God our Father

This morning I was thinking I should put together a reflection on the readings for the Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time. I have not lost my love for writing or for blogging. I don't do either one as often as I'd like. Obviously, in the priorities of life blogging is a luxury. Besides that, I've been doing it for so long it's part of my life. Summertime is the most difficult season for me to blog. Yes, I am busy but I am busy all year round. It's hot. Especially as I grow older, I find the heat debilitating.

Today's reflection is more of a sketch than something carefully thought out and executed in writing. My sketch consists of four things that take into account today's readings and that today, throughout much of the world, is Father's Day:

The first line of the sketch is from the Collect for the Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time: "...you never deprive of your guidance those you set on the firm foundation of your love." Love is fundamental, foundational. Without God's love, without the God who is love (because God is Father, Son, and Spirit), nothing else matters. If you have not experienced for yourself the love of the Father given us in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit then there is a lack. It is a lack very much akin to the one someone who does not experience parental love and affection during her formative years.

What kind of Father is God? In his Apostolic Letter Patris Corde, through which he declared this year the Year of Saint Joseph, Pope Francis, writing about Saint Joseph noted: "Being a father entails introducing children to life and reality. Not holding them back, being overprotective or possessive, but rather making them capable of deciding for themselves, enjoying freedom and exploring new possibilities."

At the same time, a good father never just disappears or abandons his child. In today's Gospel Jesus is asleep in the boat as the storm rages. After he is awakened by his alarmed disciples and after he halts the wind and calms the sea, he gently asks those on board why they were frightened and if they do not yet "have faith" (Mark 4:40). The trust that arises from faith is hope, the confidence that God is with us even in life's storms.

I think it's really important to note that something about today's Gospel that is quite obvious: Jesus is not on the shore, walking across the water, or hovering above them. As they "cross to the other side," he is with them in the boat while the storm rages (Mark 4:35). In this regard, I was quite moved today by a tweet someone shared with me: "can't think of a better father's day gospel than jesus taking a nap while all kinds of shit is going down."

Taking into account the kind of Father God is, he doesn't necessarily, or even most often, deliver you from the storm but, as the passion, death, and resurrection of his Son powerfully demonstrates, he brings you through it to the far shore. As I considered these things, the third verse of the hymn "Amazing Grace" popped into my head:

Through many dangers,
toils and snares
I have already come,
'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home.

Yes, the kind of radical trust to which Jesus alludes in today's Gospel, which he exemplified in his own life, cuts against the grain of our human tendencies. But, as Paul's words in our second reading remind us: "Whoever is in Christ is a new creation" (2 Corinthians 5:17). Experiencing the love of the God who is love creates you anew.

It is not an accident that Jesus in today's Gospel, just like the ruah (i.e., breath) of God in the creation account found in the Bible's first chapter, as God's Word brings order from chaos. Let's not be naive. All your troubles don't go away in a flash. But if, as a new creation, you are built on the solid foundation of God's love, you see things from a different perspective and understand that this storm, too, shall pass, that God is with you and will bring you safely to shore.

"I worry over situations"

I don't know about where you are, but here in the southwestern U.S. it still unseasonably hot. We're having late July temperatures in the middle of June. Last year on 15 June it snowed. Climate change is real. While it should've addressed much sooner, I am glad that the U.S. government is no longer headed by someone who denies climate change. While each of us can play our part, the changes that need to be made are inescapably at the macro level.

It's easy to forget that last year during the worldwide shutdown the environment started showing signs of healing. Predictably, instead of taking a lesson, we couldn't get back to the status quo ante fast enough! Frankly, it's alarming.

I am by predisposition a worrier. I come by it honestly from my Mom and her Dad. Like most adults, I don't sleep enough. It's always been difficult for me to fall asleep unless I am utterly exhausted. This is why, despite wanting to, I virtually never nap. I find it even harder to fall asleep and sleep when it is hot. It appears that it's going to be a long, restless summer.

Last week, instead of a Friday traditio posted my homily for the Eleventh Monday in Ordinary Time. What else might our traditio for the Eleventh Friday in Ordinary Time than Colin Hay's "Overkill"? The Choir Choir version, of course.

Eleventh Monday in Ordinary Time

Readings: 2 Corinthians 6:1-10; Psalm 98:1-4; Matthew 5:38-42

Receiving the grace of God in vain is a perennial problem for Christians. It helps to note that grace, from the Greek word charis, as in “charisma,” means gift. The gift of grace is not truly received until it is passed on. Unlike a box of chocolates, the gift of grace is multiplied, not diminished, by sharing it.

Of course, it is easy to be nice to people who are nice to me. But what about people who not only aren’t nice to me but those who take the trouble to be mean even cruel, someone who, in a word, makes herself my enemy? In our Gospel today Jesus gives us a pretty straightforward answer to this question.

In our Gospel, which comprises part of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount, Jesus bids his followers to forsake the so-called lex talionis, which requires an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. As Tevye, the main character in The Fiddler on the Roof observes, the result of an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is that everyone winds up blind and toothless.

Living according to the lex talionis is to see life as a war of attrition. Today's Gospel, short as it is, presents us with the Lord’s most difficult teachings. Even in the context of his own time, such teachings were a provocation. Provocation means for (“pro) your calling (“vocation”).

You received your vocation in baptism and confirmation. This call to be Jesus’s disciple is issued again in every Mass. Being a Christian not only means not being an enemy but, in all circumstances, seeking to be a neighbor.

It is only by living in this way and by seeking God’s pardon when you fail that you receive the grace of God in a fruitful, as opposed to vain, way. Even when speaking of seeking God’s forgiveness, it bears pointing out how egregiously presumptive and even arrogant it is to seek forgiveness without a willingness to forgive.

Jesus bids those who would follow him die to self to become the person he redeemed you to be. Holding grudges, seeking to get even, or exacting revenge have no place in God’s kingdom. What this requires you to do is swallow some pride. Pride is nothing else except a large portion of one’s self.

In our reading from Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians, the apostle, by describing his own approach to ministry, gives us a pretty concrete idea of what Jesus’s call to discipleship, which is a summons to the cross, looks like. When lived in a Christian manner, life is humbling, not humiliating. By living this way, you humble yourself in Lord’s sight in the confidence that he will lift you up, thus making known his salvation.

How it is with the kingdom of God

It seems pretty clear that the kingdom of God cannot be described straightforwardly. Why else would Jesus teach in nothing but parables? This question remains even when we grasp that Jesus explained the parables to his closest followers privately.

It also seems pretty clear that the kingdom of God is already here, even if imperceptibly or, like a mustard seed, in barely perceptible ways. In other words, perhaps now we can only get a glimpse of it now and then, here and there. Ezekiel's tender shoot of a cedar tree that becomes a mighty cedar at the top of the mountain is an image of Israel. Jerusalem, as those who've visited the Holy Land know, is on top of a mountain. It seems pretty clear why this reading was paired with today's Gospel.

In thinking about the barely perceptible nature of the kingdom of God, my mind often goes to a song by Michael Card: "Distressing Disguise," especially this verse:

Every time a faithful servant serves
A brother that's in need
What happens at that moment is a miracle indeed
As they look to one another in an instant it is clear
Only Jesus is visible for they've both disappeared

It is part of Christian hope that the kingdom of God will be fully established at some indeterminate time in the future. And that its establishment does not depend on any human being, let alone any human government or state. It seems opportune to once again assert that hope is not optimism: hope that is truly hope happens when optimism comes to an end. I think this is why I find a certain hope in many of the works of Samuel Beckett, especially his best-known work Waiting for Godot. Faith and hope pertain to what we do not see or know.

However, I think we can derive some insight from the fact that the farmer in Jesus's first parable scattered the seed that then grew to harvest. What is the seed but the word of God? What is evangelism if not the scattering of the seed of God's word?

How this all works out is a bit of a mystery. When it comes to evangelization, how often do your best-laid plans work out the way you planned, or even seem to work out at all? This is why I never understand programmatic approaches to evangelism. As Paul tells us in our second reading today, "we walk by faith, not by sight" (2 Cor. 5:7). For someone who is a disciple of Jesus evangelism is as natural as breathing.

As to the explanation of parables, the inspired author of the Gospel According to Mark, through his writing, gives us private access to Jesus's explanations of his parables. The written Gospel places us on the inside. The privileged place for the proclamation of the scriptures is in the Church's liturgy, particularly in the Eucharistic celebration. As with his apostles, we are not given this privileged access only for ourselves. Keep in mind that an "apostle" is someone who is sent. At the end of Mass, you are sent not merely, or even, to preach but to make the kingdom of God present.

Belated thoughts on Corpus Christi

Few things are worse than a summer head cold. I haven't had too many of those in my life. However, last week I was afflicted by one. I was able to rest most of the day on Saturday. Apart from that my life kept pace. Today, however, I finally took a down-day. Thankfully, I am at the tail end of the cold and feeling much better.

Due to not feeling well and being busy, I wasn't able to post a reflection on Corpus Christi. By my reckoning, our observance of the twin solemnities of Trinity and Corpus Christi is a way to hang onto Easter. Beyond that, these solemnities provide opportunities to immerse ourselves, through the liturgy, in two of the deepest mysteries of the Christian faith. I still prefer marking the Sundays of Ordinary Time between Trinity Sunday and the First Sunday of Advent as Sundays After Trinity.

Preaching on deep matters of faith is risky business. Nobody can swallow a mystery whole. Nonetheless, those of us who preach should not avoid trying to clarify and expound upon one or more dimensions of these mysteries.

This year I preached on both Pentecost and Trinity Sunday. If I had completed the trifecta by preaching on Corpus Christi, my focus would've been much the same as it was on Pentecost. On Pentecost, I preached on the necessity of the Church, as difficult and even disheartening as that necessity seems to many these days.

I probably would've mentioned again the importance of the ressourcement, the retrival, of understanding the Church as Christ's Verum Corpus and the Blessed Sacrament as Christ's Mystici Corporis. I also would've linked this observation to that ancient axiom (axiomatic for Christians, at least): The Eucharist makes the Church and the Church makes the Eucharist.

It's important not to speak about, worship, adore, the Blessed Sacrament in a vacuum. In understanding the Blessed Sacrament as Christ's mystical body it is a short leap to grasping how through it the Spirit makes all who partake of it, together, Christ's true body: the Church. This can be nicely summarized by that overused quote usually attributed to Saint Teresa of Ávila:

Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world. Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body. Christ has no body now on earth but yours

If nothing else, I hope these reflections serve the purpose of putting some bones under the flesh of this, giving it not just some shape and/or form but helping to make it Christoform, that is, ecclesial-shaped.

Another thing to mention and to state emphatically is that if the Eucharist is not both a sign and a symbol then it is nothing at all. This may require a brief excursus on what is meant by "real" in the descriptive phrase "Real Presence." When we say Christ really present in the Eucharist we should also include three other ways he is really present besides in the consecrated species: in the gathering of the baptized, in the person of the priest, and in the proclamation of the Scriptures. Without these, his presence in the consecrated bread and wine doesn't make a lot of sense and is not even possible.

It seems important, too, to impart an understanding of what a symbol is. To wit: symbols are real, or they at least point to reality. In the case of the sacraments, symbols make perceptible what is otherwise imperceptible. A brief explanation of the function of a sign and the unique way that sacraments, in a sense, are what they signify, is also important.

I'll end this reflection with something Pope Francis said last week on Corpus Christi:

Let us not forget that the Eucharist is meant to nourish those who are weary and hungry along the way. A Church of the pure and perfect is a room with no place for anyone. On the other hand, a Church with open doors, that gathers and celebrates around Christ, is a large room where everyone--everyone, the righteous and sinners--can enter

It's good to reflect on the paradox simul justus et peccator. The Christian is simultaneously justified and a sinner, someone in need of help along her pilgrim way. The Eucharist gives us strength for the journey. Let us never forget that, in essence, "companion" means one with whom we share bread. What is the Church [meant to be] if not a companionship?

Summer is here

Welcome to June. I don't know about where you are, but here it is hot. We're approaching triple digits today. Too hot, too fast!

Me? I am still engrossed in a lot of reading. It is surprisingly (disappointingly?) systematic. Presently, I am just enjoying it and not trying too hard to process it. Kind of letting things lay fallow a bit. This way, I think my appropriation goes deeper.

It's definitely summer. Not that this season means as much to me now as when I was still in school. I actually find it more difficult to go outside when it is super hot than when it is cold. Early mornings are fabulous this time of year. Well, early morning is the best time of day year-round, at least in my book.

Do I have vacation plans? Me? Are you serious? No. Do I need a vacation? Yes. The trouble with vacations is that they bring their own stresses and worries, especially extended ones. I am happy to take some time off to read, hike a little, canoe a bit, watch a few movies, etc.

Okay, now I am thinking about getting away. What better traditio can you think of than The Go-Go's "Vacation"?