant other at the time. Calls get ignored and texts go unanswered. Your friend is making a decision: my significant other is more important than these other relationships. What we have is worth these sacrifices. Even if it might hurt some feelings or cause some other friendships to fall by the wayside.

This is exactly what today's Gospel is all about. The kingdom of heaven, Matthew tells us, "is like a treasure buried in a field, which a person finds and hides again, and out of joy goes and sells all that he [or she] has and buys that field. The kingdom of heaven -- spending all eternity with Our Loving Father -- is such a gift, such a prize, that we ought to sacrifice EVERYTHING else just to make sure that we never lose it. How we spend our time and who we spend it with should reflect that everything else in life comes second to our relationship with God. Because that is what determines how we spend eternity.

So sure, going to Liturgy, making time for prayer, sitting with Scripture, and serving others in need may not always be as much fun as our other alternatives. But sometimes you just have to spend the weekend packing instead of having a blast in Denver.

It's certainly no coincidence that today's First Reading (1 Kings 3:5, 7-12) is about Solomon's opportunity to ask God for ANYTHING he desires. Solomon chooses not a long life, fame, fortune, or power ... but wisdom.

These readings are tied together so that WE realize that REAL wisdom involves the realization that our love relationship with God ought to be not just an important relationship in our lives, but THE MOST IMPORTANT relationship in our lives; worth sacrificing time and energy from other things. In fact, our love relationship with God is worth everything. Everything.

The Eucharist in the News (Again)

As Schue posted on this blog, Professor Paul Zachary Myers, from the University of Minnesota Morris, made good on his promise to desecrate the Eucharist [http://www.catholicleague.org/release.php?id=1465]. A quick Google search shows that this has caught the attention of a number of Catholics (especially in the blogosphere), but hasn't yet received much secular press. I am guessing, again, this is a result of the sensitive nature of the topic: freedom of speech and religious intolerance.

To be sure, what Prof. Myers has done is lamentable, disturbing, and hurtful. But in some way, so has the response by a number of Catholics. Myers reports receiving loads of hate mail and even death threats. And although my heart goes out to those who believe themselves to be standing up for the Eucharist (and in so doing, for Christ) and speaking out against this tragedy, I cannot endorse such a despicable response. No life is worth threatening and violence has no place (well, okay, it has a place, but only as a LAST resort in self-defense) in our faith. I can't understand the logic if those who think:

A. this man offended me
B. this makes me angry
C. therefore, he deserves to die

It's important for Catholics to hear that although such an instance might merit a dose of righteous anger, that anger need not take the form of hatred or violence. Anger can fuel action, but that action can spur positive change. There is no doubt that great leaders like Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Gandhi, and Dorothy Day were angered by what they observed in our world -- and many times, from people who stood outside their faith tradition. But that doesn't mean that they resorted to violence to make their point.

All the more, when we DO act in the name of our religion, for the sake of the Eucharist, or in defense of Christ, we need to make sure that our STYLE matches our CONTENT. In other words, we're the biggest hypocrites in the WORLD if we invoke hatred or violence in the name of our Savior who constantly professed tolerance, peace, mercy, forgiveness, and LOVE.

And it doesn't take a Scripture specialist to know what Jesus thought of hypocrites.

My friends, we have WORK to do!

WYD

Half a world away, in Australia, 500,000 Catholics are celebrating World Youth Day. For more about the events and experiences, you can visit: http://www.wyd2008.org/.

Looks like Pope Benedict XVI is going to continue the tradition established by the ever-charismatic Pope John Paul II. Not to say that WYD will be the same without the pope who was celebrated like a rock star (I can still hear those "JP II, we love you!" chants), but good for Benedict for realizing what a gift this is, not only for our youth, but our Church. We still haven't seen the effects of past WYDs in Denver, Rome, Toronto (etc.) subside ...

Benedict also announced that MADRID will be the home of WYD 2011. Returning to Europe is a bit surprising, considering Cologne just hosted in 2005, but it's consonant with the goal Benedict declared during his first public address as pope, and his desire to re-evangelize Europe. At this rate, I wouldn't be shocked to see Paris be named the host city for WYD 2014!

Though I have to say, it'd sure be nice to see a Central or Latin American -- or even African -- WYD! If Vatican II was about the Church realizing its global identity (rather than one as a colonial Church based in Rome), Sydney was a step in the right direction.

Let's hope we see more of the same in store for 2014.

Judging Less, Tolerating More

Last November, I was sitting at my desk, working on a paper, when I heard a noise in the kitchen. I thought it was kind of strange that something was making noise in the kitchen since I was the only one home. But since I was the only one in the apartment, I figured the noise couldn't be of much consequence. So I kept on typing. And I kept hearing a noise. I thought to myself, "Either there's a mouse in the kitchen, or someone is at my kitchen window." But we had mice traps all over the place, so I couldn't imagine how a mouse would survive in the kitchen. And we lived on the second floor of an apartment building, so even though there was a fire escape outside our window (which, incidentally, went all the way down to the ground), I figured it had to be my imagination.

But the noise continued. I felt like a babysitter who had just watched a scary movie and just knew there was a murderer outside the house, looking in through one of the windows.

The noise wouldn't go away. So I got up, walked into the kitchen, and saw a man entering our apartment through the kitchen window. I was shocked.

The moment he saw me, he jumped back, onto the fire escape, and started running down the stairs. I ran to the window. I was still flabergasted. But I managed to shout out,
"Yeah, you better run! You better not come back, either. I'll call the cops!"

He didn't seem too impressed -- or intimidated. He yelled back, over his shoulder, "Go ahead!"

So I did. And the cops came. And they never found him.

I was seething mad. Why did this guy think he could break into our apartment? What gave him the right to violate our home and take our stuff? My wife and I alternated between anger and feeling vulnerable.

I could have rationalized this anger in many ways. The actual incident wasn't that bad, but the "what ifs?" were terrifying. What if I had waited two more minutes and he made it all the way into our home? What if he had a weapon? What if I hadn't been home? What if I hadn't been home but my wife was? It made me sick to think about how much worse it could have been. That didn't help my anger or feeling violated.

It took me a while to cool off. To stop thinking about the awesome moves I could have used to neutralize the attacker and make him beg for mercy, had I another chance at the encounter. To stop thinking about the cops catching him and throwing him in jail. To start thinking about what this man's life was like and why he felt so trapped, so cheated, so desperate that he needed to resort to this kind of illicit behavior to get by. To start thinking about his needs and his motivations.

I'm not exactly proud of how long it took me to stop being angry and start trying to be understanding. But this is just another instance of the axiom: we judge ourselves by our intentions and others by their actions. We constantly give ourselves the benefit of the doubt, but rarely extend that courtesy to others.

That's not to say that what this man did was right. And there is such a thing as righteous anger. But at the same time, especially in light of Jesus' parable in today's Gospel (Mt. 13:24-30), we need to be less judgmental and a whole lot more tolerant.

The parable about the wheat and tares (probably the bearded darnel, a weed known to look a lot like wheat until the final stages of maturity) reminds us that malicious acts are a part of life. Bad things happen to good people. But that doesn't mean we ought to retaliate against, dominate, or isolate those who choose to do wrong.

In today's Gospel, Jesus reminds us that ours is not to judge. Neither is it our place to weed out those we might not agree with, who pose a threat to us, or who are different from us. Our role and responsibility is to be tolerant and trust that God -- the only one to fully understand people's situations and motivations -- will be the just, merciful judge when it matters.

That doesn't make us any less responsible for our own moral thoughts and deeds. In fact, it makes us all the more accountable. Today's Gospel is not only a reminder that we ought to focus on doing what is right, true, and good, but also that we must be tolerant of others, no matter if they offend us or hurt us on purpose or by accident.

The world would be quite a different place if we focused on being more tolerant and less judgmental. If we judge ourselves by our intentions and others by their actions, can you imagine how different the world would be if we tried to do the opposite?

The Eucharist in the News

Some of you may have heard the Eucharist has been in the news lately.

A few weeks back, on the campus of the University of Central Florida, a student walked out of Mass and held a host hostage for several days. Paul Zachary Myers, a professor at the University of Minnesota-Morris, is outraged at the anger this incident incited and just last week, published a post on his website (which you may access from the University of Minnesota-Morris website) in which he has pledged to desecrate the Eucharist, if he can get his hands on a host.

[For those of you who missed these stories, this article sums it up: http://www.catholicleague.org/release.php?id=1459].

This is surely a tragic story -- both that people feel compelled to hold the Eucharist hostage or wish to desecrate it. And although it seems to me that any desire to damage, disparage, or dishonor the Eucharist is cause for a dose of righteous anger, bigger questions are at issue here.

Catholics believe the consecrated host to be the Real Presence of Jesus Christ. The institution narrative of the consecration hearkens us back to Jesus' own words the night he was betrayed, "This is my body ... This is my blood ... Take this all of you and eat it (or drink it) ... Do this in memory of me." Obviously, then, the Eucharist is not only a symbol of something holy, it is, in and of itself, the Holy of Holies.

We're not sure if Paul Zachary Myers recognizes this. If he does, and he still wishes to do harm to the Eucharist, we cannot ignore or be silent about his intention. If he doesn't fully grasp the impact of his words or the magnitude of his deeds, perhaps this is an opportunity for him to better understand why Christians hold the Eucharist so dear.

This post by Paul Zachary Myers deserves a response. And not just one of anger or indignation. This is especially true because the Eucharist itself is a symbol of communion and Jesus' self-offering and self-gift, "to be given for all." It would be entirely incongruent and inappropriate to respond with violence in the name of this perfect offering, the forgiveness of sins.

This is not to say that we should not stand up for the Eucharist during this persecution. When I was forwarded this article, the first passage that ran through my mind was Matthew 10:32-33 ("Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father. But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly Father"). But I also couldn't help but wonder how many Catholics really believe in the Real Presence of the Eucharist. And if Catholics don't really believe, doesn't that, to some extent also dishonor what we say, do, and celebrate during the Liturgy? In this regard, I'd tend to agree with Flannery O'Connor, who once wrote of the Eucharist, "if it's only a symbol, then to hell with it!"

In any event, this story is important on many levels and for many people. In sum, this is a teachable moment. Not only for Catholics, about believing what we say and do at the Liturgy of the Eucharist, but also about how we treat and deal with religious symbols and rituals. Especially when we might not fully understand or appreciate what those symbols or rituals represent.

What is more, this centers around the issue of freedom of speech. When does free speech cross a line and become offensive, hateful, or even illegal? The Supreme Court famously ruled that free speech does have its limits -- especially vis-a-vis shouting "Fire!" in a crowded movie theater. How do we define those limits? How do we define those limits when they deal with what people believe and hold sacred?

And then, how do we respond and proceed when such limits are crossed? Can you imagine if Paul Zachary Myers had written this about the Bible, the Torah, or the Koran? That might generate a whole lot of anger, but what good would come of it? If this is a teachable moment, then let's make sure we educate -- and not alienate -- people! The question, though, is how?

I invite your comments and insights.

Feast of St. Bonaventure

I was asked to share a reflection today, on the Feast of St. Bonaventure. We used Matthew 5:13-16 as the Gospel and this is what I shared:


People ask me why, of all things, I study theology and I’m never able to provide a short answer, but it almost always starts with the same story:

The summer before my senior year of high school, I spent several weeks building a school in the Dominican Republic. Soon after the ten of us students arrived in the DR, Fr. Terry Brennan, SJ, our high school Spanish teacher, led us on a tour of Santo Domingo. We took in the beautiful capitol city via a nice, big, air-conditioned van. The tour was quite pleasant until we headed for the city dump. Here, in a place called Cien Fuegos (or “100 Fires”) we passed through heaps of perpetually burning trash. I remember staring at all that garbage and just being amazed by all the things people had thrown away and wondering if I could find a way to breathe without inhaling the awful stench.

I couldn’t imagine why we had come to this place until I began to recognize that I wasn’t just looking at piles of garbage, but little tiny homes made of cardboard, corrugated metal, clothes, and old appliances. We turned a corner and suddenly we were upon a group of kids at play. It almost didn’t register: people lived here. Children lived here.

The van slowed to a halt and Fr. Brennan told us to get out. What? No. Not us. A bunch of white American teenagers. What on earth would we say or do? No sooner than the van had stopped than all the children fled. They disappeared into their garbage homes. We were all alone. Fr. Brennan insisted: get out of the van and walk around. I couldn’t believe my ears.

Reluctantly, self-consciously, awkwardly, we got out of the van. What we thought smelled bad before, we realized had actually been masked by the air conditioning. The searing heat and revolting stench almost took my feet out from under me. We took a few timid steps away from the van, and soon, the voices returned.

The children – previously partially or completely naked – returned wearing clean clothes and gigantic smiles. They grabbed our hands and asked us to play with them. Several children began climbing my arms and legs and instantly made me a human jungle gym. All I could think about was the way they smelled and how skinny they were … and how they just never stopped smiling. These children shared their salt and light with us in such a way that we forgot we were in a garbage dump.

That is, until a man came up to Fr. Brennan and asked us to follow him to his home. We hadn’t the foggiest idea why. But he took Father by the hand and marched us through the dump, past little tiendas selling chips and soda and cigarettes, past the ditches oozing with rainbow-spotted water and food scraps where children washed and collected water. And then he invited us into his home, a tiny little shanty, not six feet tall, separated in half by a close-line with rags and blankets draped across it. To the right were heaps of old clothes, bunched up to make a mattress and some pillows for him, his wife, and children. To the left, on the dirt floor, a single table and chair looked rather lonely. And then the man pointed to the wall, where a framed picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus was displayed. The man held out his hands, smiled, and said, “Hermanos, rezemos: Brothers, let us pray.”

On a trip where we had been sent to serve and give, we were served and given an earth-shattering opportunity to behold what faith, hope, and love looks like and feels like firsthand.

This story is especially meaningful for me today as we celebrate the Feast of St. Bonaventure, whose legacy is one of both piety and learning. That man and those children in Cien Fuegos could have been embarrassed, afraid, jaded, or angry. They could have ignored us, written us off, and assumed that we wanted absolutely nothing to do with them. But that man’s piety – in such a desperate and disgusting place – was a bold and moving demonstration of his salt and light … and has served as the inspiration for my own piety and learning.

For Bonaventure, piety and learning were more than goods to be pursued in their own right; instead, when applied to each other, they serve a greater good: our piety constantly enriches our learning of the depth and breadth of God’s love and our learning enhances our piety such that our love for God builds and grows and overflows through love for one another.

In much the same way, as we find in today’s Gospel, salt and light are goods in and of themselves and accordingly, when Jesus calls us the “salt of the earth” and “the light of the world” it is at once both purposeful and powerful. Salt was and is used as a spice and preservative; because it was so valuable, it was used as currency. Here Jesus tells us that we are valuable, precious, and in-demand. Much like light. In our day and age, where, with the flip of a switch we can light up an entire building, stadium, or city block, we’re a bit removed from the millennia when people rose with the sun each dawn and worked until the last rays of light at dusk. The darkness left people unable to work, read, or visit; it left them feeling vulnerable and afraid of whatever or whomever prowled about at night. Light provided protection against hidden dangers or obstacles; it served as a beacon to guide a weary one home; and if need be, it prolonged the day so more work could be done.

And this point – about work – is what we cannot miss today. In this passage which immediately follows the Beatitudes in Matthew’s Gospel, when Jesus says, “You are the salt of the earth … You are the light of the world,” this is not the same as the ideals we are given in the Beatitudes for directions for how we “ought” to live or a way of saying “This is what you can be if you try really hard …” Even today, in this place, Jesus looks you in the eye and says, “Yes, you. YOU! Just as you are. Already. YOU are salt. You are light.”

But this is more than a pat on the back; it’s also a kick in the pants because today’s Gospel is not only about who we are, but what we do with who we are. In other words, our identity as salt and light is tied up with our mission to be disciples. And in Matthew’s Gospel, discipleship is more than just piety and learning; discipleship means doing what Jesus does: teaching and healing.

We teach and heal as salt and light and when we apply our salt and light, we serve a greater good. Our salt brings spice to the ordinariness of life; it promotes gratitude and generosity in a world turned in on itself. Our salt cultivates perseverance in the face of adversity or persecution; it provides the spunk for continuous conversion and challenging the status quo. Our light exudes comfort, peace, and hope in a world that has grown irritable, discouraged, and doubtful. And just as brilliant as our collective light can be when we gather together, so also a single, unflinching flicker can be most poignant and profound when surrounded by the bleakest, deepest darkness.

Our salt sustains us and the light we bear ensures that no matter the hour of day or night, the time is always right to roll up our sleeves and get to work. What is more, when Jesus says “You are the light of the world” and “You are the salt of the earth,” he is not just talking to you or me, but to you and me; indeed, to all of us. This plural “you” conveys a mission of not just service, but solidarity: sharing our salt, spreading our light, and inviting others to do the same. This means looking for and finding the salt and light in every single person we meet and in places we might not expect it – even a garbage dump in the Dominican Republic – and making use of that salt and light to teach and heal, to be taught and be healed.

Today, as we hear Jesus affirm us as salt and light, let us also pay heed to the challenge that our salt and light must reach out and be put to use always and everywhere – but especially where the world needs it the most.

You never know what piety and learning it could inspire.

Some Seed Fell on Good Soil

Today's Gospel (Mt. 13:1-23) is the famous parable of the Sower. But just because we hear it every year doesn't mean that we fully understand it. That's because Jesus was speaking to a people who lived on, worked on, ate from, and depended on the soil. The closest most of us ever get to planting, cultivating, and harvesting our own crops is going to a Farmers' Market. Or enjoying the air-conditioned luxury of Whole Foods. Not exactly the same thing.

So to fully understand the deep and rich meaning of today's Parable of the Sower, we have to think about what it means to dedicate oneself to the back-breaking labor of working on and living on the land. Fertile soil is one thing, but producing crops is quite another. And that requires a lot of time and energy.

Not that I have loads of personal experience of this myself. But my mom is a dedicated gardener. And my dad's no slouch, either. And because they cared about planting a garden, that meant we kids had to care, too. So every Spring meant roto-tilling our garden, planting seeds, watering the seeds, picking the weeds, and then ... after three months of repeating the watering and weeding stages, the Fall finally meant picking fresh asparagus, beans, peppers, tomatoes, squash and the like. And because the harvest was always bountiful, we eagerly anticipated the Fall. But because of all the work that it required, we always dreaded the Spring.

That's because Good Soil -- the kind of good soil we read about in today's Gospel -- is no accident. Good soil takes commitment, hard work, meticulous attention to detail, and lots and lots of patience.

So it is with faith. We may claim a strong faith in God -- or at least a strong enough foundation to trust in God's plan and have faith in His love for us -- but our personal faith is not the result of chance, luck, or fate. It's the result of commitment, hard work, careful concern for our well-being, and lots and lots of patience.

The truth is, we can't take all the credit for our "good soil." We have parents and friends to thank. And probably a coach, neighbor, teacher, or catechist, too. Someone who worked with us, cared for us, and helped cultivate in us an amenable spirit so that the Spirit could take root in our lives and yield fruit in what we think, say, and do in the world.

So our "good soil" isn't the end of the story. We can't just be satisfied knowing that the Seed (the Word) has taken root in our lives. We have to continue to dedicate the time and energy to cultivate the soil so that it continues to be nourished and revitalized, given life-giving water through the Sacraments and the weeds of temptation and sin rooted out.

What is more, just as we have many people to thank for cultivating our own "good soil," so we have a responsibility to cultivate and enhance the soil of our friends and family. We do this for their own good, so the Seed can take root and bear fruit. And we also do this for our own good, because a single patch of good soil is not sustainable in the desert or hostile territory. Together, our many hands, strong commitment, hard work, and patience build up the Body of Christ.

And when I say the Body of Christ, of course I'm talking about good soil. But now that you're an expert in deciphering parables, you knew that already.

Like a Child

Starting graduate school last Fall was a bit intimidating. I was surrounded by very, very bright students. Students who had studied much more theology than I had. Students fluent in the language of complex theories, precise hermeneutics, and classic metaphysical or ontological debates.

But I did not want to be intimidated. I wanted to show that I, too, belonged in graduate school. So after my first class at Harvard Divinity School, I walked up to the TA and made sure to use big words. I enthusiastically thanked her for her "trenchant" remarks to begin our class discussion.

"Trenchant?" she asked, a bit puzzled.

"Oh, no." I thought. I didn't use the right word. Now I look like a complete moron.

In fact, "trenchant" isn't exactly inappropriate in that context. But it is a bit unusual, if not awkward. And it took me a few weeks of graduate school to learn that although we have much to learn from Rahner's notion of the supernatural existential, the intricacies of Christology and soteriology, nuanced exegetical findings, and deep and rich tradition of Sacramental theology, our faith shouldn't be confined to big words or complicated theories.

Today's Gospel (Mt. 11:25-30) brings us back to the crux of our theology and reminds us that it's not about only about the theoretical, but also the practical. In other words, theology isn't just about books and knowledge, but about everyday experiences of grace. That's because theology is something we do.

This reminds me of another story:

There once was a young man who embarked on a journey to consult a sage about the meaning of life. After his long journey, he arrived at the home of the sage. The sage greeted him and offered him some water. The young man happily accepted. The sage took out a glass of water, put it on a table before him, took a pitcher of water, and began to pour it into the glass. Because the glass had already been filled, water spilled everywhere. The young man shouted, "But sir, the glass is already full!" The sage replied, "I know. And so are you. You are too full to learn from me."

We get a similar lesson from today's Gospel. It is easy for us to come to God confident and reasurred by all we have learned or all we think we know. But it is also easy to fall into a trap of thinking that we can know enough or even everything about God. My Foundations of Systematic Theology professor, Fr. Richard Lennan, taught me a valuable lesson early last year: no matter how much we study or what we think we know about God, God is always bigger. Always.

So it is actually quite dangerous to get caught up in theories and theologizing. Holding onto these studies can make us feel proud and confident in our faith, but it can also prevent us from learning further.

This is not to say that no one should waste their time learning about God or that Catholicism is somehow anti-intellectual. Instead, that we need to be careful about our studies and temper them with experiences in the world, in which we are constantly surprised by the goodness ... and unexpectedness of God at work in our life. This ultimately reminds us to rely on God's grace and not a specific definition of grace.

So today, instead of focusing on what we know or think we know about God, let us be like the "little ones" Jesus talks about, filled with awe and wonder, ready and open to receive God's grace and grow in it.

Are You a Net-Mender?

Today we celebrate the feast of Sts. Peter and Paul -- for all intents and purposes, the founders (aside from Christ, of course) of our church. Today's readings (Acts 12:1-11; 2 Tm 4:6-8, 17-18; Mt. 16:13-19) reflect their respective roles as they carry out the Good News of the Christ event after the Resurrection.

Certainly, Peter and Paul also serve as examples of hard-headed men who were far from perfect -- perhaps an ominous if not suitable precursor to many Church leaders to follow. Yet even unto death -- by the cross and by the sword, respectively -- their deep faith and love for Christ is a proper model for us today.

But it's also important to note that these men were not hand-picked for being compelling orators, dynamic leaders, or charismatic organizers. These men were chosen amid a crowd of fishermen. This returns us of the original call of Jesus to his future disciples: "Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men" (Mt. 4:19). Peter and Paul, like James in John (specifically mentioned in Matthew 4), were specialized in mending nets. And this is a crucial reason why we celebrate these men today.

Fishermen would eat and starve, live and die by their catch. But instead of using a hook and worm, they used nets. If they cast their nets out wide and pulled in a heavy load of fish, they were only able to pull them into the boat so long as their nets could bear the weight -- especially at the most concentrated point of all those jumbling, desperate fish. If those men didn't mend their nets well, a whole day's work (and wage) would be lost.

As they say, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. As with nets, so we are as a human family. Aside from all the moral reasoning for caring for the poor, hungry, sick, vulnerable, marginalized, and oppressed, we must also take heed of the weakest members of our society for the good of all -- and to avoid alienating an even greater portion of our community.

Paul makes this very point in his letter to the Corinthians, one small community (of about 150 members) who particularly struggled with issues of power, status, and wealth. Their lack of concern for the least among them was deeply disturbing to him -- especially in light of the message and ministry of Jesus the Christ.

Fr. Peter Grover, OMV (http://stclementshrine.org/index.php?id=85), notes that the very word Paul writes to urge the Corinthians toward unity is "mend your nets." Fr. Peter uses this point to urge all of us to consider the ways we can be net-menders and reinforce the weakest aspects of our church and world. He asks us a probing question, perfectly appropriate today as we celebrate these two saints:

Are you a net-mender?

So today, as we celebrate the founding of the Church on Peter, the rock, let us also consider the ways in which the Church isn't just about strong foundations and clear authority, but also the way in which we as Church come together to care for one another -- especially at our weakest, most vulnerable spots.

Peter and Paul are wonderful examples of this mission in the early Church. And it's up to us to make sure this legacy lives on.

Courage and Trust

Another instance of a perfect both/and: having the courage to trust in God's providence and plan.

It doesn't mean sitting there, doing nothing, letting God take care of it all. Neither does it mean running around like a control freak and having the "courage" to do a million difficult things.

Courage fights complacency and being comfortable with the status quo. Courage requires compassion, wisdom, perspective, trust, love for God, and above all, balance between prayer and action.

But how often do we pray only to affirm who we are and what we do? We pray for courage and strength to do what is right, true, and good -- but do we actually risk our necks to do what is right, true, and good? What do we do with the tug on our heart to reach out to the poor, the miserable, the sick, the lonely, the hurting, and the lost? What do we do with the words we find in Scripture or in our theology books which radically challenge us, make us feel uncomfortable, or even -- dare I say -- condemn our way of life?

Courage directs us outwards: to the needs of others and to the will of God. And that's rarely easy, safe, or comfortable. But it's a perfect starting place for prayer.

Might I suggest two tools?

First and foremost, Michelangelo's Pieta.

Mary's face is serene, accepting God's plan which she cannot understand. And if you look carefully, her left hand is raised, open, receptive of the grace which gives her the courage to press on -- even in the face of such despicable acts, gut-wrenching pain and suffering, such piercing agony and mourning, and perhaps even sense of losing all purpose and hope.

Secondly, I recently picked up Abandonment to Divine Providence by Jean-Pierre de Caussade (http://www.amazon.com/Abandonment-Divine-Providence-Jean-Pierre-Caussade/dp/0486464261/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1214264632&sr=8-1). It's definitely worth perusing.

The Shakers are especially intentional about being in the moment and making everything a prayer. May you find every experience, interaction, and challenge an opportunity to grow in courage.