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

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.

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.^↩

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.^↩

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.

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).

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!

Deacons extended

Reading: Acts 8:5-8.14-17

Today finds me in rural Pennsylvania. Liberty Township, to be precise. I am here to lay my father-in-law to rest. He died in late January. It's beautiful and peaceful here. Now that I'm here, I find myself wishing our trip wasn't quite so short.

In any case, in our first reading for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, we hear more more one of the seven men who the Church holds to be her first deacons. Of the seven men set apart and consecrated for service in and to the primitive Church, there are only two we hear more about: Stephen and Philip.

There is of course Stephen, who, in addition to serving the Jerusalem community that held all things in common by ensuring what was held in common was distributed justly, began to boldly proclaim Jesus as the Christ, the Messiah, God's anointed. As a result, at the behest of one Saul of Tarsus, he was stoned to death.

Acts also informs us about Philip, also one of the seven men chosen by the community and consecrated by the apostles. After the martyrdom of Stephen, the Church, which, at this early stage, only existed in Jerusalem, experienced (likely also at the hands of the same Saul), a terrible persecution. It was due to this persecution that Philip and his daughters fled northward to Samaria.

Once in Samaria, like Stephen in Jerusalem, Philip "proclaimed Christ to them," that is, proclaimed Jesus as Messiah to the people of Samaria (Acts 8:5). Not only did this deacon proclaim the Gospel of salvation through Jesus, who is the Christ, he performed signs and wonders. He healed those who were physically handicapped and paralyzed.

As people responded to his proclamation of the kerygma, Philip baptized them. In short, the Holy Spirit, working through Philip, accomplished something of a mini-Pentecost in Samaria. Philip then went back to Jerusalem to retrieve Peter and John. These two apostles then went and "confirmed" the baptism of the Samaritans who had placed their faith in Christ. For those, like me, with some charismatic inclinations, baptized them with the Holy Spirit.

Saint Philip in Samaria

In our passage, taken from the Lord's Last Supper Discourse in Saint John, Jesus tells His closest disciples that when He goes, He will send them the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete, "another Advocate." The Holy Spirit is the mode of Christ's resurrection presence among, in, and through us. These days, it seems, we are falling back into more of an institutional posture at the expense of a charismatic one. Noting this, Pope Francis sought to create some much-needed tension.

This kind of tension energizes the Church. When it comes to the institutional and charismatic, we need to grasp the Catholic et/et (i.e., both/and). It is the Holy Spirit who allows us to avoid and overcome our tendency to create false dilemmas. The Church should neither be a lifeless institution nor an antinomian free-for-all.

Let's not forget, hearkening back to last week's reading from Acts, the threefold criteria for those considered the Church's first deacons was clearly set forth: men of good reputation, who are filled the Spirit, and with wisdom. Wisdom, of course, being one the gifts of the Holy Spirit.

Given its ministerial flexibility to serve the Church and the world, the diaconate is itself a charismatic office. It should be understood and exercised as such.

"But they were looking for a king to conquer and to kill"

Not sure why I am not inclined to deal with today's Gospel, which takes us back to Saint John's Last Supper Discourse. I think perhaps it's because it's one of those passages that compacts a lot into a relatively few verses- though still a fairly long Gospel reading. Maybe it's because our first and epistle readings are post-resurrection I am drawn to them. Heck, I don't know.

Since I haven't been posting a Friday traditio, I thought today I would post a Sunday traditio

As it pertains to the Gospel, Rich Mullins' "That Where I Am There You May Also Be" came to mind. This is one of those songs Rich was working on at the time of his death. This is why I am posting the demo version. What was entitled The Jesus Record was recorded by the Ragamuffin Band with various Christian artists after Rich's death.

Since I did my reflection on the reading from Acts 6:1-7, which is taken to be the institution of the diaconate, our Sunday traditio arises from our reading from 1 Peter (1 Peter 2:4-9). In verse 8, the Greek noun skandalou is used. In the NABRE, this noun is translated as "A stone that will make people stumble." Literally, the English word "scandal" is something that causes others to stumble and finds its root in the Greek skandalon.

Both then, in the early Church being persecuted, and now, even (maybe especially) in a comfortable culture, Christ is a skandalon. So, Michael Card's "Scandalon" is our Sunday traditio. Tying this to today's Gospel, it is the cause of no little scandal that Jesus insists, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me" (John 14:6). Now, without watering down His words, understanding what this really means requires some unpacking and unfolding. But I am not going undertake that here.

Belated Short Reflection for Good Shepherd Sunday

Each year, the Fourth Sunday of Easter is observed as Good Shepherd Sunday. Understandably, this Sunday often used to encourage young men to consider whether God might be calling them to be priests. All priests, but especially those who serve parishes as pastors, are shepherds. "Pastor" is more or less synonymous with "shepherd."

While all pastors and all priests (and all bishops) should strive to be good shepherds, there is only one Good Shepherd: Jesus Christ. This realization is vital, critical, essential for God's people as a whole and for each of us individually, including those who serve as shepherds. One of the beauties of being Catholic is that a parish is not built on the charisma of single priest, thus running the risk of collapsing when he is transferred, retires, or leaves for some other reason. Don't get me wrong there are some wonderfully charismatic priests. There are also some manipulatively charismatic priests.

I thank the Lord for the many steady, stable, well-adjusted, emotionally mature priests who take their calling seriously by engaging in their ministry diligently. I know one of the struggles of many such priests after they retire is how quickly and completely they seem to be forgotten by those they served so wholeheartedly. Yet, their consolation, too, the spiritually mature ones know, comes from the Good Shepherd. Whether we want to face it or not, contemporary U.S. culture, when it comes to relationships of virtually any kind, is very transactional.

One of the oldest representations of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, made around 300 AD., original painted in Crypt of Lucina, Rome

When a priest isn't a good shepherd, perhaps a half-hearted, not fully committed, or even negligent one, this shouldn't cause you to lose faith. Go ahead and be disappointed, discouraged, even a bit dismayed. Also, deeply appropriate the first verse of Psalm 23: "The LORD is my shepherd; there is nothing I lack." Now, for a time, you may lack a good shepherd. But you always have the Good Shepherd. Lean into Him. Draw close to Him. Let Him draw you close. In terms of faith, this is a matter of life and death!

Despite everything that's happened over the past quarter century, there still remain wolves disguised, not as sheep, but as shepherds. Maybe the better term, being a lifelong Westerner, is there are rustlers, or, to quote Jesus, "thieves." Moreover, there are no few hirelings seeking to fleece the flock.

It is the Good Shepherd who pursues you with goodness and mercy your whole life through. He sets the banquet of the Eucharist before you. He can even do this through the ministry of a not so good shepherd. It is the Good Shepherd who brings you to lush, verdant pastures, sets you beside still waters, and who restores your soul.

"Were not our hearts burning. . .?"

Luke 24:13-35

After quite a bit of planning and some fanagaling, I have a Sunday off. Yesterday evening, after a long day of teaching, I was able to quietly attend a Vigil Mass at another parish. Today is my first day off since the week before Holy Week.

I was sorely tempted to just let it go today. But I felt impelled (not compelled, had that been the case, I would've resisted), to share a concentrated take on today's Gospel reading: The Road to Emmaus. I never really fully grasped the centrality of the Emmaus pericope until I read Louis-Marie Chauvet's The Sacraments: The Word of God at the Mercy of the Body.

Saint Luke's pericope in which the inspired author conveys the story of what happened to Cleopas and companion (perhaps his wife?) as they made their way back home to their village after Jesus' passion and death is simply amazing. Cleopas and companion ("companion" is literally someone with whom you share bread) had even heard news of some women, fellow disciples of Jesus, seeing angels who they said told them that Jesus rose from the dead.

But all these two disappointed disciples saw after hearing these reports was an empty tomb. What does an empty tomb prove? Did those women really encounter angels?

Saint Luke's telling of what happened on the way to and then in Emmaus contains an inspired and comprehensive Eucharistic theology as well as a fairly well sketched out liturgical theology, which even includes a dismissal. The dismissal occurs when, having recognized the Risen Lord in the breaking of bread, which happened after a very extended liturgy of word (like the one at the Paschal Vigil), they rush the seven miles back to Jerusalem, despite it now being nightime, to tell the others what they had seen and heard and how their hearts were burning.

The story of the road to Emmaus tells the story of the Word becoming flesh and how the Word still becomes flesh. Through the Eucharist, the flesh the Word now takes is your flesh, my flesh. When we say the Church is the Body of Christ, we are not using an analogy. We are describing reality.

The mystery of life in Christ is that Christ can live in you (Colossians 1:27). Moreover, Christ desires not only to live in but through you and through me. You and I, along with everyone who else who partakes of Christ's Body and Blood, are united in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit by partaking of the one bread and the one cup (okay, chalice). Given to us by the Lord Himself, the Church makes the Eucharist and the Eucharist, in turn, makes the Church the Body of Christ.

Let's be honest, the only convincing evidence that the bread and wine are transformed (transubstantiated) into Christ's Body and Blood are the lives of those of us who eat and drink. Conversely, the best argument against this reality are the lives of those of us who partake. In the Eucharist, something really profound is happening, ex opere operato (i.e., whether you experience it or not).

While it is imporant and even necessary, don't remain content with minimalism, with hanging your hat on the peg of ex opere operato. Your participation, my participation, should be intentional. In the most important sense, this is what it means to actively participate.

For some reason, this Easter season, I feel impelled to emphasize that Jesus didn't just rise from the tomb. He is risen, denoting the on-going nature of His resurrection. Resurrection isn't merely something to be believed but something/Someone to be experienced in the way Cleopas and his companion did. Resurrection is not just a way of life, a manner of living, but a mode of being.

What should happen during the Eucharist should also resound beyond Mass and outside the walls of the Church. Quite simply, worship that doesn't lead to self-giving service isn't Christian worship. And so, "Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord. Alleluia." "Go in peace, glorfying the Lord by your life. Alleluia" (we won't use the double "Alleluia" again until the dismissal at Pentecost).

Urbi et orbi- Easter 2026

URBI ET ORBI MESSAGE
OF THE SUPREME PONTIFF
LEO XIV

Dear brothers and sisters,
Christ is risen! Happy Easter!

For centuries, the Church has joyfully sung of the event that is the origin and foundation of her faith: “Yes, Christ my hope is arisen / Christ indeed from death is risen / Have mercy, victor King, ever reigning” (Easter Sequence).

Easter is the victory of life over death, of light over darkness, of love over hatred. It is a victory that came at a very high price: Christ, the Son of the living God (cf. Mt 16:16), had to die — and die on a cross — after suffering an unjust condemnation, being mocked and tortured, and shedding all his blood. As the true immolated Lamb, he took upon himself the sin of the world (cf. Jn 1:29; 1 Pet 1:18–19) and thus freed us all — and with us, all creation — from the dominion of evil.

But how was Jesus able to be victorious? What is the strength with which he defeated once and for all the ancient adversary, the prince of this world (cf. Jn 12:31)? What is the power with which he rose from the dead, not returning to his former life, but entering into eternal life and thus opening in his own flesh the passage from this world to the Father?

This strength, this power, is God himself for he is Love who creates and generates, Love who is faithful to the end and Love who forgives and redeems.

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As it happens, this is the 4,300th post on Καθολικός διάκονος.

Triduum- Holy Saturday

The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb, by Hans Holbein the Younger, 1521

On Holy Saturday the Church waits at the Lord's tomb in prayer and fasting, meditating on his Passion and Death and on his Descent into Hell, and awaiting his Resurrection.

The Church abstains from the Sacrifice of the Mass, with the sacred table left bare, until after the solemn Vigil, that is, the anticipation by night of the Resurrection, when the time comes for paschal joys, the abundance of which overflows to occupy fifty days.

Holy Communion may only be given on this day as Viaticum (Roman Missal. Holy Week. Holy Saturday)

Triduum- Good Friday

"He mounted the Cross to free us from the fascination with nothingness, to free us from the fascination with appearances, with the ephemeral."

Servant of God Msgr. Luigi Giussani

Triduum- Holy Thursday

"Like Peter, who at first resisted Jesus’ initiative, we too must 'learn repeatedly that God’s greatness is different from our idea of greatness… because we systematically desire a God of success and not of the Passion'" Pope Leo XIV homily at Mass of the Lord's Supper, citing Pope Benedict XVI homily at Mass of the Lord’s Supper, 20 March 2008

"Though there's pain in the offering"

Here we are, the last Friday of Lent. This holy season concludes, as it does each year, with Evening Prayer next Thursday. Evening Prayer on Holy Thursday ushers in the shortest of liturgical seasons: the Sacred Triduum.

The Sacred Triduum constiutes something like our Christian high holy days. It might be more accurate to say "our Christian high holy day." Holy Thursday's Mass of the Lord's Supper has no concluding rites, no dismissal. Instead, we process with the Blessed Sacrament to the chapel of repose. Good Friday has no introductory rites, but begins with the Collect. Good Friday, too, ends without a dismissal. We're not dismissed until the end of the great Paschal Vigil, which both brings the Sacred Triduum to an end and inagurates the season of Easter.

All Catholics really should make an to participate in the entire Triduum. Do it once and you will want to keep doing it.

For me, it's been an eventful year so far and an vibrant Lent. About halfway through, I began working for the Church full-time, which event was more than a year in the making. To say that I am feeling a bit overwhelmed at present would be to put it mildly. Nonetheless, I remain excited and forward looking. It's an opportunity to extend my Lenten discipline of being gentle with myself!

Earlier this week, I had a beautiful experience during my morning walk. It was a gorgeous spring day. I decided to listen to some glory and praise music, as it matched my mood and weather. As I noted in my homily last Sunday, we don't observe Lent, or even Good Friday, pretending that Christ isn't risen from the dead. That level of pretense belies Christian realism. Besides, as Richard Foster noted in his seminal work, Celebration of Discipline, "Joy is the keynote of all the Disciplines" Just as "happiness," at least as it is popularly understood, shouldn't be confused eudaimonia, neither should it be mistaken for joy. Happiness is fleeting. Joy abides. Happiness is superficial. Joy runs deep.

Anyway, our traditio is then-Sister Cristina Scuccia with an acoustic version (suitable for its simplicity) of "Blessed Be Your Name." In or around 2022, Cristina left religious life after 15 years. She's emphatic that the time she spent as an Ursiline sister were "splendid years." She is also insistent that she has not abandoned the faith. While we don't use the "A-word" during Lent, we do praise Jesus Christ always and everywhere!

What do with the time left in Lent?

What follows is my reflection for the diocesan staff's weekly Lenten gathering for Morning Prayer, which takes place on Wednesdays of Lent. There are still a few weeks left of this holy season. Reflecting on what it means to be a Christian, what it means to be baptized, is really important.

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Reading: Deuteronomy 7:6.8-9

As I was thinking about preparing for this morning, forgetting it was Lent, I wondered if today’s reading was really the same as that for last Wednesday and the Wednesday before that. After all, the book is Deuteronomy, means “second” telling not fourth telling.

During Lent, the readings for Morning and Evening Prayer are repetitive. By means of this repetition, the Church tries to focus on what really matters. As with the Israelites’ forty-year trek through and all around the Sinai Peninsula, Lent is meant to be a journey through the dry desert of our souls, in which, as The Police sang, “I always play the starring role.”

Our annual journey culminates at the baptismal font. This is not only true for the Elect, but for all the baptized. Lent, which means springtime in old English, is the time we are given each year to prepare for the renewal of our baptismal promises. It is a time for new life.

Baptism is our crossing of the Red Sea as well as our crossing of the Jordan into the Promised Land. It is the womb from which we are reborn and tomb from which we arise with Christ to live a new life. Baptism is our deliverance from slavery to sin and death, enabling us to live in the glorious freedom of the children of God.

Holy baptism, not holy orders, is the fundamental sacrament of the Christian life. Those who are ordained should always remember, as we vest for liturgical celebrations, that the alb is a baptismal garment. Everything else goes on top of the alb: stole, chasuble, dalmatic, cope. "Every baptized person," Pope Leo noted in today's Wednesday audience, "is to bear consistent witness to Christ.”

It is through baptism into Christ that the Lord, our God, who is ever faithful, includes you in his merciful covenant. And so, over these final few weeks of Lent, prepare to renew this covenant, which is your covenant with the living God. How do I do this, you might ask?

Before I answer, it’s important to realize that God loves you and there’s nothing you can do about it. God’s love is the rock on which we can firmly stand. So, the question is, what might I love more than I love God? All sin is a matter of not loving God, “whom,” we acknowledge in the Act of Contrition, “I should love above all things.”

Traditionally, those things we love more than God (or neighbor) are called “disordered attachments.” Lent is the time to identify and, with God’s help, strive to be delivered from them. And so, let this Lent be a time of deliverance. Let God bring you out of Egypt by His strong arm and ransom you from Pharoah.

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A fair amount of the time, on Fridays, I reflect on time. Taking my cue from Trevor Hudson, I like to refer to Lent as "a time-gift." So, our traditio for this Friday of the Fourth Week of Lent is from Jesus and Mary Chain's still very good Darklands album: "On the Wall."

"Try to learn what is pleasing to the Lord"

Readings: 1 Samuel 16:1b.6-7.10-13a; Psalm 23:1-6; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41

"Not as man sees does God see," the prophet Samuel is told as he tries to determine which of Jesse's seven sons to anoint, making him king of Israel to replace Saul (who was not yet dead). What man sees is the outward appearance, he is told, "but the LORD looks into the heart."

To see things clearly requires light. Christ is the Light of World, the One who illuminates this present darkness. His Light is what allows you to see things how they really are and for what they really are. One of the best "takes" on Jesus' Transfiguration, which we hear each year on the Second Sunday of Lent, is that Peter, James, and John get a glimpse of reality. For a brief, nearly unbearable moment, reality absorbs them.

To truly see requires being given the gift of true sight. This allows you to see through/beyond appearances. Appearances can be deceptive. If you've ever been taken in by a phony, you know what this means. Phoniness fades, authenticity remains. To judge by appearances, the authentic person is usually not the most outwardly expressive or ardent. The most ardent are usually the phonies. Being inauthentic often consists not only of trying fool others but fooling oneself.

In today's Gospel, it is the man born blind who, having been enlightened by Christ, who truly sees. Those who insist they can see are blind to the reality of who Jesus really is. So, despite insisting they can see, they remain blind, engulfed by the darkness.

After being baptized during the Easter Vigil, the Elect will be presented with a candle, lit directly from the Paschal Candle. The Candle is presented to the godparent of the newly baptized person, with the words, "Receive the Light of Christ." Once all the newly baptized are holding their lit candles, lit from the same Source, the presider prays:

You have been enlightened by Christ.
Walk always as children of the light...

After this, the candles that the already baptized have are relit, also from the Paschal candle (though not directly). We then renew our baptismal promises. This is that for which Lent serves as preparation.

So, once again, you find yourself at a moment of decision. The real questions are direct, requiring a simple "I do." What these boil down to are- Do I really want to be like Christ? Am I committed to walking and living in the Light of Christ? This is your summons to awake, to rise from the dead, to be illumined by Christ, who is the Light of the world.

The twenty-third psalm, which is one of the best known and best loved of all the psalms, one that bears memorizing and meditating on over and over, provides a poetic excursus on what living this way looks like.

"But for now we live on these streets"

Friday the thirteenth!!! As noted in my last post, I am not supertitious. Superstition is really quite a pagan disposition toward reality, not a Christian one.

Is thirteen considered unlucky because that is how many steps to the gallows or are there thirteen steps to the gallows because that number is unlucky?

As I have noted a few times over this Lenten season, mortality is a reality of which one must remain mindful. This is the point of the "Remember you are dust..." exhortation on Ash Wednesday. After a certain age, however, one is frequently reminded. Viewed strictly in the horizontal plane, we're all making our way to the gallows.

Even for someone who believes in and has hope for eternal life, death remains the horizon over which it is impossible to see. Let's be honest, even as people of faith, apart from resurrection, we don't really know what happens after we die. We especially don't know what we will experience between death and resurrection. Since we don't believe that we are souls trapped in bodies, a thoroughly Gnostic notion, what might it be like to be a disembodied soul?

I am not going to attempt to answer that question.

Momento mori- Remember death. Not only will your mortal life not last forever, it is very short. This is true even if you live to be 100!

Life's shortness should cause everyone to ponder life's meaning. This begins with the uncomfortable question, Does life have meaning? Having a meaning is what gives life purpose. Purpose gives direction. Being Christian is not just a way of life but a mode of being. Our direction is following Christ.

Just as practicing Christians tend to recoil at "I'm spiritual but not religious," Catholics are equally dismissive of the dichotomy between religion and relationship made by Evangelicals. But for a Christian, religion (i.e., right worship) requires relationship. Hence, it is the Catholic both/and. If it's just religious observance, then you are only going through the motions. One shouldn't hold onto either horn of a false dilemma. And, believe it or not, it isn't always better to go through the motions.

There are no small number of people who were raised Catholic, became Evangelicals, and returned to the Church. Most will tell you that detour was an important part of following Christ. I think this observation is important because Lent isn't about being more religious for a concentrated period of time. It's about opening yourself up to God's grace, seeking a deeper relationship with Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit.

While I would never dissuade someone from adhering to the five precepts of the Church and, in fact always urge them to do so, I would say that sometimes, maybe especially during Lent, religious observance can be a dam rather than a channel of divine grace. I don't mind repeating this Friday that what the Lord is helping me with during this holy season is being more gentle with myself and extending that gentleness to others.

Our traditio for this Friday of the Third Week of Lent is Rick Elias' "A Man of No Reputation," which was recorded on The Jesus Record. It was a song slated to come out an album Rich Mullins was working on at the time of his death. Instead, it came out on a posthumous record.

The lyrics from this song I used as the title for this post reminded me of Madeleine Delbrêl's "We, the Ordinary People of the Streets." In this piece she insisted:

We, the ordinary people of the streets, believe with all our might that this street, this world, where God has placed us, is our place of holiness