God loves you and calls you according to his purposes

Romans 8:28-30

Once again, this week, I want to focus on the so-called "epistle reading." And, once again, I do so for two reasons. First, this Gospel reading requires more work than I want to do. Second, being likely the most important book of the New Testament, apart from the Gospels, Saint Paul's Letter to the Romans is worthy of our attention.

What follows is clearly not a homily or even a sermon. It is a short and necessarily overly simplified, at least in some aspects, theological reflection.

In the Sunday lectionary for Ordinary Time, the Church seeks especially to harmonize the Old Testament, or first, reading with the Gospel. This sometimes has the effect of the second, or epistle, reading standing off in the corner. While this is not always the case, during the long stretch of Ordinary Time when we read semi-continuously through whichever synoptic Gospel (i.e., Matthew, Mark, Luke) we're reading that year (this year, Matthew), it is usually how it works out.

Today, I am not even going to look at the entire passage from Romans, which consists of just 3 verses. I'm only going to consider verse 28. It is a verse that gets cited a lot and not always in the best way. It often becomes a platitude, an unhelpful dismissal.

It's easy to forget the revelatory nature of Protestant theologian Karl Barth's concept of universal election. Coming from a reformed and Calvinistic theological perspective, Barth was very familiar with the concept that Paul sets forth in this passage: predestination.

Hyper-Calvinism espouses a doctrine usually denoted as "double predestination." This refers to the belief that God predestines some for salvation and others to damnation. It is a form of theological determinism, one in which freedom, in the end, plays no part. This hearkens back to the Old Testament connundrum about the nature of Israel's chosenness.

For Catholics, this became apparent when the current typical edition of the Missale Romanum (editio typica tertia), promulgated in 2002, began to be translated into the vernacular languages. The third English edition of the Roman Missal came into use in 2011. Yes, it took nine years to translate this vitally important sacred text!

How this issue became visible was through a directive issued by Pope Benedict XVI in 2006, roughly halfway through the translation process, that qui pro vobis et pro multis effundetur in remissionem peccatorum, is accurately translated from Latin and from the Greek of the biblical text as "which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins." Pro multis in Latin accurately translates as "for many" in English.

The above words constitute part of the institution narrative for the various Eucharistic Prayers. With these words, the Lord refers to his Precious Blood poured out for our salvation. In the previous edition of the English translation of the Roman Missal, pro multis was translated as "for all."

This brings us back to Barth's universal election. While it's died down a little, over the past several years there has been widespread discussion about Christian universalism. Universalism is the idea that, in the end, all will be saved. I don't believe any one will be saved against his will. It seems odd to me to replace one deterministic idea with another that also holds that freedom plays no role. Even so, I realize human freedom is not absolute nor is it unconditioned- a discussion for another day. At the end, no one will be forced to love Big Brother (i.e., God).

Universal election basically insists that all are called to salvation. Yet perhaps not everyone will heed God's call, his invitation. This brings me, inevitably, to Von Balthasar's controversial conclusion (Hans Urs had many such), set forth in his work Dare We Hope That All Men be Saved?: With a Short Discourse on Hell, that while Catholics are dogmatically committed to believe in hell, we should hope and pray that it is empty.

One could point to the witness of the mystical experiences of many saints who insist, based on their private revelations (which need not be held de fide), that hell is not empty. Of course, Dante's Inferno still informs our religious imagination about what hell might be like. C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce places before the reader an alternate version. As for me, I content to let God be the Judge.

This brings me to a consideration of Romans 8:28. Let's take this text in reverse order. All that I wrote above is in the service of showing that you are called according to God's purpose. God's purpose, to quote N.T. Wright, "is the coming together of heaven and earth." Stated differently, God's purpose is to reconcile everyone and everything to himself in Christ. God's cosmic purpose includes you!

The question, therefore, is not "Does God love me?" God loves you, and there's nothing you can do about it. Instead, the question is always "Do I love God?" Being real, even those of us who love God don't love him as we ought or as much as we should. Yet, I really do love God, even if rarely with my entire being. This manifests in my failure to love my neighbor as much as I love myself.

Let's face it, as Paul is surely alluding to here, God's love, his care, his concern tend to be called into question when we experience suffering, hardships, setbacks, disappointments, attacks, etc. If you're anything like me (I pray that you are not), most of the time I chafe at the idea that difficulties are for my good. The idea, taken from what he dubbed "the military school of life," that "what does not kill me makes me stronger" originates from Nietzsche, that great opponent of Christianity, (Friedrich Nietzsche Twilight of the Idols. Aphorism #8. Trans. Anthony M. Ludovici).

Getting back to Christ shedding his blood for you, what kills you, helps you die to self, is a death worth dying. It was Nietzsche who also noted, “only where there are graves are there resurrections" (Thus Spoke Zarathustra. XXIV. Second Part, “The Priests.” Trans. Thomas Common).

What matters is that Christ is with you in the violent storm. He walks beside you through the valley of the shadow of death. Like Lazarus, he calls you forth from the tomb.

Since I've invoked Eucharistic Prayers, I'll end with this from Eucharistic Prayer for Use in Masses for Various Needs III (while an inelegant title, it's one my pastor uses a lot and one that resonates deeply with me, corresponding to my heart through my experience)

You are indeed Holy and to be glorified, O God,
who love the human race
and who always walk with us on the journey of life

"Use it any way you will"

My longtime leitmotif of the Καθολικός διάκονος Friday traditio is the fleeting nature of time. "Now" is just the intersection of the past and the future. Because now is super-fleeting, I am never at ease with the lazy exhortation to "live in the now."

Even living in the moment is problematic for me as a "life hack." You really have no choice but to live in the moment. My life unfolds moment to moment. Guess what? Every moment isn't and can't be all you want it to be. You see, there's something called reality.

In any case, today I had a wonderful moment. It was a moment that I can best describe as coming back to myself. Speaking of reality, as both of my readers know, 2026 thus far for me has been a steep climb.

Honestly, it's been a gift. I've really had to lean into God's unfailing and unconditional love for me. What happened today, the culmination of something that's slowly been happening over this week, is that I regained some self-confidence.

Over this year, I have been using a wonderful spiritual resource. It's book of daily reflections entitled An Ignatian Book of Days, edited by Jim Manney. More days than not, the daily reflection has hit me where I'm at, especially on many difficult days. Of course, on those days, I am more open, better disposed to listening with the ear of my heart.

Especially on a number of tough days, the reflections have not only been germane but also provocative. The acid test of spiritual advice or counsel is whether it holds up when things aren't going well. Let's face it, in the realm of spiritual counsel there is a lot of bullshit.

For example, this past Tuesday there was a reflection from an article by Mary Craig: "Suffering- Our Human Situation." The reflection ends with this suggested prayer:

For what it's worth, take it, God, and use it.
Use it to make me grow in compassion.
Use it any way you will

This morning, a few days later, I felt a great physical release. It was very real, very reassuring.

It's possible to care too little. It's also possible to care too much. I need to strive to better cultivate what Saint Ignatius called indiferencia. This is not apathy. Instead, it is the ability to let go of what does not help me. Having confidence in God's love is what enables me to do this. "In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins" (1 John 4:10).

Well, that's enough, especially on a day when I feel like I have nothing.

For our traditio today I am going with "War Pigs" by Black Sabbath. This version, from an Ozzy Osbourne tribute (it's been a year and a few days since his death), features an all star lineup with Post Malone singing. Note his hat. Spanish Fork is in Utah. Love it. I leave the insinuations and implications to you.

Praying as I can, trusting the Spirit

Romans 8:26-27

This week I am departing from commenting on the Gospel reading. One reason is that this week there is too much to unpack. Instead, I'm going to write about the epistle reading from Saint Paul's Letter to the Romans. The more important reason is that Romans is a very significant book among our uniquely Christian scriptures.

I'd say after the Gospels, Romans is perhaps the most significant book- it certainly is when it comes to redemption and justification, that is, soteriology. In terms of significance, Ephesians vies with Romans even as its main theme is ecclesiology.

In his Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul sets forth his most mature theology. I dare say, Romans contains what can be called a systematic theology. There are many surprising things to be found in the chapters of this letter. Don't worry, I'm not going to delve into any those, let alone all of them.

The "holy ones" to whom the apostle refers (in Greek, the hagioi, which refers both to "holy" people and things), are the baptized. Transcending time and space, what Paul writes refers to you and I! God searches our hearts, seeking to discover, to uncover, to reveal what it is we most desire. Like all divine revelation, this revelation is for us.

I think the part of this passage that tends to command the most attention is how the Spirit intercedes for us: "with inexpressible groanings." The Spirit does this because "we do not know how to pray as we ought." Too often, my prayer consists of a lot of words. This is how I sometimes wind up feeling like I'm talking to myself instead of praying.

Weeping, laughing, sighing, groaning, quietly listening, singing, just being silent are all ways of praying. Let's not forget prostrations, a prayer posture pretty much lost among Western Christian, even kneeling is now rare.

As to what I really want, what I truly desire, it's easy to be deceived. If, as Servant of God Luigi Giussani insisted, my heart is the criteria by which I judge all things, then I need to heed the warning found in Sacred Scripture, "The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure" (Jeremiah 17:9 NIV).

And so, I must be ruthlessly honest. As I get older, I find myself being grateful for those things for which I prayed that did not come to pass.

Ruthless honesty, especially with myself, is very hard. And so, I am comforted to know that God searches my heart and, knowing the Holy Spirit's intentions, allows that same Spirit, the Spirit of the Father and the Son, to come to the aid of my weakness and intercede for me. This is what allows me to heed the popular spiritual axiom to pray as I can, not as I ought.

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On an editorial note, I am taking things a little easier this month. This simply means that I am not pressuring myself. I had a post for yesterday, which I will probably post next week.

Cultivating and conserving rich soil

Matthew 13:1-23

In our Gospel this week, Jesus makes us insiders. He places us among those to whom he makes the mysteries of God's kingdom known. Especially in the liturgy, we see and hear what many prophets and righteous people who lived before Christ longed to see and hear. The liturgy is the privileged place to hear and engage with the scriptures. Like Jesus' public teaching, whether for the crowds or his closest disciples, this is a communal endeavor.

Anyone who's been around for a while has seen the dynamics Jesus describes in the Parable of the Sower play out: people who start so full of zeal and then quickly fade, people who strive to live the values of God's kingdom and who finally decide to go their own way. Faith and its practice seem to only make life more demanding and difficult, not freer and more meaningful. And the people, oh the people, don't even get me started. Many have concluded, some understandably so, that life is less complicated without Church.

Finally, there are those who through waxing and waning seasons don't just keep the faith but consistently bear witness to it. You see, being a Christian isn't about living with a constant buzz.

Being faithful, bearing fruit for God's kingdom means, to use Saint Ignatius of Loyola's terms, dealing with desolations and consolations. In reality, most of life is lived somewhere between the peaks and valleys of existence. Reading the Gospels, which together constitute the heart of Sacred Scripture, show that Jesus' own life bears this out.

Especially as I grow longer in the tooth, there are sayings, phrases, words that come to take on more and more meaning. One such phrase was coined by the late Eugene Peterson, who described Christian discipleship as "a long obedience in the same direction." To bear fruit, a plant must endure the vissicitudes of weather. Where I live this year we had late freezes and now dry heat. Yet, I still see crops growing.

In this metaphor, spirituality, which I take to be the practice of spiritual disciplines, means cultivating and conserving rich soil. First among the disciplines comes prayer. To extend this a bit, in prayer, the Holy Spirit is like a gentle but steady rain during the dry months of summer.

Growing up I learned a song that we sang often: "Don't Forget to Pray." It's easy to forget or, even worse, to consciously decide not to pray. Since I am on a Saint Francis de Sales kick, I'm reminded of his exhortation to pray each day for at least half and hour, unless you're busy. If you're busy, he insisted you need to pray for an hour.

"I want this light in me to show"

Fridays have become, to use a word I don't like very much, a little "triggering" for me. But then, 2026 has not been a great year, as both my of readers know. Nonetheless, with the aid and support of a very good spiritual director, I feel alright about how, by the grace of God, I have handled things, generally speaking.

For me, the hardest of the works of mercy to perform is one of the spiritual works: bearing wrongs patiently. If you don't like getting all Catholic, this is basically the scriptural injunction not to return evil for evil, forsaking an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth (see 1 Peter 3:9- for one example). It means working to forgive and laying your anger, hurt, discouragement at the foot of the cross.

Both with my discernment to make a major life change a few years earlier than planned and dealing with the things that have happened since actually making the change, the Lord has sought to draw me closer to him. My own take on evangelism, which I've shared many times, is being able to tell others what difference knowing Jesus Christ makes in the nitty-gritty of your own life.

It's easy when talking about the Holy Spirit to glomb onto signs and wonders. I am not a cessionsationist, far from it. In being something of a traditional-leaning charismatic, I take a pretty critical approach to signs and wonders. I make a distinction between being charismatic and full-blown pentecostal. What is usually overlooked when talking about the Holy Spirit are the fruits of the Spirit.

The fruits of Spirit are set forth very clearly by Saint Paul in his Letter to the Galatians. The pneumatology of Galatians is a topic worthy of scriptural deep-dive. According to the apostle, "the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Gal 5:22-23). A life that bears these fruits is life in the Spirit. It is a life of grace, not of works.

“If, when stung by slander or ill-nature, we wax proud and swell with anger," Saint Francis de Sales insisted in his spiritual classic Introduction to the Devout Life, "it is a proof that our gentleness and humility are unreal, and mere artificial show."

Living in the Spirit requires you to let God work first in you and then through you. There is a supernatural change that believers need to experience. Usually, this change is slow and not a straight line. This where patience comes in. You need to be patient with God, with other, and with yourself. Saint Francis de Sales, on whose Memorial I was ordained, also exhorted: "Be patient with everyone, but above all with yourself … do not be disheartened by your imperfections, but always rise up with fresh courage."

Living my faith is challenging, even provocative, at times. It is especially during these times that I can't excuse myself with that ominous disjunction "but." It's easy to follow Jesus when the ground is level and smooth. It becomes more difficult when the trail becomes steeper and perhaps even a bit rocky. I remain grateful for penitential Fridays. It gives me a day each week examine my heart, my life, my conscience.

Anyway, lately I have been thinking about my faith during my younger years, in the years after really coming to the Lord, giving myself to him. Looking back, things almost always seem simpler. In addition to being a bit charismatic, I am very evangelical!

To honor memories of those simpler, more enthusisatic days, our Friday traditio for this week is the original lineup of the Newsboys, the Christian garage band from Down Under, perform the title song of their 1992 album Not Ashamed at the sadly now defunct Cornerstone fesitval in 1993.

Rest in the Lord

Readings: Zechariah 9:9-10; Psalm 145:1-2.9-11.13-14; Romans 8:9.11-13; Matthew 11:25-30

"See, your king shall come to you; a just savior is he."¹ "The LORD is gracious and merciful."² "Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest."³

Because the Lord is gracious and full of mercy, he comes to save us, to give himself "the just" savior for us, "the unjust," who need to be saved.⁴

We burden ourselves with so many things. We not only lay heavy burdens on ourselves but we lay them on others too. This is even true when comes to our spiritual/religious lives.

As Catholics, it may well be the case that this is especially true of us. There are rules to keep, laws to follow, and sin when rules are broken and laws ignored. Later on in Saint Matthew's Gospel, speaking about the Pharisees, Jesus says, "They tie up heavy burdens [hard to carry] and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they will not lift a finger to move them."⁵

While it's great to witness more people coming into the Church, it's easy to lose sight of the reality that more people are still leaving than coming in. Why? There is probably no single reason. But certainly one reason is that religion easily becomes neurotic, demanding, impossible. This lies at the heart of a lot of deconstruction narratives.

Let's face it, life is often difficult. Because he is gracious and merciful, Jesus offers us his easy yoke in exchange for our heavy one. He asks you lay down your heavy burdens and take up his light yoke, one that is much easier to carry.

Jesus' own yoke was the cross. The weight of the cross, which doesn't only refer to the heavy wood but to our burdens that he took upon himself, is the Lord's yoke. Its weight was crushing. While he urges us to take up our crosses, he helps us carry them, making them lighter, even light.

You may have heard the phrase "a yoke of oxen." A yoke is a wooden harness of sorts, slipped over the head of at least two oxen so that together they can pull something heavy. Both the yoke and what the animals pull are heavy, requiring a lot of energy and labor.

Our Lord carried your heavy burden so you don't have to. He didn't do this because you deserve it. Rather, he did it because you don't. He did it because he loves you; mind boggling.

Most if not all of us have experienced life's burdens. I am not writing here about the burden of those things we do wrong, which are burdensome. I write about all of life's burdens: disappointments, illness, disllusionment, job worries, financial pressures, concerns for children, self-doubt, the death of a loved one, etc.

What is it the Lord teaches the one who seeks to learn from him? First and foremost, it is to trust him, to place your worries, cares, that is, your burdens before him. This requires meekness and humility. It also requires honesty with yourself and with him.

Elsewhere, scripture urges us to humble ourselves under the mighty hand of God, which is not meant to be threatening but rather ressuring us that it is God who is in control. And so, the passage continues, "Cast all your worries upon him because he cares for you."⁶

I am currently reading through Scott Sauls' book The Mercy King. While I am reading it as part of my preparation for a retreat I am leading this fall, I am finding it very personally beneficial. "Jesus," Sauls notes when writing on this passage from Matthew, "doesn't approach us as a harsh taskmaster, pointing out flaws or keeping score." Rather, he issues each one of us a deeply personal invitation.⁷

Sauls rightly points to the fact that at the heart of the Lord's invitation are three words (it is also three words in the original Greek): "Come to me."⁸ Jesus doesn't say, Come and wow me with your intelligence, creativity, diligence, or even any virtue you've maybe acquired. No. He says, Come to me just as you are, the more tired the better, and I will give you rest.

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For some reason, this summer I am really inclined to stick with the basics of the Gospel. My focus is on the great love the Father has lavished on us in Christ Jesus. It is the Holy Spirit who pours God's love (which is nothing other than God, who is love) into our hearts.⁹ This is the sure foundation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. You can't earn this. You can only respond in love with thanksgiving.

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1 Zechariah 9:9.^↩
2 Psalm 145.8.^↩
3 Matthew 11:28.^↩
4 1 Peter 3:18.^↩
5 Matthew 23:4.^↩
6 1 Peter 5:6-7.^↩
7 Scott Sauls. The King of Mercy: How the Kindness of Jesus Heals Your Sin, Shame, and Weakness, page 123.^↩
8 Ibid.^↩
9 Romans 5:5; 1 John 4:8.16.^↩

"I raise my hands to the sky as I climb to higher ground"

It's been awhile since I posted a Friday traditio. This is largely due to the changes brought about by my major transition in work this year. Frankly, I am still trying to find both balance and rhythm.

One day last week, between things, I had the opportunity to go to a bookstore located in the neigborhood where our first house was in Salt Lake City. Doing this brought back a flood of good memories from when our two oldest children were very young. Boy, did I need that!

Driving from there to where I was attending a meeting, as I stopped at a stop sign, the thought occurred to me that, as an adult, the most vexing things I have experienced have been in the Church, things that would likely never occur in any other setting. This is simply an indisputable fact based on my experience. I will readily admit that at this moment in time, I don't care much for belonging to "the Church," however you want to interpret that little phrase "the Church."

It is far from the first time I have felt this way. To employ what is rapidly becoming an overused allocution, this time it "hit" differently. What I mean by this is that it's been impossible to pray, think, talk myself out of this for the past two weeks.

Even after a long session with my spiritual director, who is wonderful, I'm still not feeling it. There is the sinking realization that I'll probably never feel the same way again. In and of itself, this is probably not a bad thing. How else would I grow? I get it, growth can be painful.

Like many people who've had similar experiences, this realization in no way impinges upon my faith in God nor my love for Jesus Christ. If forced, I would admit it doesn't even really damage my faith in "the Church," when I think about it ontologically and in the abstract, that is, idealistically. In reality, the Church is far from this ideal (hardly a new or unique insight). And I am not so self-absorbed that I don't realize I contribute to this incongruity.

Yesterday, I finally picked up N.T. Wright's little book on Ephesians, which I acquired a few months ago. It is entitled The Vision of Ephesians: The Task of the Church and the Glory of God. Being a short commentary of sorts on what Wright insists was a circular letter (encyclical) written by Paul to the Churches he founded in what is now western Turkey, it is very much about the Church, her mission, her calling, her destiny. I suppose right now I need to some theological, ecclesiological idealism. The risk is, it might make my desire to disconnect even worse.

I am eager to get to the parts of Ephesians in which Paul (Wright, a leader among the new perspectives on Paul scholars, insists Ephesians was written by Paul) in which the apostle addresses how we are to treat one another, behave toward each other, forebear with one another. But then maybe this is just grasping at straws.

"This too shall pass" is the mantra for what I'm currently experiencing. A pious platitude for sure but what else can you say or perhaps even hope for?

You see, even as a member of the clergy (that deacons are clergy, at least from a Roman Catholic perspective, is itself vexing to some, foremost among whom are many priests), I am often disappointed by "the Church." Of course, some people, perhaps many people, are disappointed with me. Maybe being disappointed with one another is as good as it gets this side of the eschaton.

In my view, many recovery communities better model what the Church needs to become. This is due to the honesty that prevails in those groups. Their focus is reality as it is, not as we want it to be. Too often in Church we're all pretending things are as they should be.

This pretense pressures too many people to try to appear how they think they are expected to be at expense of how they really are. This gets tiresome and it is dysfunctional. Healthy people, yet broken, people realize this and either just do their time or look elsewhere. Rather than a convention of older brothers, the Church needs to be more of a gathering of grateful, gracious prodigals, with some of us still squandering our rich inheritance or hemming and hawing about returning to the Father. As Jesus clearly showed during his ministry, self-righteousness is the bane of religion.

Our Friday traditio is a great song by the inimitable Colin Hay. "Come Tumblin' Down" off his amazing Fierce Mercy album is the choice.

Receive Christ, receive his love

Matthew 10:37-42

Our Gospel for this Sunday is provocative. But it's important not to change it from a provocation into a scandal. In this passage from Matthew, the Lord is not putting his followers on the horns of a dilemma.

Jesus is not saying, you can either love your father and mother or you can love me. He is not telling his disciples, you can either love your children or love me. This would hardly be teaching worthy of the same God who made the fourth of his ten commandments the command to honor your father and mother and making that the only commandment with a promise attached for those who keep it.

It's often noted that the ten commandments are about loving God and neighbor. This is true. The first three are about loving God and final six are about loving our neighbor. But that's only nine, you might say.

While making clear that love is not a feeling but an act of the will, that is, a decision that shapes one's words and actions, the fourth commandment, falling as it does between the commandments about loving God and those about loving your neighbor, places your parents between God and other people. There is a corollary to this in how we honor the Blessed Virgin Mary, which falls between worshipping God and venerating the saints.

For those of us who are parents being between God and other people when it comes to your children, is quite daunting, even distressing. This should also be daunting for children. While all of us are not parents, each of us is a child of parents.

As is usually the case, what the Lord is saying is profound and points to a number of things at the same time. One of those things is that no other person can bear the weight of your need. One of the easiest ways to weigh down or even break a relationship is to require more of another the s/he can realistically give.

With that in mind, consider what we hear Jesus say today as an extension of last week's Gospel. If you remember he taught of God's unfailing love, of his care and concern, for each of us. I think today's teaching is also linked to something found in the next chapter of Saint Matthew's Gospel, namely the Lord's invitation to take up his easy and light yoke.¹

Experiencing the love of God is life-changing. Once you experience God's unfailing and unconditional love, you can't help but understand the core of Jesus' teaching in our Gospel passage today: it is only by loving him more than anyone and everyone, which love can only ever be a response to his love, that you can love others as you should.

No matter how you want to "frame" it, loving Christ first and foremost is the foundation of the ordo amoris. As the Lord's teaching in our passage shows, genuine love of Christ inevitably overflows to love of neighbor, be s/he prophet, thirsting disciple, righteous person, or, anyone you might encounter.

To receive Christ is not in the first place (or in the last place) to assent to a set of Christological propositions carefully formulated and philogically honed. To receive Christ is to open yourself to receive his all-encompassing, all-consuming love. It is then that, to paraphrase the Rule of Saint Benedict, you can receive others as Christ himself.²

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1 Matthew 11:28-30.^↩
2 Rule of Saint Benedict, Chapter 53.^↩

Year A Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Jer 20:10-13; Ps 69:8-10.14.17.33-34; Rom 5:12-15; Matt 10:26-33

In his Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul asks, “If God is for us, who can be against us?”¹ If you take experience as your guide, or even today's first reading and Gospel, this question may not be as rhetorical as it seems. In short, there is plenty of opposition, both individually and collectively.

In our first reading, Jeremiah faces the reality that his former friends have now become his enemies. Listening to his every word, watching his every move, they wait for him to say or do something for which they can condemn and attack him. Nonetheless, the prophet, mining the same vein as the apostle, is convinced that God is with him.

Both Paul and Jeremiah speak in ultimate, not temporal terms. This is indicated by what Jesus tells the twelve in today’s Gospel. As he prepares them for the mission, he tells them they will face opposition and exhorts them not to fear those who might kill their bodies, reassuring them that they cannot kill their souls.

Our souls, the aspect of our being that bears God’s image, are immediately created by God and belong to God. Because it isn't yours, you can't sell your soul. Everyone’s soul is precious to God. Everyone is loved by God without exception.

I know we’re used to hearing things like, “If everyone is special, then no one is special.” I suppose there is a sense in which this is true. This reversibility depends on the adjective, doesn’t it? It also depends on context. For example, it's true that everyone is unique. And so, it makes perfect sense to say that God loves everyone without exception.

It’s important never to lose sight of the reality that you are included in everyone. To catch at least a glimpse, not only of the fact that God loves you, but also of the all-encompassing and unconditional way he loves you, even fleetingly, is life-changing. Father’s Day seems like a great day to contemplate the perfect love of God the Father.

Being human, we’re weak and forgetful. And so, it’s important to experience God’s unconditional love over and over again. It’s especially important to experience God's love during times of grief, pain, and suffering, that is, during life's inevitable lows. Grief, pain, and suffering can result from events beyond your control, from things done to you by others (like Jeremiah), or from personal failures.

I know quite a few people today dislike images like this, perhaps seeing them as "very seventies." But I think such pictures convey, as they were designed to, something important: even during our worst times, Christ is with us

None of these weakens or alters God’s love for you in the slightest. In an important sense, “grace” is merely a name for the many ways God makes his love manifest in our lives. Grace cannot be earned. God’s love cannot be earned. There’s no need to earn what you always already have. As we heard in our second reading, the grace of God overflows from the cross of Christ.

Seeing a crucifix should always remind us that God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son. In no way is God’s grace made more manifest in our lives than through the mercy given us in Christ. Christ’s cross is the mercy seat. It is the throne of the King of Mercy.

We can truly love only because we are first loved.² Because of our distorted perception, it's hard to make God's love the foundation of our daily lives, especially when this means bearing the cross.

While we hope for, expect, and even eagerly await something far better, it is this life with all its joys and sorrows, victories and defeats, suffering and elation that prepares us for an eternity in God’s kingdom. This is why scripture urges us to encounter life’s various trials with joy. Yes, trials can and do test faith. But testing, scripture teaches, “produces perseverance.” Persevering through “various trials” perfects faith.³

Perfection of faith by persevering through trials, far from being a magic formula, is about facing reality head-on, knowing that God is with you, come what may. It enables you to see for yourself not just that God is with you but how God makes himself present when you’re struggling. This experience makes something that is all too easily abstract very concrete.

During his recent Apostolic Journey to Spain, Pope Leo warned against the danger of efforts, usually well-meaning, to “spiritualize pain, superficially attributing it to 'God's will' or to some mysterious plan of his.” To do this, he noted, runs the risk of minimizing or silencing suffering, thus hurting people. God neither wants nor wills human suffering.

Yet, suffering exists, it’s real, as we all know. Christ, the Holy Father insisted, “carries [suffering] with us and invites us to trust in him with perseverance,” hopefully noting that “with God, life is always reborn.”⁴

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1 Romans 8:31.^↩
2 1 John 4:10.^↩
3 James 1:2-4.^↩
4 “Christianity is not about perfection, no one is defined by suffering, mistakes, pope says,” Carol Gltaz, Catholic News Service, 11 June 2026.^↩

An ecumenical note

When it comes to Christ's real presence in the Eucharist, Catholics understandably tend to focus intensely on his presence in the consecrated, transsubtantiated, elements of bread of wine. We often do so to the exclusion of the other ways Christ is present in the Eucharist. To be clear, by "Eucharist," I mean the Mass, the Eucharistic liturgy.

That Eucharist can refer exclusively to the consecrated elements, strikes me as another indication of what is perhaps too concentrated a focus. According to Sacrosanctum Concilium, while he is "especially [present] under the Eucharistic species," Christ is also present in the Eucharist(ic liturgy) in three other distinct and integral ways: in the gathering of the baptized, that is "when the Church prays and sings," in the person of the priest, in the proclamation of Sacred Scripture (sec. 7).

It is also important to note that the high point of the Eucharistic liturgy is not the priest speaking the words of consecration. As necessary and vitally important as this is, it is not the high point. The Eucharistic liturgy "builds" toward the Communion Rite. It is our reception of Christ's body and blood that makes us Christ's Body in and for the world. Eucharist leads to mission, which is why we call the Eucharistic liturgy "Mass." From the Latin root missa, it relates to missio, or mission.

In terms of liturgies and worship services celebrated by other duly baptized Christians, I frequently hear Catholic comments along the lines that Christ is not really present in these celebrations. But can he be truly absent? Is it possible that the Lord is not true to his word that where two or more are gathered in his name, he is present (see Matthew 18:20)? If we take our cue from a dogmatic constitution approved by an ecumenical council and promulgated by the Roman Pontiff, which gives said constitution a very "high" authority in terms of the Church's magisterium, Christ is present in these celebrations.

When and where the baptized gather to pray and sing, Christ is present. When and where the scriptures are proclaimed in a gathering of the baptized, Christ is present. Let's not forget, all the baptized in some way belong to the one Church of Christ. It is a matter of great importance that the Catholic Church does not rebaptize those who are truly and duly baptized when they seek to be in full communion. It's hard for many not have a monopoly on Jesus Christ.

Then, of course, there is the Orthodox Church, which, from a Catholic perspective, celebrate valid sacraments. When someone who is Orthodox seeks to come into full communion with the Catholic Church, s/he is not only not baptized, s/he is not reconfirmed.

Baptism is the basis of ecumenism. Ecumenism differs from other ways the Church dialogs, like interreligious dialogs or discussions with new religious movements (interactions with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Jehovah's Witnesses, etc., fall into this category, not full-blown ecumenism).

Ecumenism is Christians working together to foster communion of all who believe in Christ, all who are baptized into his death and resurrection.

First among "the initiatives and activities planned and undertaken" with regard to ecumenism, the Second Vatican Council, in its decree Unitatis redintegratio, is that Catholics should make "every effort to avoid expressions, judgments and actions which do not represent the condition of our separated brethren with truth and fairness and so make mutual relations with them more difficult" (sec. 4). Insisting there is no way Christ is present when they gather to worship seems to me very much a violation of this principle.

A corollary

This post is a corollary to my Sunday reflection on the epistle reading from Romans 5:6-11. The following also arises from the liturgy. It was prompted by Morning Prayer, traditionally called Lauds, one of the offices that comprise the Church's official prayer, known as Liturgy of the Hours.

Two things in Morning Prayer for Tuesday, Week III of the Psalter linked to the connection between faith and works that is so crucial for living a genuinely Christian life. But before getting to parts of this morning's prayer, there was something else that helps make that connection. It is a clip I watched last night from a standup performance by comedian Aaron Weber.

In course of talking about an interaction he had with a homeless man he'd come to be acquainted with in Nashville, where he lives, he said something like, "As a Christian, I try to help the poor." He then noted, "But I'm a Catholic, so I like them to earn it." This encapuslates precisely the attitude I was trying address, one that, to repeat, is so vital to understanding where Pope Francis was coming from.

Now, don't get me wrong. Grace is not opposed to effort. Being a Christian is not a passive endeavor. Far from it. Being a Christian requires one to live very intentionally. Grace is opposed to earning. As noted, the effort (i.e., good works) prompted by grace flow from gratitude. "Without cost you have received; without cost you are to give" (Matthew 10:8).

This brings me to the prompt from today's Morning Prayer: the Old Testament Canticle for Tuesday Morning, Week III, is Isaiah 26:1-4.7-9.12. Like the words quoted above from last Sunday's Gospel, what struck me were the final words of the canticle: "LORD, you will decree peace for us, for you have accomplished all we have done" (Isaiah 26:12).

Then, one of the Intercessions for Morning Prayer sort of made this a revelatory moment:

Look kindly upon our weakness and hasten to our aid,
for without you we can do nothing

As Christians, we are not compelled by the Law. Following Christ is not about complying with the checklist of holiness. Rather, as Saint Paul insisted, it is "the love of Christ [that] impels us" (2 Corinthians 5:14). This is not a distinction without a difference. Rather, it is two very different ways of being.

Christ died for us

Romans 5:6-11

Okay, I did not preach this Sunday. Therfore, I can once again focus on the second, or "epistle," reading. This week's second reading is from Saint Paul's Letter to the Romans.

Unlike the apostle's other letters to various churches (Corithians, Philippians, Ephesians, Colossians, Thessalonians), his Letter to the Romans is not to a Church he founded. The Church in Rome, where Saint Peter is venerated as first bishop, was already extant. Paul's reason for writing to the Christians of Rome was that, having appealed his case to the emperor, which was his right as a Roman citizen, he was making his way there as a prisoner of the state.

Because of the circumstances leading to his missive, the apostle does not comment on matters within the Roman Christian community nor seek to correct anything. What we have in Romans, considered to be the final text of the authentically Pauline corpus, is what can best be described as the Church's earliest systematic exposition of Christian soteriology. In some respects, what we have in Romans is a more mature statement of fundamental matters Paul first wrote about in his Letter to the Philippians.

Our passage for this Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, taken from the fifth chapter of Romans, is best prefaced by verse twenty-three of the third chapter of Romans: "all have sinned and are deprived of the glory of God." It is sin, which is best defined as the failure to love God with your entire being and to love your neighbor as you love yourself, that makes us, to use Paul's word, ἀσεβής.

ἀσεβής transliterates as asebés. Asebés has a range of meaning from irreverent to impious to wicked. All of these are, of course, "ungodly."

Despite our impiety and even our wickedness, God still loves us. He proves (not proved- past tense) his love for us that wicked though we be, "Christ died for us." Now, it would be going too far to say that God loves us because of our sinfulness. Yet, it does not go far enough to say that God loves us inspite of our wicked ways. It is our sinfulness that makes us like sheep without a shepherd. It is this that also moves the Sacred Heart of Jesus so deeply.

I was reminded of this earlier this week when a friend posted something on Faceook written by the late Father Herbert McCabe:

Sin doesn’t alter God’s attitude to us; it alters our attitude to him, so that we change him from the God who is simply love and nothing else into this punitive ogre, this Satan. Sin matters enormously to us if we are sinners; it does not matter at all to God. In a fairly literal sense, he doesn’t give a damn about our sin. It is we who give damns (Faith Within Reason, pg. 157)

What McCabe wrote strikes me as a great exposition of this Pauline passage.

This brings me to a fundamental aspect of the teaching of Pope Francis, something so fundamental to understanding him that if not grasped confusion ensues. In his lengthy interview with his fellow Jesuit, Father Anthony Spadoro shortly after becoming Pope, Francis, when asked who he was, led with this:

I do not know what might be the most fitting description…. I am a sinner. This is the most accurate definition. It is not a figure of speech, a literary genre. I am a sinner (See "A Big Heart Open to God")

I am going to say it, without this acknowledgement, you cannot be a Christian. But this is not enough. To be a Christian, you must also realize that you are a loved sinner, one for whom Christ died.

To be a Christian, then, is to be a grateful recipient of God's mercy given us in Christ. You can't receive divine mercy if you don't realize your need for it. The Holy Spirit is the medium through which mercy is given and received.

Being a grateful recipient of God's mercy means having the desire for everyone to experience it. A big part of Pope Francis' teaching and witness was to flesh out what this means in terms of living one's life and sharing one's faith in a convincing way.

Even now among many Catholics, the belief that you earn your salvation through good works persists. Well, you don't and you can't. But you can easily drive yourself and others nuts by desperately holding onto and living from such a futile belief. Living from such a belief quickly reduces Christianity to banal moralism. Especially early on in his pontificate, Francis took aim at this tendency with both barrels.

It is Christ and Christ alone who, while we are irreverent, impious, and at times even wicked, reconciles us to God. This is an ongoing work until the Lord returns. This is what it means when we say in the context of the liturgy, "We proclaim your death, O Lord/And profess your resurrection/Until you come again."

As Saint Paul implies, reconciliation with God through Christ is a gift. Hence, it can only be "received." Truly receiving this amazing gift makes one deeply grateful. "Eucharist," after all, means thanksgiving. It is from gratefulness that good works flow. A Christian attitude is one of gratitude.

Who is a Christian? Notes on a recent interview

Today, I was featured in an interview conducted by a reporter from a local television news station (see "What does it mean to be a Christian in Utah and across the world?"). The specific question on the table, arising from the controversial Department of Defense decision, which has since been reversed, to de-classify the Church of Jesus of Christ of Latter-day Saints as a Christian religion, is an old one where I live- Are members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints Christians?

As it pertains to the DoD's unfortunate ruling, I agree with Utah Senator Mike Lee (something that doesn't happen often), namely that it is no business of the government to make doctrinal decisions or determinations. At least in the United States of America, it is the role of government to guarantee freedom of religion for everyone. While this didn't make the cut for either the video report or the lengthier print piece, I did say this quite clearly during the interview.

Reading a few of the comments on the station's YouTube channel prompted this post. There were several comments basically saying that I was somehow dishonest about the Catholic Church's view of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints vis-à-vis Christianity. Of course, I was neither surprised nor particularly bothered by such ill-informed comments.

President Dieter Uchtdorf, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve, paying a visit to Bishop Oscar Solis, Bishop of the Diocese of Salt Lake City, 14 April 2026

Nonetheless, there are a couple of considerations that are necessary. First, the video report doesn't contain the entire interview. Second, while the written article contains more of the interview than the short video, neither does it set forth the entirety of what I said (see written piece "What does it mean to be a Christian in Utah and across the world?").

Of course, there are fundamental theological differences between Catholics and Latter-day Saints. Without a doubt, the most fundamental of these is our respective beliefs about God's very nature and being. This difference is what caused the then-Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, responding to a dubia in 2001, to determine that LDS baptism is not considered valid by the Catholic Church.

Of course, rejection of the Trinity has huge implications for our differing theological beliefs about the nature(s) and person of Jesus Christ. I suppose an argument can be made that orthodoxy impacts/influences orthopraxy. No doubt it does in several respects but not in some totalizing way. My point is, before there is any disputing about who's right and who's wrong, these are simply objective and important differences that honest Catholics and Latter-day Saints acknowledge.

On the basis of our differing beliefs, I think it would be interesting to reverse the question by asking, "Are Catholics, from an LDS perspective, Christians?"

One would think my use of the phrase "in a meaningful sense" would be understood as a qualifier. In the horizontal aspect, whoever seeks to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ can be considered a Christian in some sense. In the interview, I also discussed the priority of orthopraxy over orthodoxy.

More holistically, whoever believes that Jesus' passion, death, and resurrection has redemptive value and who endeavors to follow him is a Christian in a meaningful sense, even if from an historical and theological point-of-view something of a heterodox one. For any thinking and caring person, the question "Are Latter-day Saints Christians?" cannot be answered in a simple, barely qualified, and syllogistic way.

How well do you think most Christians would do if asked to articulate a thoroughly orthodox understanding of either the Trinity or the hypostatic union? Is someone who claims to be Christian and who has a less than orthodox grasp of these two fundamental dogmas still a Christian?

As the reporter suggests, the descriptor "Christian" is not a univocal one, especially for people with no faith commitment. For such people, it is often rather puzzling these disputes among people who claim to be Christians. As Christians, let's bear mind Jesus's teaching. I am thinking specfically of Mark 9:38-40 and Luke 9:50.

We are the Body of Christ

Reading: 1 Corinthians 10:16-17

Very often the second reading, sometimes known as the "epistle reading," is ignored. It's okay because the Gospel is what the preacher usually focuses on. This is as it should be most of the time.

In his First Letter to the Corinthians, Saint Paul wrote about the Eucharist in several passages. In the section of the tenth chapter of 1 Corinthians from which our second reading for today's solemnity is taken, the apostle is writing about avoiding idolatry. In particular, he warned about participating in public rituals in which animals were sacrificed to pagan deities.

Paul stated clearly that these sacrifices were not merely to non-existent entities. Rather, these were sacrifices to demons. Of course, the priest who conducted these sacrifices and those who participated did not deliberately and knowingly sacrifice to demons. Pagan and Christian understandings of of divinity were very different, which is what made Christians weird and Christianity a strange religion. Nonetheless, Paul insists that is what they did.

A few chapters earlier in 1 Corinthians, Paul approves eating the meat of animals sacrificed in pagan rituals. He just urges Christians not to partake of this meat if it caused scandal to other Christians, those with what he calls "a weak conscience" (1 Cor 8:10). One reason for this is that, unlike our situation today in advanced countries, meat was not readily available. So, a large public sacrificial ritual was likely an occasion when people could obtain it.

What Paul objects to is participation in the pagan worship. Okay, nice. So what? Well, even in our day, idols abound. I'd say idolatry now is more profligate than it was during the first Christian century. Idolatry, according to Saint Paul a few verses past the two that constitute our reading, provokes "the Lord to jealous anger" (1 Cor 10:22).

True worship, the highest form of worship, is Mass, the Eucharistc liturgy. By partaking of holy communion, we individually are made into members of Christ's body and together we become the Body of Christ, Corpus Christi. Rejecting historicism, I am still inclined theologically to assent to Henri de Lubac's provocative insistence that at some point there was a reversal in our understanding of the Body of Christ.

This reveral made the Eucharist, the transubstaniated elements of bread and wine, verum Corpus Christi and the Church Corpus Christi mysticum. Isn't it actually Christ's mysterious and mystical, empirically undetectable, presence in the bread and the wine that make us, the Church, his true Body? One problem is that today we think of "real" as empirical, tangible, measureable. While such things certainly are real, not only do they not exhaust reality, they are not what is most real. If the the Eucharist is the bread of angels, doesn't it have to be mystical? Again, "mystical" doesn't mean less real.

I repeat this often, the only truly convincing proof that the bread and the wine become Christ's body and blood are the lives of those who partake of it. It is up to you and me to demonstrate the truth of the mystery at the very heart of reality. To deal with an objection that might easily be made to what I just wrote, this in no way fails to recognize the ex opere operato nature of the Eucharist.

Transubstantiation, if you will, happens whether you believe it or not. This is all fine and well, serving as a great ontological backstop. In his Philosophical Investigations, Wittgenstein asserted that if God could talk we wouldn't be able to understand him.

In his great work of systematic theology, Principles of Christian Theology, John Macquairrie, in a similar vein, noted that for revelation to be revelation it wasn't enough for God to reveal. God's revelation requires a recipient. In other words, if God speaks and no one understands, did the falling tree make a noise or how many people in the third car of the Chicago-bound train have blue eyes?

Anyway, it's easy to get lost in words. So, let's stick with "the Eucharist makes the Church and the Church makes the Eucharist." Or, better yet, Saint Paul's rheortical questions from our reading, which he answers in the following verse: "The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?" (1 Cor 10:16).

You are beautiful

Probably the greatest anthropological error in advanced societies today is the reduction of the human person to her/his sexuality. In short, you are not your sexuality. That sexuality is an important dimension of human being is beyond doubt.

From a holistic Christian perspective, human sexuality is a gift from God, a blessing. Your sexuality is not just a blessing for you. When well-understood and lived properly, it is a blessing for others.

To use Pope Saint John Paul II's frame, sexual union is the way you can most fully give the gift of yourself to another. Through this, the blessing can extend beyond the couple. The expansion of the blessing beyond sexual partners is not creepy in the least. How is it not weird? Easy, by maintaining the vital link between sex and procreation.

Eros can be transformed into agape. In his still magnificent first encyclical, Deus caritas est, Pope Benedict XVI provided a wonderful meditation on eros and agape (see sections 3-8).

Chastity is not the doctrine of "No." It's important to point out that for married couples, chastity does not mean sexual continence. One easily overlooked and progressive aspect of Humanae Vitae is Pope Saint Paul VI's positing of the "unitive significance" of sex in marriage (sec. 12).

What comes after "No"? In essence, the Church teaches that chastity is "the successful integration of sexuality within the person, ensuring the inner unity of one's bodily and spiritual being" (CCC 2337). This inner unity is vitally important. It's what it means to say the Christian approach to sexuality should be "holistic."

Not only are you not your sexuality, sexual acts aren't all there is to sex. To reduce sexuality to just having sex is a monstrous reduction, one that reduces your humanity and that of others. It is "monstrous" because we're all either witnesses to the effects of this reduction or have suffered ourselves and maybe even harmed others and not necessarily in grave and deliberate ways, though maybe in those ways, too.

To be clearer, just think of watching pornography. For many people today, this activity is considered to be fairly innocent. It's not and it never is. The prevalence of porn is nearly impossible to exaggerate. Talk about an abasement of our humanity as well as that of those who make porn!

Your sexuality is not the most important dimension of the mystery of your person. It isn't even the most interesting aspect of who you are. Insisting that human sexuality is a secondary dimension of the human person isn't to say that it doesn't matter. It is to say that it isn't all that matters or even the most important matter.

Let's be honest, sexuality is a place of great human vulnerability for most if not all people. Many, many people, women and men, bear deep sexual wounds that demonstrate the truth of our vulnerability.

I realize that along with my post on synodality, this post is more provocative on matters sexual than I have written for several years. As I wrote in my Integrity Note: "Stated simply, everything that appears here is my responsibility, especially that which turns out to be inaccurate or uncharitable."

Anyway, some thoughts for a Friday when I am not preaching. What is the important aspect of your person? You are created in the image of God. And the ontological reality that God loves you and there is nothing you can do about it flows from this.

As Pope Leo XIV asserted in Magnifica Humanitas: "No sin, failure, humiliation or exclusion can diminish the profound value of a human life that God has willed and called into being" (sec. 52). Yes, that includes you, your life. It's a concrete reality, not an abstraction.

Anyway, Twila Paris singing "How Beautiful" is our Friday traditio. We haven't had one in awhile.

The vulnerability of parental love

For my morning prayer time this year, I have been using a book I found in a discard pile: An Ignatian Book of Days. Put together by Jim Manney, the book consists of curated meditations for each day of the year. This book has been a boon for my spiritual life.

As a husband and as a father, one who, along with my wife, has been going through our most challenging time in more than thirty years of parenting the past year-and-a-half (I will spare you the details and safeguard my child's privacy), I was particularly struck by the extended extract from another book, written by Carmelite nun Ruth Burrows: Essence of Prayer, that was today's meditation from An Ignatian Book of Days.

I am not sure that consoling is the best word to describe the effect of what Burrows wrote had on me. I would have to go with hopeful. As longtime readers know, I have a very specific take on hope.

Consider a blissfully happy couple finding all they need is one another. For no other reason than generosity and the desire to share their happiness, they decide to adopt children as their own. From then on their life undergoes a profound change. Now they are vulnerable, their happiness is wrapped in the welfare of the children; things can never be the same again.

If the children choose to alienate themselves and start on the path to ruin, the couple are stricken, They will plead, humble themselves, make huge sacrifices go out of themselves to get their loved ones to understand that the home is still their home, that the love they have been given is unchanging.

This perhaps gives us some insight into redemption. In a mystery we cannot fathom, God "empties," "loses" Himself in bringing back to Himself His estranged, lost children. And this is all the Father wants. This is the only remedy for His wound. God is no longer pure God, but always God-with-humanity-in-his-heart

On a theological note, the Incarnation practically forces you to dump your Aristotelianism and your Platonism. As Pascal learned, the God of the philosophers is not the saving God, the God of redemption and liberation, God as revealed in Jesus Christ.

It is, of course, through Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit that, in baptism, we become children of God by adoption (the Father has only one begotten child, a Son).

As parents of six children, my wife and I have experienced our share of ups and downs, joys and sorrows, consolations and desolations. We haven't dealt anything of the magnitude of what we are currently enmeshed in. "Now they are vulnerable," indeed! Thank God fo that.

It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation,
always and everywhere to give you thanks, Father most holy,
through your beloved Son, Jesus Christ, . . .

While I am not one of those who thinks spiritual truths need to validated empirically and scientifically (I am more one who is like, "Duh, of course many of these things bear out empirically!"), here is an article that I found useful: "The Good Kind of Vulnerability."

Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity

John 3:16-18

According to the Church, it is possible for a person to come to the knowledge that there is a God on the basis of natural reason alone, that is, unaided by divine revelation. Hence, belief in God can be called a truth of reason, as opposed to a truth of faith. Of course, natural reason aided by divine revelation strengthens and fortifies this a belief.

To know that God is a Trinity of persons- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit- revelation is required. And so, knowing God as a Trinity, one in being and distinct in person, is a truth of faith. To be clear, truths of faith are not contrary to reason. This is why Saint Anslem of Canterbury's definition of theology still perhaps remains the best: fides quaerens intellectum- faith seeking understanding.

What I like most about the Gospel reading for Year A of the lectionary for the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity is that it gives us the starting point for Christian theology. Christians do not start with the Most Holy Trinity. Rather, Christian theology begins with the revelation of God in Jesus Christ. We start with Jesus Christ, in whom God revealed everything he could reveal.

The Trinity icon, by Andre Rublev, 15th century

"God is love" (1 John 4:8.16). God is self-giving, self-sacrificing love. "God [the Father] so loved the world that he gave his only Son. . . " (John 3:16). And the Son so loved the Father that he loved us enough to give himself. The love between the Father and the Son is a person: the Holy Spirit.

It is through Christ and by the power of the Spirit that we are made children of the Father by rebirth through the waters of baptism. In baptism, you are plunged into the very life of God, into that perfect communion that is the Most Holy Trinity. Andre Rublev's amazing Trinity icon beautifully shows this.

From the vantage point of the person looking at this icon you see an open semi-circle- three person serenely seated at table. The open space at the table, the one the viewer already occupies, even if from a distance, is your place. You are invited to the table. You are invited into the very life of God- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

As we prepare for next week's Solemnity of the Body and Bloody of Christ (Corpus Christi), let's bear in mind that the Church, too, is a communion of person. We are the Body of Christ. As Christ's Body, our communion is to show forth in a visible and tangible way blessed communion of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

This is the last post of May!

Year 2 Friday of the Eighth Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Peter 4:7-13; Psalm 96:10-13; Mark 11:11-26

There is a lot that can be gleaned from our readings this morning. But it’s necessary to focus on only one. At least according to Jesus, forgiving others “against whom you have a grievance” is necessary for your prayers to be answered.¹ Each day we pray, “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us,” thus accepting the other thing Jesus teaches in today’s Gospel: that forgiving others is a condition for receiving the Father’s forgiveness.

Forgive as you are forgiven. Refuse to forgive and forfeit the forgiveness necessary for eternal life. It’s really that simple. As C.S. Lewis observed: “To be Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.” He then observes: “This is hard.”²

As a Christian, it is also important to try living in such a way that you don’t make other people have to forgive you. It’s easy to become so focused on what you want that you fail to consider others in your quest to obtain it. Being thoughtful and considerate of others is particularly important. As we collectively abandon civility, these virtues are increasingly rare.

In our reading from 1 Peter, we heard the exhortation: “Be hospitable to one another without complaining.”³ Value every person’s gifts, especially those put at the service of all. As Saint Paul insisted in his Letter to the Philippians, “humbly regard others as more important than yourselves.”⁴ This is perhaps the best measure of spiritual and emotional maturity.

To be like Jesus, you must want, you must desire to be like Him. Desiring this means not receiving these teachings sentimentally. Rather, you must let yourself be provoked. In its most literal sense, a provocation is something for (pro) your calling (vocation). Don’t be content to remain a non-fruit-bearing fig tree and certainly don’t become a cursed one.

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1 Mark 11:25.^↩
2 C.S. Lewis. The Weight of Glory (Simon & Schuster, 1996), pgs. 135-136.^↩
3 1 Peter 4:9.^↩
4 Philippians 2:3.

Pentecost

Readings: Acts 2:1-11; Psalm 104:1.24.29-31.34; 1 Corinthians 12:3b-7.12-13; John 20:19-23

In Greek, “pentecost” means fiftieth. Jews observe Pentecost, known to them more familiarly as Shavuot, fifty days after Passover. Shavuot commemorates God giving the Law to Moses on Mount Sinai.

It was to celebrate Shavuot that so many Jews from all over the known world were gathered in Jerusalem, as recounted in the first Christian Pentecost found in the second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. All four canonical Gospels, especially the synoptics (i.e., Matthew, Mark, and Luke), are quite clear that Christ’s passion and crucifixion took place during Passover. This is why this first Pentecost precisely coincided with Shavuot.

This year, Shavuot and Pentecost very nearly coincided. Jews throughout the world observed Shavuot on Friday, 22 May. So, a mere two days’ difference. As Christians, we must never lose sight of the deeply Jewish origins of our religion. Without Judaism, Christianity makes no sense at all!

Christians also need to recognize that our first Pentecost was the undoing of the Tower of Babel, when all human languages were confounded, thus confining people to language groups. This led to the existence of ethnicities and nations. In short, it meant a divided humanity.

With their Spirit-given ability to speak unknown foreign languages and proclaim salvation through Jesus Christ to all present, the apostles were able to begin God's work uniting humanity. This unification is not under a national banner, not by means of heredity, not by virtue of language. But under Christ's kingship, thus making God's kingdom present in the world.

The Catholic Church is just that, catholic, global, transcending everything that tends to divide people. Uniting people in and through the Church is the work of the Holy Spirit. Pentecost is the beginning of the Church. As we heard last Sunday, our mission is to proclaim the Gospel, make disciples, and baptize people. The Holy Spirit is the Lord, the Giver of life. Being the Church of Christ also means being the Church of the Holy Spirit.

In his Second Letter to the Corinthians, Saint Paul first posits his antithesis between the letter and the spirit of the Law. In the context of writing about his own ministry, the apostle insisted, “the letter brings death, but the Spirit gives life.”¹ An antithesis is not a contradiction. And so, antithesis refers to an inherent tension, not a negation.

In what way are spirit and letter antithetical? By “letter,” Saint Paul refers to the Law, the 613 rules (prescriptions and proscriptions) he would’ve been very familiar with as a former Pharisee. For Paul, the purpose of the Law is to reveal sin by our inability to obey perfectly. Hence, the Law cannot grant eternal life.

By “spirit,” the apostle refers to the Holy Spirit, who brings life through faith in Christ, enabling believers to live in accordance with God’s will and to experience spiritual transformation. To live by the Spirit, then, isn’t simply to do whatever you want. It is to have your will increasingly conformed to God’s will. So, what you want is what God wants.

Spiritual transformation results not only in doing God’s will (i.e., “keeping God’s commandments”). Loving God with your entire being and loving your neighbor as yourself needs to become what you want, even what you long to do. In other words, love because you are first loved. To be holy, to be like Christ, is to love perfectly.

As Christians, we are called to rise above what our natural response might be when faced with life’s challenges. It isn’t easy to forgive, to do good to those who have done you wrong, to love and pray for your enemies. By God’s grace, imparted by the Holy Spirit, Christians are to live supernaturally.

There is a close liturgical connection between Ascension, which is normally observed forty days after Easter, and Pentecost because there is a close theological connection between the Lord’s ascension and the Holy Spirit’s descent.

During Saint John’s Last Supper Discourse, the Lord tells those who believe in Him that they will do greater works than the ones He performed “because I am going to the Father.”² Later, in the same discourse, Jesus says that unless He goes, the Spirit “will not come to you.”³

It is the Holy Spirit who effects the sacraments, that is, confects the Eucharist, etc. As our Gospel indicates, the first gift the Risen Lord gives to His Church, as He breathes the Holy Spirit, is the forgiveness of sins. In the Creeds, we confess our belief in “the forgiveness of sins.”

It is the forgiveness of sins that allows us to live by the Spirit, not the letter of the Law. It is the Holy Spirit who guides us to an ever deeper understanding of what God has revealed in Christ. Hence, living by the spirit and not the letter is the work of God through the Holy Spirit.

In his Letter to the Galatians, Saint Paul insisted that “if you are guided by the Spirit, you are not under the law.” Life in the Spirit, he goes on to write, is manifest by “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.”⁴ Let us strive to live in the Spirit and thus enjoy the glorious freedom of the children of God.

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1 2 Corinthians 3:6.^↩
2 John 14:12.^↩
3 John 16:7.^↩
4 See Galatians 5:18-25.^↩

Year 2 Friday of the Seventh Week of Easter

Readings: Acts 25:13b-21; Psalm 103:1-2.11-12.19-20; John 21:15-19

In today’s Gospel, the Risen Lord asks Peter, who betrayed Him three times, if he loves Him. He asks him this not once, not twice, but three times. The first two times the Lord asks Peter, He uses the appropriate form of the Greek verb agape. He switches gears the third time.

Agape is self-giving, self-sacrificing love. In 1 John 4, in the span of eight verses, we hear twice, “God is love.”¹Agape is the word used. Unlike most Western languages, such as English or even Latin, which feature a single word, “love” or, in Latin, amor, to cover a vast terrain of human experience, Greek has four love words: agape, eros, philia, and storge. Each word refers to a different kind of love. At least in Greek, the trivializing "Love is love" doesn't hold.

Eros, of course, refers to romantic love. Storge refers to familial love found among close family members, with a strong emphasis on loyalty- blood is thicker than water and all that (for Christians, water- referring to baptism- is thicker than blood). Much more than a lesson in Greek vocabulary, this understanding is vital for grasping what happens in this passage.

Philia is brotherly love, referring to deep and abiding friendship. Aristotle thought this was the highest form of love. Each of the three times Christ asks Peter if he loves Him, Peter replies with philos/philia. This includes the third time, when Peter, clearly growing frustrated, says, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.”²

But the third time the Lord asks Peter, “Do you love me,” He meets Peter where he’s at, so to speak. The Lord does this by using philia (philels, to be exact). What this shows is that, even now, after encountering the Risen Lord, Peter’s love for Him is not yet perfect. Will it be made perfect? If so, how? We receive the answer when the Lord tells Peter,

when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go³

The inspired author, in an editorial note, looking back across the distance of several decades, likely referring to Peter being crucified upside down in Rome, tells us that the Lord “said this signifying by what kind of death he would glorify God.”⁴ The author then writes the Lord’s final word of this exchange: “Follow me.”⁵

You and I are also perfected in love by taking up our cross and following Jesus.

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1 See 1 John 4:8.16.^↩
2 John 21:17.^↩
3 John 21:18.^↩
4 John 21:19.^↩
5 John 21:19.^↩