Rest in the Lord

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Receive Christ, receive his love

Matthew 10:37-42

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Year A Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An ecumenical note

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A corollary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christ died for us

Romans 5:6-11

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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