Careful now

Readings: Ezekiel 33:7-9; Psalm 95:1-2.6-9; Romans 13:8-10; Matthew 18:15-20

The first part of our Gospel today is one of those passages that can easily cause more harm than good. It's a passage that requires careful handling. Being juridical in nature, it sets forth a procedure for resolving disputes within the primitive Christian community.

These procedures set forth in the passage pertain to serious matters, the kinds of things that today would lead to excommunication or serious ecclesial penalities, matters now codified in the Code of Canon Law. In other words, it doesn't green light providing grist for the rumor mill. It doesn't promote division within the community.

Nonetheless, the injunction to go to the person against whom you have a grievance privately with an eye towards reconciling is, on the whole, good advice. Now, there are situations, like instances of sexual or other kinds of heinous abuse, to which this does not and cannot apply. But then, the penal section of the Code of Canon Law and, in some cases, even criminal law are brought bear on such egregious matters (see first paragraph).

When dealing with everyday kinds of disputes or offenses, real or perceived, seeking to work it out person-to-person and then perhaps with a mediator is a good way ahead. It also cuts gossip off at the source. Ideally, we seek reconciliation, not judgment, and certainly not retribution.

During Ordinary Time, effort is made to harmonize the Gospel reading with the reading from the Hebrew Scriptures. Today, this could easily compound the problem. Not only can misreading and mishandling this passage cause harm, it can lead to abuse.

I think our reading from Romans provides us with much-needed perspective. It provides us with a Christian perspective. "Juridical" refers to judicial (i.e., legal) proceedings. Any good and well-ordered community requires such things (see first paragraph). What our "epistle" reading, which seems well-harmonized with the other readings, reminds us is the basis of Christ's law, namely the second of his Two Great Commandments.

Saint Paul stated it quite simply when he wrote: "the one who loves another has fulfilled the law" (Rom 13:8). Even more to my point, "Love does no evil to the neighbor" (Rom 13:10). In this passage, "love" is a translation of the appropriate form of agape.

By way of reminder, agape refers to self-giving, self-sacrificing love. Sometimes efforts are made to distinguish between liking and loving someone. This means that you can love someone and really not like them. While I suppose this can be a useful distinction in certain circumstances, pressing this distinction too hard can make Christian love (agape) cold and mechanical, procedural and not personal. While love is a choice, not merely a feeling, it has an indispenable affective dimension.

Later in this same chapter of Saint Matthew's Gospel, in teaching about not the importance but the necessity of forgiveness, Jesus clearly states you must forgive your brother from your heart (Matt 18:35). Depending on the perceived offense or actual injury, this can be very difficult and take time, maybe a lot of time. But for Christians, it must be a matter of the heart.

Yesterday I read an article about the experience of an Evangelical pastor in a church he had pastored. Because of the way he was treated, he wound up leaving that Church scarred and somewhat broken. Several years later, while pastoring another Church in a different state, the current pastor of the Church he left, knowing what happened, invited him back to preach.

Reluctantly, the ousted pastor accepted. At the start of one of the meetings he was preaching at while visting his former church, in walked a man who had made him miserable while he served there. He wrote,

No, the man did not apologize for the torment he brought to my family, but it didn’t matter. God gave me peace. Forgiveness at that time was not conditional on what he did. Instead, it was a gift from God to me

Then it became a gift from the pastor to the man. Indeed, "love is the fulfillment of the law" (Rom 13:10).

Knowing Jesus more and more

Matthew 16:13-20

Today's Gospel is one that makes it very easy, not to mention tempting, to get really theological. The temptation is twofold: 1) Christology or 2) ecclesiology. I suppose a third temptation is an apologetic for the papacy (maybe best labeled 2a).

This is not to say those things should be left unaddressed. It's perfectly legitimate and, at times, even necessary to do so, depending on the medium and on circumstances. I'm sure at one time or another, I've done all three with regard to this passage from Saint Matthew's Gospel.

But today, I feel impelled to make it more personal. After all, the question the Lord poses to Peter on the road to Caesarea Philippi is the question he poses to you and to me: "But who do you say that I am?" (Matthew 16:15). I think the fact that he asks this question while he and his disciples were on the way, on the road, has some significance. As members of God's pilgrim people, we're all on our way. If we're moving, our understanding of who Jesus is changes, that is, deepens over time.

Something the late Rich Mullins said a long time ago kind of gets to the point I'm trying to make: "Life and living comes from God- it comes from Jesus- not from doctrine or good morals" (Les Sussman. Praise Him!: Christian Music Stars Share Their Favorite Verses from the Scriptures: 1998). I'm going to leave good morals alone apart from saying that reducing faith to morals is very common.

It's not that morals don't matter, like doctrine, they do matter. It's just, as Rich went on to say, "sometimes I think we put the cart before the horse." As far as doctrine, Saint Paul states it nicely in our reading from Romans: "Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!" (Romans 11:33). Words always fall short of the Mystery.

Jesus Walking, by Alexandre Bida, 1891

Christians know the answer to the question (it's what makes you a Christian): Jesus is Lord. He is the Messiah. He's the Savior, the Son of God, etc. But isn't reciting these titles, as accurate and truthful as I believe them to be, just saying things about him?

Without a doubt, each of us, as Depeche Mode insisted, has our own personal Jesus. This shouldn't be too shocking. After all, isn't it a good thing to have and cultivate a personal relationship with the Lord? But even short of a relationship with him, everyone has an image, an idea, of him.

One risk in having a personal Jesus is that we can make him not only personal but private. This is done by making him into my image instead of letting myself be conformed into his image. At certain times in history, even the Church has made the Lord into someone other than who he is. But even during dark times, there were always those, like Saint Francis of Assisi, who came along in the thirteenth century, when the institution of the Church was at a particularly low ebb, who've not merely professed that Jesus is Lord but who lived out the radical implications of this profession of faith.

Saint Anthony, the great Desert Father, was another such figure. One day in Church, he heard Jesus' teaching about selling everything and following him (Matthew 19:21). In response, Anthony did just that. Both of these show the need for community, for the Church.

The Church isn't built on the confession of a perfect disciple who had it all figured out at that moment on the dusty Galilean road. Not only would Peter go on to deny Jesus during his passion, he would be rebuked by Paul for falling back in with those Christians who continued to insist that even Gentile converts needed to adhere to the Law (see Galatians 2:11-14).

I firmly believe that Peter answered Jesus's question both correctly and sincerely. But let's not forget, he was still on the way, as am I, as are you. Peter still has a lot to learn about what it means to confess Jesus as Messiah, as Son of God. I do, too. I am encouraged that, as Michael Card sang, "There is a joy in the journey."

Mercy unbounded

Readings: Isaiah 56:1.6-7; Psalm 67:2-3.5-6.8; Romans 11:13-15.29-32; Matthew 15:21-28

An important aspect of today's Gospel that is often overlooked is that it is a Gentile, a Canaanite women no less, who recognizes Jesus for who he is: the "Lord, Son of David!" This is a messianic greeting. We can be quite certain that in the context of this passage, her greeting is not lost on the Lord. He knows that she knows who he is, even when many in Israel, perhaps even some of his disciples, did not.

In the Gospels, Jesus employs a variety of methods to teach. This pericope is an instance when he gives a powerful lesson using a tough technique. What is the lesson? The lesson is that God's care and concern, his goodnes and mercy, extend beyond Israel, beyond the chosen people. In our day, this is as true of the Church as it was of Israel.

Many spend a lot of time and energy drawing lines to determine who is left out. But in the bizarro world of God's kingdom, there is only us, no them. You know what? This remains downright scandalous to many people.

Without a doubt, the most fundamental aspect of Pope Francis' pontificate was reminding us of the scandalous way God manifests his love. El amor de Dios es para todos, todo el tiempo. You can't earn God's love. This is not true because you're so bad and God is so good (that is true of me, however). It's because you can't earn what you not only always have, but what you already always have and cannot lose. What scripture reveals we need to take to heart: "God is love" (1 John 4:8.16).

Our epistle reading today harmonizes nicely with the Old Testament and Gospel readings. In this passage from his Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul lays out a great mystery. According to the apostle, it is because of Israel's disobedience that we, the Gentiles, have received God's mercy. You see, as Gentiles, we are unencumbered by the Law. For Paul, the Law exists to show us that we can't measure up to it. Only one perfectly observed the Law, Jesus.

Crumbs of Love, by Michael Cook, 2008

It is because of the mercy we have received, that Israel, whose "call is irrevocable," will receive mercy. This is what it means when you read, "For God delivered all to disobedience, that he might have mercy upon all." La misericordia de Dios es para todos.

Up until he says, "O woman, great is your faith!", including his blowing off her intial plea, the Lord's answers might seem a bit harsh. The lesson is that this Canannite woman, so desperate to find relief for her daughter, due to her persistent faith, is an example of faith even to Israel. Such expressions of faith by non-Jews is a constant throughout the Gospel narratives.

Sometimes our preconceptions, which easily and often become misconceptions, get in God's way. This not only affects us, but it can easily affect others- "Send her away." Heaven forbid!

According to the oracle from Isaiah, it is

The foreigners who join themselves to the LORD,
ministering to him,
loving the name of the LORD,
and becoming his servants

This why all the nations of the earth will praise God.

The scandal of God's love

Romans 8:35.37-39

Once again, I am reflecting on our reading from Romans. These inspired passages are vital for Christian faith. The beauty of reading Saint Paul is that he is no mere theoretician. He writes from experience. Hence, his short exposition on the heighth, width, and depth, that is, the infinitude (meaning "unbounded," infinity has to do with space and eternity with time) of God's love is no abstract discourse. These are insights born from experience.

Taking the infinity of divine love as a given, Saint Thérèse of Lisieux was fascinated with the burning intensity of love flowing from Jesus' Sacred Heart. This is how she realized that “If I had committed all possible crimes, I would always have the same confidence [in Christ's saving love]; I feel that this whole multitude of offenses would be like a drop of water thrown into a fiery furnace” (Footnote 133 in Pope Francis' encylical Dilexit nos, indicating this is found in Last Conversations. Yellow Notebook, 11 July 1897, 6.). Did you get that? Your worst sins are like a drop water in the "fiery furnance" of God's all-consuming love! Yes, "our God is a consuming fire" (Hebrews 12:29).

For many Christians, Christ's love remains a scandal (from the Greek skandalon, meaning a trap or snare). Let's face it, while we like to identify with the prodigal, we can sometimes be more like the pissed off older brother. It was Henri Nouwen who thought that perhaps the Parable of the Prodigal Son should be called the Parable of Profligate Father. "Profligate" means "recklessly extravagant."

God's love provokes. Herbert McCabe, OP was a great provocateur in this regard. In a collection of writings entitled Faith Within Reason, he insisted:

God’s love does not depend on what we do or what we are like. He doesn’t care whether we are sinners or not. It makes no difference to him. He is just waiting to welcome us with joy and love. 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 (italicization mine)

The importance of this point cannot be overemphasized.

Try as you might, you can't make yourself "right with God." This does not imply that God can't or even doesn't choose to sometimes reward meritorious acts. But only Christ can make you "right" with the Father. Your confessions, penances, reparations, works of mercy, etc., are not done to change God's disposition towards you.

Remember, "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever" (Hebrews 13:8) Such things can only ever be responses to God's love, done to alter your attitude to God and neighbor. Projecting human finitude, fickelness, and pettiness onto God is a reversion to paganism, with its tempermental and tempestuous gods.

A few chapters earlier in his Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul writes, "God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us (Romans 5:8- italics mine). Soteriology is a fascinating part of Christian theology. Over two milennia, quite a few atonement theories have been set forth.

Among the classic atonement theories, each seems to me to capture one dimension of a multi-dimensional reality. However, try as many might these days, there is an ineradicable substitutionary aspect to Christ's death.

There is nothing more real than divine love. "God is love" (1 John 4:8.16). This is not reversible (i.e., love is not God). Think about how your life might change if you lived in the awareness of God's unchanging, never-ending love for you.

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.

________________________________________

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.

________________________________________________________

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.^↩

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.

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."

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).

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.

__________________________________________

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.