"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 unfold moment to moment. Guess what? Every moment isn't and can't be all you want it to be. You see, there's thing 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 culimnation 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.

Especially on a number of tough days, the reflections have not only been germane but provocative. The acid test of spiritual advice or counsel is whether 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, felt a great physical release. I was able to let a few things go.

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

I can't think of a better traditio than Cake covering "I Will Survive." I am pretty sure that years ago this also featured as a traditio. It seems apt today. 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.

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 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 Sacred Scripture, "The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure" (Jeremiah 17:9 NIV).

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

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

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

Cultivating and conserving rich soil

Matthew 13:1-23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want this light in me to show"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rest in the Lord

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Receive Christ, receive his love

Matthew 10:37-42

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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