Year C Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Eccl 1:2.2:21-23; Ps 90:3-6.12-14.17; Col 3:1-5.9-11; Luke 12:13-21

“For you have died.”¹ This statement from Colossians constitutes the heart of today’s readings. But before writing this, the inspired author began by writing “If then you were raised with Christ.”² You died and rose with Christ when you were baptized.

Dying and rising with Christ should make all the difference in the world in how you live. Qoheleth, which means something like “preacher,” is right in his insistence that life can all too easily become vanity. A vain person is someone who is always preoccupied with him/herself.

Someone who is vain worries about how he looks, how she dresses, the kind of car they drive, the house in which they live, the kind of shoes they wear, what cell phone they have, etc. It’s a life of appearance, not substance. In case you haven’t noticed, vain people are very thin-skinned, possessing fragile egos. They are easily shaken, especially when someone or something pokes a hole in the wall of her/his appearance and reality leaks out.

In his poem The Hollow Men, T.S. Eliot wrote that the hollow men are “Shape without form, shade without color; Paralysed force, gesture without motion.”³ To be concerned only about yourself, to make acquiring things and getting ahead the focus of your life is to be a hollow person indeed.

I recently watched a short video featuring former heavyweight champion Mike Tyson.⁴ In the video he is talking to two or three younger guys. He tells them that the three years he spent in prison were the best years of his life. The young guys seemed surprised by this. One of them was bold enough to challenge him, saying- “That’s interesting for you to say that, bro., because you had millions.”

Iron Mike responds by saying that in prison he had peace. His young interlocutor says, “Yeah, but thirty million dollars for one fight…” Tyson gently answers by saying, “Hey listen, can I tell you something? That don’t mean nuthin’ when you don’t have your peace, your stability, and your balance.” He ended by telling them, “Cuz,’ you know, God… punishes you by giving you everything you want. See if you can handle it.”

How different is that from the idea that wealth and riches are God’s blessing? Jesus makes clear throughout all four Gospels that wealth and riches, while not inherently bad (it depends on how you use them), are often the biggest obstacles for someone in terms of her/his salvation. He certainly does this in today’s Gospel. The subject of his parable was content to hoard his wealth. His death on the very night he was making plans to store up his wealth shows, irrefutably, from the very mouth of God, what a terrible plan that is!

One person who will never be impressed with how successful you are, how much money you make, how big your house is, what kind of clothes you wear, what gadgets you possess, or what kind of car you drive is Jesus Christ. In our second reading from Colossians, among the things those who have died and risen with Christ need to “put to death” is “the greed that is idolatry.”⁵

Christ will ask, What did you do for the least of these? Especially if you enjoyed an abundance, if you draw a blank or are unable to come up with much, you’ll quickly realize that the pursuit and love of wealth, commonly known as “greed,” which is one of the seven deadly sins, far from being a blessing, is a curse for you. Be like Mike. Learn that lesson now. Be rich in the things that matter to God.

In 1 Timothy, we learn “the love of money is the root of all evils.”⁶ The passage in which this verse occurs ends by noting that the lure of riches has led many, even in the very early Church, to abandon the faith. It’s no great surprise that economists can empirically show that where wealth increases beyond a certain point, religious faith and practice decline. Like the man in Jesus’ parable, we’re prone to thinking “I got this. No need for God.”

What matters to God is feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, giving drink to the thirsty, and visiting those who are sick and in prison. As Catholics, we group these teachings of Jesus together and call them the corporal works of mercy. What matters to God, as the prophets reminded Israel over and over, is looking out for the widow and the orphan, taking care of the stranger in their midst.

Sometimes helping others makes you feel good. This usually happens when the person you’re helping expresses gratitude for your assistance. But what about when no gratitude is expressed? Does the person need your help less ? Does s/he not deserve your help? In other words, sometimes helping others doesn’t make you feel good.

Let’s be honest, it’s almost always an inconvenience to help someone in need. It is often the case that the very act of taking time and making the effort to help makes you aware of just how needy that person is. Extrapolating from that, it’s easy to be overwhelmed by how much genuine need there is, not in the world, but just in your own community.

The word "poor" does not appear in today's readings. It does appear in the Gospel acclamation, which is from the Beatitudes in Matthew.⁷ There can be little doubt that what makes one rich in what matters to God is assisting those who are materially poor. This is especially incumbent on those who are rich (i.e., those who possess way more than they need).

The Greek word translated as “poor” in our acclamation is ptōchos. While ptōchos can and probably to some extent does refer to people without position, honor, or influence, that is, those without power, it does so only secondarily. The primary meaning of ptōchos is those who are destitute and reduced to begging.

When the weight of human need seems crushing, it’s useful to keep in mind Mother Teresa’s motto: “Do small things with great love.”⁸ Do this consistently, maybe daily or weekly. It will make you rich in the things that matter to God. Remember, you haven’t just died with Christ; you’ve risen with him. Because of this, you trust God, even when you realize how much the immensity of need overshadows your small efforts. Because you're born again, you trust in God even when the world seems like a hot mess.

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1 Colossians 3:3.^↩
2 Colossians 3:1.^↩
3 T.S. Eliot, The Hollow Men.^↩
4 Instagram.^↩
5 Colossians 3:5.^↩
6 1 Timothy 6:10.^↩
7 Matthew 5:3.^↩
8 America magazine, “Mother Teresa: ‘Do small things with great love.’” ^↩

"As faith gives place to sight"

For those who were so eager to defend Martha the Sunday before last, today is the day. It is the Memorial of Saints Martha, Mary, & Lazarus. These three are siblings. According to the Gospels, they lived in Bethany and were very close to Jesus. They dearly loved Jesus and he loved them. Even his rebuke to Martha when she complained about Mary just sitting at Jesus' feet strikes me as rather a gentle reproof.

It was Lazarus whom Jesus raised from the dead. What is striking about that episode from Saint John's Gospel is how sad the Lord was that his friend was dead. He wept. Death is sad. While especially now this view no doubt seems eccentric to many, I don't agree that death is natural. We weren't born to die. This is why Christ came. To redeem us from the power of death.

Standing before the grave of her brother, Jesus tells a grieving Martha "I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die." These are bold words. These are the kind of things Jesus says that caused C.S. Lewis to insist that you can't really just accept Jesus as a great moral teacher. Something like what Jesus says to Martha is true or he is delusional, perhaps even a religious charlatan. Jesus poses the same question to us he posed to Martha: "Do you believe this?" (See John 11:1-44)

I can say, with Martha, "Yes Lord, I believe." Believing something does not make it true. I'll venture to say most of us hold false beliefs about any number of things. I believe what Jesus says about himself and about life after death. You know, I could be wrong.

Instead of Evening Prayer, I prayed Night Prayer last night. To kick it off, I sang my favorite Night Prayer hymn: "Now Fades All Earthly Splendor." The last verse moves me deeply:

So will the new creation
Rise from the old reborn
To splendor in Christ's glory
And evelasting morn All darkness will be ended
As faith gives place to sight

I did a committal service today. It was one of those where I did not know the person who died and had never met his family. It's always a little weird to enter these kinds of situations. It is a great privilege and a holy honor to share this vulnerable moment with a grieving family. At least for me, the key is to tread lightly.

Neither the deceased nor any of his surviving family members were Catholic. But after the graveside eulogies, they wanted to commend the soul of their beloved brother and uncle to God.

In my very brief remarks, which come at the very beginning of the Rite of Committal, I mentioned that standing at the graveside of a loved one is a little like standing at the end of the world. From that vantage point, we can look back and have something like a panoramic view, even if for a brief time, of the life of the deceased, which is now all too evidently over. But it's a good perspective from which to take a good look at ourselves, at our lives.

As impossible as such a reunion may seem at that moment, virtually everyone deeply longs to see their loved one again. To meet them somewhere beyond the end of the world, in a better place. A place free from illness and strife. Somewhere there is no death. This desire, it seems to me, is shared even by those who don't believe, especially by those who, for many reasons, often valid, are unable to believe.

Getting back to Martha- she believed, as I believe, that Jesus is "the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.” Could I be wrong? Sure. But you know what, even if I am wrong, I can't think of a better way to live life than trying to follow Jesus, stumbling disciple I am. At the end of the day, it isn't about vindicating my belief. It isn't even about indulging in wishful fantasies. It's about believing in Jesus Christ. I have no desire to look at anyone and brag, "I told you so!" Rather, having encountered Jesus, as Philip said to Nathanael, I want to say, "Come and see" (See John 1:35-51).

While I could not find a very good recording of it, "Now Fades All Earthly Splendor" is our Friday traditio.

Feast of Saint James, Apostle

Readings: 2 Cor 4:7-15; Ps 126:1-6; Matthew 20:20-28

Today the Church throughout the world observes the Feast of Saint James, the Apostle. Along with John, James is the son of Zebedee, a Galilean fisherman. James and John both dropped their nets, left their father, and followed Jesus when he called them.

Their response to Jesus’ call is nothing short of radical. They literally dropped everything and followed him. One can only imagine what went through Zebedee’s mind when his sons did this.

In Mark’s Gospel and only in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus refers to James and John as Boanerges, which translates into “sons of thunder.” Remember, several weeks ago in our Sunday Gospel reading, it was James and John who wanted to call down fire upon the Samaritan village that refused to welcome Jesus and his band of Galilean Jews.¹

Along with Peter, in the Synoptic Gospels (i.e., Matthew, Mark, and Luke), James and John seem to occupy a special place even among the twelve. It is Peter, James, and John who go up the Mount of Transfiguration with Jesus. These same three are with Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane.

Saint James, the Apostle is also known as James the Greater. He is called this to distinguish him from another member of the twelve- James, the son of Alphaeus- as well as James the Just, whom the scriptures call the “brother of Jesus,” leader of the primitive Church in Jerusalem and author of the Letter of James.² There are so many Jameses in the New Testament that it’s difficult to keep them straight!

We wear red today because James, the brother of John and son of Zebedee was a martyr. Like the deacon Saint Stephen, who was the first Christian martyr, James’ martyrdom is recorded in the Acts of the Apostles. There we learn that Herod “had James, the brother of John, killed by the sword.”³

The Herod referred to in this verse from Acts is Herod Agrippa, grandson of Herod the Great. Known simply as “Agrippa,” he ruled Judea, which included the holy city of Jerusalem, from AD 41-44. James’ beheading is dated to the final year of his short rule. A time during which he persecuted the nascent Church of Christ. It was Agrippa who imprisoned Peter and before whom Paul was arraigned.⁴

In today’s Gospel James’ mother asks Jesus to permit her sons to rule on his left and his right when God’s Kingdom is fully established. Jesus first responds by asking if James and John can endure what he will endure, before indocating that they, too, will be put through the olive press, which is what Gethsemane means.

Above all, Jesus insists that authority in the Kingdom of God is gained in a way that utterly contradicts how one gains worldly power. It is not enough for the greatest in God’s Kingdom to be a servant, a diakonos. According to Jesus, one such must be a slave, a doulos.

Think of Christ not just undergoing an excruciatingly painful death on the cross, but being mercilessly taunted as he dies. According to Luke Timothy Johnson, “the one who dispossesses all- indeed coming to the point of being dispossessed himself – comes to possess, in the end, all things as Lord.”⁵ The impact of this theo-logic is clear: by his self-emptying, his dispossession and being dispossessed, Jesus not only provides a model for Christian discipleship and fellowship but demonstrates “the how” of Christian leadership.

A slave, a doulos, is a servant who is purchased instead of hired. When Paul, for example, refers to himself as “a slave of Christ Jesus,” which he follows by mentioning his apostolic vocation, he acknowledges that, through Christ, he is a slave because he was purchased at a price.⁶

While there is an office for servant in the Church, the diaconate, there is no specific office for slave. Being a slave to Christ is the Christian vocation no matter one’s state of life. But it remains for us to choose. Such a choice cannot be coerced. “For you have been purchased at a price,” Paul reminded the Church in ancient Corinth. “Therefore,” he continued, “glorify God in your body.”⁷

Considering Christ’s humiliating death, it is interesting to consider an often-overlooked verse. This verse immediately follows the last verse of our reading from Colossians yesterday. The point of that reading is that by his cross, Christ removed the judgment against us. By this, the inspired author of Colossians continues, Christ plundered “the principalities and the powers,” making “a public spectacle of them,” and “leading them away in triumph by it.”⁸

Christian martyrdom follows this dynamic. What looks like humiliation, a tragedy in worldly terms, is really a glorious triumph for the Kingdom of God. The message of martyrdom is that you rise by lowering yourself. You win by losing. You live by dying. Ultimately, James drank from the cup to which Jesus referred. More importantly, he no doubt came to understand that you save your life by giving it away for the sake of the Gospel.

What else can Saint Paul be referring to in our first reading, when he writes:

We are afflicted in every way, but not constrained; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed; always carrying about in the body the dying of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be manifested in our body⁹

We do this, as Paul goes on to note: “Knowing that the one who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and place us with you in his presence.”¹⁰

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1 Luke 9:52-55.^↩
2 Matthew 13:55.^↩
3 Acts 12:2.^↩
4 Acts 12:3; Acts 25:13-26:32.^↩
5 Luke Timothy Johnson, The Writings of the New Testament: An Interpretation, 375.^↩
6 See Romans 1:1 & Philippians 1:1.^↩
7 1 Corinthians 6:20.^↩
8 Colossians 2:15.^↩
9 2 Corinthians 4:8-10.^↩
10 2 Corinthians 4:14.^↩

Abraham's petition and ours

Readings: Gen 18:20-32; Ps 138:1-3.6-8; Col 2:12-14; Luke 11:1-13

Did Abraham give up too soon? Maybe. Whether he did or not isn't the point of the episode from Genesis. We should take a lesson from father Abraham's humility and boldness- the two are not polar opposites.

It's remiss not to point out that God saved humanity for the sake of one righteous person: Jesus Christ.

I know that writing about salvation so succinctly can, understandably, set off some theological alarm bells. Nonetheless, I am going to state it that way. The other day I was thinking about Penal Substitutionary Atonement. It seems to me that what people, rightly, object to in that phrase is the word "penal." After all, God did not create us, any of us, in order to damn or destroy us. Far from it. But the substitutionary aspect of the cross of Christ cannot be denied. How else would you explain this, written by Saint Paul: "But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us"? (Romans 5:8)

I think our reading from Colossians helps. By his cross, Jesus obliterated "the bond against us, with its legal claims, which was opposed to us." While not likely an authentically Pauline letter, Colossians, unlike certain parts of, say, Ephesians, is theologically quite Pauline. Our passage today indicates this by alluding to the Law. Paul's take on the Law is that the Law primarily exists to show us how we don't measure up. How we fail to love God and neighbor. How difficult it often is for me to even recognize who my neighbor is. Only one person met the measure of the Law: Jesus Christ. This was enough for God, whose name is mercy.

The Greek word translated in our Gospel reading as "wicked" is the plural form of πονηρός. πονηρός transliterated is poneros. Its primary meaning is something like to be pressed and harassed by toils and labors. While this word can be used to indicate evil, such a meaning, while not tangential exactly, is marginal- terciary. If not meant in the latter sense (i.e., evil), what Jesus is saying is that if you who are busy, burdened, weighed down by life, in a word, harried, "know how to give good gifts to your children," how much more is God, our Father, able and willing to give you, not just good things, but his very self in the person of the Holy Spirit, if you but ask? Here's the Good News: through Jesus Christ, God is for us and with us!

This is the second week in a row that our Gospel focuses not on the importance of prayer but its utter necessity. As Romano Guardini observed: prayer for a Christian is like breathing. His point is that if you stop breathing, you die. Note that Jesus here is not saying that God is like your magic genie, for whom your wish is his command. What you ask for matters. A popular evangelist once asserted that God hears and answers every prayer. According to his account, God's answers fall into three categories: Yes - No - Slow.

As Luke presents it, this teaching on prayer seems equivocal. What do I mean? With his illustration of the midnight visitor, he starts by talking about petitionary prayer- asking God for something, either for yourself or someone else. If you think about it, what Jesus says does not lack humor. If God won't grant your petition because he's favorably disposed toward you, he'll grant it on account of you persistently bugging him about it. This is not the only time in the Gospels Jesus makes this same point.

When praying for a specific intention, you must persist. In my experience, this persistence refines what you're praying for, helps you to clarify not only what you're asking God to do, but what your role is in what you bring before him. It may even help you simplify and really know what it is you seek, what it is you hope for. Circling back to Guardini's insistence on the vital necessity of prayer, "Spirit" means breath. Jesus urges us to ask the Father for life, real life.

Following his parable, Jesus concludes by teaching that what we should always want is more God. It's difficult to write something like that because it sounds so damn pious. But I mean it more in the sense of finding God in all things; all things. This is what it means to to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. Along these lines, philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, referring to Bach’s dedication of his Orgelbüchlein (“To the glory of the most high God, and that my neighbour may be benefited thereby”), said that what Bach wrote in dedicating his book is what he would like to say about his own philosophical work. This comes to close to what I mean by desiring more God.

For most of us, desiring more God means less self. Maybe I'm projecting, but it's easy to underestimate the difficulty of this trade-off.

Women of faith for a Friday

Nothing exceeds like excess, or so it has been said. Since my break in June, I've been quite prolific. To is the Feast of Saint Mary Magdalene. Mary Magdalen is the patroness of the Diocese of Salt Lake City. I am glad Pope Francis elevated her feast to a Universal Feast. Even though I am no longer assigned to the Cathedral of the Madeleine, I still observe today as a Solemnity. Since it's Friday...

Speaking of women of faith, it was announced this week that Amy Grant will be a Kennedy Center Honoree. She is the first Contemporary Christian music artist to been chosen for this honor, which is given to five people annually. This is the 45th year Kennedy Center honors have been bestowed.

I have been listening to Amy Grant since the late '80s. I remember buying her Straight Ahead and Lead Me On albums on cassette upon their release. There are way too many of Amy's songs I could post as our traditio for this Friday. I'm going with one, "Where Do You Hide Your Heart?", that mean a lot to me. It means a lot because, like most songs we tend to love, it speaks into and seemingly out of my experience.

O God,
whose Only Begotten Son
entrusted Mary Magdalene before all others
with announcing the great joy of the Resurrection,
grant, we pray, that through her intercession
and example we may proclaim the living Christ
and come to see him reigning in your glory

Saint Mary Magdalene, myrophore & apostula apostulorum, on this your feast day, pray for us!

Year II Sixteenth Monday in Ordinary Time

Jesus was ambivalent about his miracles. The only sign to which he points his interlocutors in our Gospel reading today is his resurrection. He does this obscurely by referring to the three days Jonah spent inside the whale. Despite saying the Son of Man would be in the earth for three days and nights, at this point in Matthew’s chronology, nobody, not even his disciples, would likely know what he was talking about.

Jesus uses the story of Jonah the reluctant prophet to call those demanding a sign to repentance. He points out to them that it will be worse for them on the day of judgment than for the people of Nineveh (who were not Jews) because when the Ninevites heard Jonah’s call, they repented. In effect, Jesus is telling the scribes and Pharisees demanding a sign not to “put the Lord your God to the test.”¹

Repenting, as the Greek word (metanoeō) translated in our Gospel passage as “repented” indicates, means more than just being sorry for your sins. Being sorry for sin is contrition. Contrition while necessary for repentance is not sufficient. This is indicated by the following part of the Act of Contrition we say in confession after saying our sins and before receiving absolution: “I firmly intend with [God’s] help to sin no more and avoid whatever leads me to sin.” To repent is to commit to change in the ways you need to change.

In our reading from Micah, God, through the prophet, asks Israel what he has done to put them off him. He taunts them for their half-hearted worship. God makes it clear that he desires quality, not quantity. In the end, God tells them what he requires. This is the same message Jesus gives to the Pharisees. It is also the message the Lord has for all of this evening: “To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”²

Is there a greater miracle than a person who does what God asks solely out of love for God? We call such women and men saints. A saint acts justly and loves mercy. Saints are humble. Saints do not see themselves as holy. As human beings, they are aware of their flaws, their sins, and their failures. A saint is a person open to receiving God’s grace.

It is grace that we ask for in confession through the Act of Contrition. When said sincerely, you acknowledge that no matter how determined you are to forsake your sins and those pathways that lead you down the dark alleyway of sin, you need God’s help. We call this help grace. A saint loves mercy by extending mercy to others. A saint is someone who has experienced Divine Mercy.

The Eucharist is both a symbol and a sign. If you don’t recognize Jesus in this sign, what makes you think you’d recognize him through any other sign? After all, it isn’t obvious to the casual observer that the bread and wine become Christ’s body and blood. By giving himself to you in this way, he seeks to make you a sign of his presence to everyone with whom you come into contact. Yes, he gives himself to you to sanctify you, to effect the changes brought about through repentance, to make you a saint. Moreover, he gives himself to you so that you, in turn, can bring him to others.

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1 Matthew 4:7; Deuteronomy 6:16.^↩
2 Micah 6:8- New Internation Version translation.^↩

Martha: a diaconal figure

Without a doubt Jesus loved both his friends Martha & Mary dearly. But in today's Gospel he's clear about Mary, in that situation, choosing the better part. In fact, by stating that he will not take away the better part from Mary by asking her to get up and help, he mildly rebukes Martha. Now, you can perhaps argue the reason for his rebuke is her complaining. But rebuke her, he does. That Mary chose the better part is really the point of this short pericope.

This is a passage that should resonate with deacons. It should resonate with us not simply because diakonian and diakonein are the Greek words originally used to describe Martha's activity in this passage. It should resonate with deacons because, during the Eucharistic liturgy, like Martha, we have many tasks. In this regard, we need to keep in mind that when serving at the Table of the Lord, we serve in what has been described as persona Christi servi (i.e., in the person of Christ the Servant. It is Jesus, who later in Saint Luke's Gospel, insists he is among them as "one who serves" Luke 22:24-30). So, he is among them as "a deacon" because, in Greek, one who serves in this way is a deacon. Jesus is the model deacon.

Jesus at the home of Martha and Mary, by Johannes Vermeer, 1655

The use of the correct forms of the verb diakonia with regard to Martha are significant. By the same token, the appropriate from of diakonia, which means something like serving at table, would be the ordinary Greek word for what Martha was doing. We have to be careful not to place too much weight on the use of these "deacon words" in this passage. This different from according them no weight. What follows is a section from doctoral disseration about Martha and Mary:

“Burdened” by her table service (in Greek διακονίαν- diakonian), Martha complains to her revered guest, Jesus, that her sister Mary, rather than helping her serve him, is just sitting at his feet, listening to him. Because Jesus is “the servant,” he tells the troubled and anxious Martha that Mary chose the better part. There is a great lesson here concerning diaconal spirituality. It consists precisely in developing the ability to distinguish between serving others in persona Christi servi and letting one’s self be served by the one who came to serve. Being served, in this instance, means taking the time to listen to the Lord. If a deacon does not allow Jesus to minister to him in the manner of Mary, it becomes impossible for that deacon to serve others in the Lord’s name for the building up of God’s kingdom, like Martha.

All three Johannine occurrences of deacon words are found in the twelfth chapter of the fourth Gospel. Again in John 12:2, Martha of Bethany, the same person who serves in the last pericope [from Luke 10] is considered. According to John, in addition being the sister of Mary, Martha is also the sister of Jesus’s good friend, Lazarus. The context in which the deacon word διηκόνει (diakonei, serving) is used as Martha is serving Jesus and her brother as they recline together at table.¹ Once again, it is Mary, Martha’s sister, who renders the Lord fitting service. As Jesus eats, Mary takes “a liter of costly perfumed oil made from genuine aromatic nard,” anoints Jesus’s feet with it and then dries his feet with her hair. As a result of this extravagant act, the house was filled with a lovely aroma. It is Jesus the anointed One, who anoints us, which is why Paul can exclaim: “For we are the aroma of Christ for God…”² A deacon is not anointed at ordination. Rather, through ordination the anointing received in confirmation is further strengthened so that the deacon can absorb it more deeply and, like Mary, cause the world to be filled with the aroma of Christ for God

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1 Novum Testamentum graece, Luke 10; See John 12:1-11.^↩
2 2 Corinthians 2:15.^↩

Year C Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Gen 18:1-10a; Ps 15:2-5; Col 1:24-28; Luke 10:38-42

Three Sundays ago, the first Sunday in Ordinary Time after Easter and the Solemnities of Holy Trinity and Corpus Christi, our Gospel reading began with Luke 9:51: “When the days for his being taken up were fulfilled, [Jesus] he resolutely determined to journey to Jerusalem” (see "Journeying with Jesus"). During this long period of Ordinary Time, these months of summer and into the fall, we read through the “third” Gospel semi-continuously.

Starting with that Gospel from Luke 9, we are invited to journey with Jesus from Galilee to Jerusalem. Keep in mind that in the Synoptic Gospels (i.e., Matthew, Mark, and Luke), Jesus only goes to Jerusalem once. His journey to Jerusalem ends with his passion and death. During this time, we are invited collectively and individually into Jesus’ story, to walk with him.

Really, the only way to be a Christian is to enter Jesus' story. Entering Jesus’ story, however, requires you to pick up a cross, not a sword. Looking back at our Gospel from Luke 9, setting out for Jerusalem, Jesus led his disciples through Samaria. Once in Samaria, the Lord sent the sons of Zebedee ahead of him into a village to arrange for his welcome.

When the village of Samaritans refused to host a band of Jews (hardly surprising), James and John wanted to “call down fire from heaven to consume them.”¹ How did Jesus respond to their desire for revenge? He “turned and rebuked them, and… journeyed to another village.”²

In a similar vein, our Gospel for today, as well as our reading from Genesis, are about hospitality, not just receiving but welcoming God. This is fitting because the high point of every Mass is the Communion Rite. In receiving communion, we receive the Lord, who comes to us under the appearance of (we might say “disguised as”) bread and wine. So, the question for each of us, as it was for Abraham, Sarah, Mary, and even poor Martha- is, are we ready to receive him?

Like Jesus’ visit to the house of his friends Martha and Mary, sisters of his good friend Lazarus, before we eat, we have the chance to sit and listen as he speaks to us through the scriptures. The liturgy is the prime time and place for scriptures. During the Liturgy of the Word, we are invited to sit and listen.

Proclaiming and listening are different from reading. Reading is something most of us can do on our own. Proclaiming and hearing require us to be together. Let’s not forget that the purpose of receiving the body of Christ is for us together to become the body of Christ. One of the four ways Christ is really present in the Eucharist is in the proclamation of the scriptures.

Lectoring is an important liturgical ministry. The readings should be proclaimed so that they can be clearly heard. It's a ministry that requires the minister to spend time reading, re-reading, and practicing prior to proclaiming God’s word in front of the assembly. The lector’s best metric of success is how many people are listening instead of reading.

I suppose the takeaway from all this is that as we journey with Jesus, it’s important to stop along the way. To spend time resting and listening to him, not busying ourselves with tasks and burdens, to break bread, not just with him (he is the Bread), but with others. The others with whom you break bread (i.e., those you are now sitting among) are truly your companions.

In English “companion” is basically a compound Latin word: com + panis= “with bread.” Companions are those with whom you share bread. But the Bread of Life we receive here we are to share "out there," as it were. This is why we are dismissed with words like, “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.”³

Worshiping and loving God in Church is supposed to lead to a sacrificial love of neighbor outside Church. Who is my neighbor? This is the question the scholar of the law asked Jesus last week. Your neighbor is the person you meet who needs your help. It is the essence of being Christian to make yourself a neighbor. In terms of hospitality, of making yourself a neighbor, the scriptures enjoin us: “Do not neglect hospitality, for through it some have unknowingly entertained angels.”⁴

Recently, Christian pastor and author Scott Sauls asked: “What if Christians became widely known as those who welcome sinners and eat with them? What would it take for this to happen? How would our lives be different if it did?”⁵ He followed up by asking: “What if Christians became widely known as the world’s first and most thorough responders whenever a friend, neighbor, colleague, or stranger experiences tragedy such as divorce, unemployment, a crippling diagnosis, a loved one’s death, or a rebellious child?”⁶ This is what is meant in our reading from Colossians by the phrase "it is Christ in you, the hope for glory" (italics mine).⁷

What if sitting and listening to Jesus changed the course of your journey, rerouting you from Babylon to Jerusalem?

---

1 Luke 9:51.^↩
2 Luke 9:54.^↩
3 Roman Missal, The Order of Mass, sec. 144.^↩
4 Hebrews 13:2.^↩
5 Scott Sauls, Twitter, 15 July 2022, 2:01 PM.^↩
6 Scott Sauls, Twitter, 15 July 2022, 7:05 PM.^↩
7 Colossians 1:27..^↩

"Remember, O Blessed Virgin Mary..."

We had a nice, extended rain storm here today. We needed it! I am very grateful for it. I've developed the practice of praying a Memorare whenever I see clouds that look like they might produce rain. Of course, my specific intention is for rain. I can't claim 100% success. But, there's been an encouragingly high correlation. I must admit, we did have one storm blow completely over us with no rain where I live. Hey, it can't hurt, right?

Here along the Wasatch Front, we've entered that period of the year, which runs from about July 4th through about the third week of August. During this time it is hot and dry. So, rain today is a nice change, even the ~30% humidity following. I know, 30% humidity is not that much humidity. It is when you live in the desert. I hope we continue to receive rain at regular intervals. Heaven knows we need it.

Maybe I have some kind of reverse seasonal affective disorder. It's during this time that I really struggle with gloom. I also find the dry heat very draining. I finish most days exhausted. I am finally starting to see sunflowers! It's strange how happy seeing a sunflower makes me, particularly those that just pop up in strange places. Sometime I should write about why sunflowers make me so happy.

I am doing a pretty good job of sticking to my plan to make July a "slack" month. This means not taking on anything over and above my routine duties and responsibilities. I could grow accustomed to this!

It's kind of sad, but I haven't listened to much music lately. I have been listening to Phil Keaggy's 1993 album Crimson and Blue. It's an LP to which I keep returning. I remember buying it brand now on cassette tape. So, our traditio for today is a song from that album: "Everywhere I Look." Today, for me, that would be especially in the rain.

Memorial of Saint Benedict

Readings: Isa 1:10-17; Ps 50:8-9.16bc-17.21.23; Matthew 10:34-11:1

Relevant to our Gospel for today, in his Rule Saint Benedict set forth this dictum: "All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for he himself will say: I was a stranger and you welcomed me (Chap 53:1)." Hospitality is a distinctive hallmark of Benedictines.

Why start by mentioning the Benedictines? Today the Church celebrates the Memorial of Saint Benedict of Nursia (AD 480-547). Benedict is considered the founder of Western monasticism and an early pioneer of what is known as coenobitic monasticism. Coenobitic simply means communal. Saint Benedict founded what came to be known as the Benedictines. Christian monasticism started with the Desert Fathers and Mothers in Egypt and Syria. Early Christian monks were largely hermits (hermitic being the opposite of coenobitic).

There is a whole family of Benedictines. By "Benedictine," I mean monastic orders that follow the Rule of Saint Benedict. For example, the Cistercians, who were formerly in Huntsville, are part of the Benedictine family. Many of our seminarians attend Mount Angel Seminary in Oregon. The seminary is located on the grounds of Mount Angel Abbey, a Benedictine monastery. Mount Angel holds a special place for me. It is where I earned my doctorate.

In our first reading from Isaiah, we run across the injunctions to “Hear the word of the Lord” and “Listen to the instruction of our God” (Isa 1:10). The Rule of Saint Benedict begins with this injunction: “Listen carefully, my son, to the master’s instructions, and attend to them with the ear of your heart. This is the advice from a father who loves you; welcome it, and faithfully put it into practice” (Prologue 1).

Our entire first reading, which is pre-exilic, warns Israel about the consequences of what will happen if they don’t listen to the instruction of God. The Rule of Saint Benedict begins and continues in a similar vein. We disobey God at the expense of our exile from him.

Becoming a Benedictine is a very radical way of following Christ. The Rule of Saint Benedict requires its adherents to live the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity, and obedience. There may be no more radical form of Christian life than becoming a monastic.

Saint Benedict, who lived from the late fifth through the mid-sixth centuries, began his community during the collapse of the Roman Empire. He lived at a time when Western civilization, as it had developed up to that point, was in danger of collapse.

Just as in Benedict’s day, our civilization needs Christian witness, the vibrancy of radical Christian discipleship: conversion. In the final paragraph of his masterwork in moral philosophy, After Virtue, Scottish philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre, himself a convert to the Catholic Church, drawing a parallel between Benedict’s time and our own wrote:

This time however the barbarians are not waiting beyond the frontiers; they have already been governing us for some time. And it is our lack of consciousness of this that constitutes part of our predicament. We are not waiting for a Godot, but for another – doubtless very different – St. Benedict

Lest you misunderstand Benedict and MacIntyre, neither one calls for direct political action. For me, this is a relief because, while I certainly have political opinions, I am not now, never have been, and likely will never be a political activist.

So, what we need to attend to in this call to radical discipleship is just how the Benedictine witness and manner of life accomplished what, at least in retrospect, seems such a magnificent feat. To keep it short, after the manner of Jesus, it was not through direct political engagement, let alone political antagonism. Rather, Benedictines produced the fruits of the Spirit, adhering to what has become the Benedictine motto" ora et labora- prayer and work. By "work" is meant an earnest day's toil.

Along with Saints Cyril & Methodius, Saint Bridget of Sweden, and Saint Teresa Benedicta of the Cross (Edith Stein), Saint Benedict is the Patron Saint of Europe. As mentioned, Benedictine monasticism arose at a time when European civilization was on the verge of collapse. One of the reasons Joseph Ratzinger took the name Benedict upon being chosen as pope, was to prioritize, again, the evangelization of Europe by calling to mind the need for Christian discipleship.

In the seventy-third and final chapter of his Rule, Saint Benedict reminds the reader that this rule is but the beginning, the first steps, along the pathway of holiness. Noting that every page of Sacred Scripture is the truest guide for human life, Benedict went on to observe that his Rule, along with the writings of the Fathers are tools for the acquisition of virtue for "obedient monks." In his humility, Father Benedict went on to observe that “for us, [these writings] make us blush for shame at being so slothful, so unobservant, so negligent.” He then asks, “Are you hastening toward your heavenly home?” If your answer to the question about being committed to realizing your destiny is “Yes,” he offers his Rule as a handbook for beginners.

Moving with compassion

Readings: Deut 30:10-14; Ps 69:14.17.30-31.33-34.37; Col 1:15-20; Luke 10:25-37

"Go and do likewise" (Luke 10:37). This is how Jesus, of whom it can be said the Good Samaritan is an allegory, makes visible the invisible God. In turn, it is how Christians, by the Holy Spirit's power, make Jesus visible. A few verses beyond the end of our reading from the Letter to the Colossians, the inspired author makes it clear how God chooses "to make known the riches of the glory of this mystery... is Christ in you..." (Col 1:27). Lest you think my use of ellipses truncates what the verse says, after "is Christ in you" comes these words: "the hope for glory," which brings the verse and the sentence to a close.

What is "the hope for glory"? "Christ in you."

Too often the Jesus of history and the Christ of faith are disconnected. To make any sense at all, they must always be kept together. Maintaining this tension is a task for Christian theology. As the "preeminent" one, Jesus Christ is God in the flesh, the "concrete universal." The very one for, through, and in whom all things exist is the same one who dialogues with the scholar of the Law.

Had he been content to let things be, this scholar would've passed at least the academic portion of the test with flying colors. But by needing "to justify himself," he posed another question. This other question is simply a different way of asking "Who can I exclude from my care?" Jesus, in his answer, made the scholar aware that it was not enough to give the correct answer.

Who is my neighbor? My neighbor is the person I encounter who needs my help. Pope Francis speaks often of a "culture of indifference." In Evangelii Gaudium, which is the charter of the Franciscan papacy, the Holy Father noted:

To sustain a lifestyle which excludes others, or to sustain enthusiasm for that selfish ideal, a globalization of indifference has developed. Almost without being aware of it, we end up being incapable of feeling compassion at the outcry of the poor, weeping for other people’s pain, and feeling a need to help them, as though all this were someone else’s responsibility and not our own. The culture of prosperity deadens us; we are thrilled if the market offers us something new to purchase. In the meantime all those lives stunted for lack of opportunity seem a mere spectacle; they fail to move us (sec. 54)

It's easy to love (or hate) humanity. Humanity, however, is an abstraction. In truth, while you might be more or less favorably disposed toward an abstraction, you can't love it.

You can only love a person, someone you meet, someone with whom you cross paths. Now, as in Jesus' day, you don't know from day to day or even from hour to hour whose life might intersect with yours at a specific time and in a given place. In our fast-paced society, we cross paths with so many people, way more than in ancient Galilee, even the "big city" of ancient Jerusalem. This is a challenge. We often operate on sensory overload.

So, the real and very troubling question becomes: When you see someone in need, do you pass by on the other side of the street or, worse yet, do you just indifferently step over them? Or, like the Samaritan, are you moved with compassion?

Being compassionately disposed toward another certainly requires discernment. It would be impossible for you to meet all the needs of even one person, let alone the needs of everyone you meet who moves you to compassion. What matters is that you don't avert your eyes, ignoring not what you see but who you see.

Our first reading from Deuteronomy insists that to truly observe the Law you must first have a change of heart, a conversion. External adherence to a set of rules has never been enough, even before Jesus came along. This reading urges us to look inside ourselves. At the end of the day, to know what the Law requires you don't need a spectacular revelation or disclosure. No, it is "already in your mouths and in your hearts." This is the point Jesus makes to the scholar after undoubtedly expanding his definition of neighbor. Hence, all that is left is "to carry it out."

C.S. Lewis starts Mere Christianity with a section entitled "The Law of Human Nature." In this section he writes about something that goes some distance toward explaining just how the command of God is already on our lips and in our hearts:

I am only trying to call attention to a fact... that this year, or this month, or, more likely, this very day, we have failed to practise ourselves the kind of behaviour we expect from other people. There may be all sorts of excuses for us. That time you were so unfair to the children was when you were very tired. That slightly shady business about the money— the one you have almost forgotten —came when you were very hard up. And what you promised to do for old So-and-so and have never done — well, you never would have promised if you had known how frightfully busy you were going to be. And as for your behaviour to your wife (or husband) or sister (or brother) if I knew how irritating they could be, I would not wonder at it — and who the dickens am I, anyway? I am just the same.

That is to say, I do not succeed in keeping the Law of Nature very well, and the moment anyone tells me I am not keeping it, there starts up in my mind a string of excuses as long as your arm. The question at the moment is not whether they are good excuses. The point is that they are one more proof of how deeply, whether we like it or not, we believe in the Law of Nature. If we do not believe in decent behaviour, why should we be so anxious to make excuses for not having behaved decently? The truth is, we believe in decency so much—we feel the Rule or Law pressing on us so— that we cannot bear to face the fact that we are breaking it, and consequently we try to shift the responsibility

One point I am trying to make here, which, I am convinced is something Jesus saw quite clearly, is that, like the priest and Levite, who were perhaps going up to Jerusalem from Jericho when they passed the half-dead man, religious observance is often used as an excuse for not doing that which should be done. Another point, I suppose, is this truth is as evident in our failure as it is when we manage to do "like" the Good Samaritan.

To summarize, the essence of being a Christian is to make yourself a neighbor. Coming as it does from the same root as the English word for "vicinity," the Spanish word for neighbor, vecino, means someone in proximity to you. Hence, your neighbors are not just the people who live next door or across the street. Most of us don't stay home all day. Quite literally then, our vecinos change over the course of most days. Recognizing this, we should always move with compassion.

"One of these mornings, you're goin' to rise up singin'"

Some habits are easy to break. Writing, for example, is one such habit. After a very light June, I've started July quite aggressively. Nonetheless, it's Friday again, the Fourteenth Friday in Ordinary Time. I was delighted that Easter seemed to linger this year. It doesn't seem to me that Easter is really over until Corpus Christi is concluded.

I suppose, if there's anything worth clinging onto it certainly must be the resurrection. But the words of the risen Jesus to Mary Magdalene- "Stop holding on to me" (John 20:17)- spring to mind. The point, I think, especially in, through, and by his resurrection, which made possible his unleashing of the Holy Spirit, is our risen Lord inexorably calls us ever forward. As I was reminded by reading the excellent biography of Ignatius of Loyola, this is something the founder of the Society of Jesus understood very well in his own life.

Anyway, looking back on my Fourth of July post, I realize that I made a pretty hard-and-fast distinction between eudaimonia and hedonia. Another book I recently finished was Arthur Brooks' From Strength to Strength. A few days after my last post, I ran across a passage in Brooks' book that reminded me living a happy life requires both eudaimonia and hedonia. The former is about finding satisfaction by living a purpose-filled life, whereas the latter is about doing what feels good.

Living by the philosophy "If it feels good do it" is not a formula for true happiness, as any recovering hedonist can tell you. But life would kind of suck if you never deliberately did anything that felt good. As Brooks observes: "Hedonia without eudaimonia devolves into empty pleasure; eudaimonia without hedonia can become dry." He goes on to note: "At the nexus of enjoyable and meaningful is interesting." This nexus is sometimes called in media res. Literally meaning, "in the middle of things," it's where the truth is often said to be found.

In a polarized time and society such as ours, we lose track of this. Losing track of this often means that people who naturally temperate experience centrifugal force, pulling them from a balanced position towards one pole or another. We've probably all seen the post/meme/tweet "If you're not outraged, you're not paying attention." Lately, my internal response is- "If you're always outraged, you're paying way too much attention."

Rather than making a distinction between hedonia and eudaimonia, it's probably important to distinguish between hedonia and hedonism as well as between eudaimonia and eudaimonism. This touches what I wrote about spirit and flesh, too. A point I hoped make in that post was that Paul is in no way rejecting the body outright. He's taking aim at hedonism. As Saint Ignatius of Loyola learned the hard way, Christianity isn't all about ascesis. Self-denial of even things at times, perhaps for specfic reasons, can be useful but not as a state-of-life for most Christians. I am still not eating meat today.

I think a good example of the balance between eudaimonia and hedonia can be found in a dialogue I heard on more than one occasion. It involved the late Archbishop George Niederauer and young Catholics from my diocese. The question went something like this: "Is it true the Church teaches we have to go to Mass on Sunday? Isn't it just as good to go skiing, hiking, hang out with my friends, etc.?" His first answer was usually, "As I see it, I get to go to Mass on Sunday." He would follow up by saying something along these lines: "Going to Mass doesn't prevent you from doing any of those other good things. In my experience, it makes doing those things all the more enjoyable."

Our Friday traditio is the late, great Ella Fitzgerald singing that classic Summertime. This, too, strikes me as a nice balance, even if it leans a bit toward hedonia, something that always makes people like me a little uneasy but in a good way.

What does it mean to be free and independent?

Independence Day is a celebration of collective, that is, national independence. It is not a celebration of some imagined individual independence. As John Donne noted long ago, "No Man Is an Island." Human beings are unavoidably interdependent. Even a person of "independent means," a phrase that usually refers to someone ho has plenty of money and not having to work (anymore) to earn it, is dependent on others. What else is the money for except to pay others for their wants and needs? This, of course, is predicated on the idea that others provide what is needed and wanted.

4 July is the day people in the United States of America celebrate the issuance of our Declaration of Independence from Great Britain. The British colonies declared independence from the rule of King George III due to the insistence of colonial leaders that taxation without representation was oppressive. They felt independence was necessary for the "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" of people in the colonies.

"Happiness," as set forth in the Declaration of Independence, is more akin to Aristotle's concept of eudaimonia than it is to contemporary notions of happiness, which rather tend toward the hedonistic.

Hedonism is perhaps the highest form of individualism. According to the hedonist, the greatest good is one's own pleasure. Hence, everything, including other people, become but means used to achieve selfish ends.

Living in a time of extreme polarization so extreme that it might well spell the end of our constitutional republic, it seems to me that people on the polar extremes have something fundamental in common. What they have in common isn't just individualism but what I can only describe as hyper-individualism.

Those on what counts as the far left in this country seek an ever more atomistic kind of individualism, one that seeks to make extreme forms human subjectivity somehow objective- like squaring a circle. While those on the far right, which is not to be mistaken for conservatism, operating according to the principle that might makes right, try to assert individual freedoms that "free" the individual from concerns about the common good. To explain it graphically, rather than conceiving these ideological poles being on a linear spectrum, they bend around and connect. By contrast, genuine socialism and genuine conservatism, in their shared concern for the common good, have a similar tangent.

Despite its weaknesses, such as its legitimation of slavery and the reduction of the humanity of slaves to that of 3/5ths of a person (this remains the United States' original sin), to name just one defect, our constitution was set forth "in order to form a more perfect union." Attempting to enhance our union, we have amended our constitution numerous times. Many of these amendments are the result of battles hardwon from the Civil War, to Women's Suffrage, to the campaign for Civil Rights.

Working together to form an ever more perfect union is just another way of saying we should constantly seek the common good. In turn, what the common good seeks is to create the conditions for human flourishing. Especially for Christians, responsible citizenship is about seeking the common good and not necessarily one's own narrow interests. In fact, truly seeking the common good may well require you to sacrifice for the good, the flourishing, of someone else.

On a Christian understanding, freedom is not essentially freedom from, it is freedom for. I can think of no better explanation of this than one Saint Paul gives in his Letter to the Galatians: "For you were called for freedom, brothers [and sisters]. But do not use this freedom as an opportunity for the flesh; rather, serve one another through love" (Galatians 5:13- for more on this passage see Paul's take on the opposition between "spirit" & "flesh"). Freedom for service to others. What a concept!

I realize these are high and lofty concepts. Especially now, I think we need to revisit these ideals, seek to put them into practice, and inculcate them in others. As Christians, we should do this in the recognition that in the flow of time nations rise and fall. The United States is not an exception to this. As to claims of the U.S. being a Christian country, it very much comes down to praxis. In other words, depends on how much we're truly committed to the common good.

Formally, the United States, as opposed to Great Britain, the country we declared ourselves independent from, deliberately established no religion. This is not to say that our country was conceived with any hostility toward religion. But our founders were, for the most part, quite hostile to the idea of established religion.

For another important dimension to a Christian approach to the Fourth of July, I refer you to "America’s True Freedom Is Getting to Sing About God, Not Country."

Abortion post Roe: One deacon's take

With apologies to both my readers, I readily admit to posting this here instead of on another platform (i.e., Facebook, Twitter, etc.) because relatively few people read my blog or, I suspect, any blog these days. That is not a complaint. It is a statement of fact. I am okay with it. As I've shared before, I figured out pretty quickly during my early days of blogging that it was something I do as much for my own benefit as for anyone else's. The phrase I employ to describe this is that blogging is "a vehicle of growth" for me.

Another advantage of blogging, but a major reason why most blog posts aren't much read (the primary factor is that posts, including mine, aren't particularly well-written), is that blogging is typically long-form. This stands in contrast to the "hot take" tweets and Facebook memes posted by people who think by employing these they've solved late modernity's/late capitalism's most complex problems by some smart alecky statement. One of the worst abuses perpetrated by this degraded form of public engagement is that it creates caricatures of the opposition, even ones that may apply to some, and lumps everyone who disagrees into a single position.

While it is simple for the minority of people who inhabit the polar extremes of the ideological spectrum, the same people who tend to dominate social media- the people who specialize in providing content for doom scrolling and who love nothing more than posting the outrages o' the day- abortion remains somewhat complex for most people.

The reason for the complexity is the perceived need to balance the well-being of women with that of unborn children. The matter becomes infinitely more simple when one lets one side go slack and focuses on one or the other. By insisting both/and, you accept the inherent complexity therein implied.

In terms of the evolution of the anti-abortion movement, I think a recent article in The New Yorker, "We’re Not Going Back to the Time Before Roe. We’re Going Somewhere Worse," gets it quite right when it comes to the demographics of the anti-abortion movement:

Half a century ago, the anti-abortion movement was dominated by progressive, antiwar, pro-welfare Catholics. Today, the movement is conservative, evangelical, and absolutely single-minded, populated overwhelmingly by people who, although they may embrace foster care, adoption, and various forms of private ministry, show no interest in pushing for public, structural support for human life once it’s left the womb

This is disheartening in the extreme.

Given the above, it is still a mistake to think that there aren't still a lot of people, though far from the majority, who carry on in the original, more socially conscientious, mode when it comes to opposing abortion. In fact, I will lay my cards on the table and identify as one of those people.

This brings me to what I found to be a very meaningful blog post by Father Robert Hart, an Anglican priest, on The Continuum- "A Strange Fundamentalism." I have to say, as I get older, I appreciate it when somebody does the hard work for me. If you find the length of the post daunting, skip forward to the "Postscript" (I also urge you to read his section entitled "Science and Superstition").

The first thing I want to note is that we can't act like that which many argue can be aborted (tongue-in-cheek) is of no moral significance. This is, in effect, to simply let go of one side of what we should seek to hold in tension. Acknowledging the moral significance of the fetus/unborn child only gives us a common place from which to start. It doesn't commit anyone to a political position.

Like the common recognition in years past, even by the NRA, that firearms are deadly and need to be regulated, there was a time when such a common recognition was the case when it comes to abortion. Any argument, as Trump times have clearly shown, can only happen when there is a shared basis of agreement. Only then can we address the point of contention. This loops back to the tactics of the minority who inhabit the poles of our political spectrum.

Second, I could not agree more with Hart's assertion, to which I reference the observation from The New Yorker article, that due to its radicalization, the anti-abortion movement, which, by my reckoning, began in the mid-to-late 80s, has "actually lost ground in recent years," despite the empirical evidence largely supporting the claims of those opposed to abortion.

Third, Hart's observation that politically, due largely to the tactics of politicians, we lump causes together. This is a purely ideological move with disastrous consequences. This is where the whole issue of rights is short-circuited as they pertain to abortion.

Fourth, I've long argued that what ails us more than anything presently is our increasing collective inability to make important and sometimes very fine distinctions. It is the obliteration of important distinctions that "hot takes" and memes aim at. For the pro-life cause, the result of this is people who oppose abortion and who also oppose any and all social policies that make having children easier for women, like universal access to healthcare, etc. The same policies that, when in effect, have proven to significantly reduce abortions. In the recognition that it is impossible to stop abortion, especially when it remains legal and protected in a lot of states, it might be more effective to address demand, which is what the anti-abortion movement did at the height of its effectiveness and before it was swamped by radicals, than trying to eliminate supply.

As a fellow minister, which is to say a servant of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, I can only add a hearty "Amen" to Fr Hart's insistence

Whatever happens in the legal realm, our most important focus must be on preaching the Gospel, and “teaching them to observe all things, whatsoever I have commanded you (Matthew 28:20).” Laws made by legislatures come and go. Power structures do not endure. Congresses and Presidencies flip back and forth between party majorities. Probably, even the Supreme Court will flip between parties more and more in the future. It is unlikely that advances made in those venues will have anything even remotely resembling permanence. Roe vs. Wade has been overturned; but this does not place barriers between state lines. The battle we must win is the battle for persuasion, to change hearts and minds. This requires the truth, and it requires credibility.

There is something to the antipolitics of a genuine Christianity. This antipolitics is not a call for disengagement. It is a call for engagement while being wholly cognizant of the transitory nature of political power. We believe, live, and teach the Gospel irrespective of whatever political regime we happen to live under. In my view, the credible example of the Early Church remains our best touchstone.

It goes without saying (but I'll write it anyway), that presently opposition to abortion lacks credibility. The overturning of Roe, which is not the catastrophe some think it is nor the victory others crow about, may well be the nadir of pro-life credibility when it comes to abortion in the United States. Whenever Christians stand in opposition to something, we must ask ourselves, What comes after "No"?

I imagine many who worked and prayed for the day Roe would be overturned have begun to realize that it isn't quite the victory they imagined. At the risk of being overly self-refrential, I have long been critical of reducing what it means to be pro-life to opposing abortion. I see opposition to abortion as a necessary but insufficient component of being truly pro-life. Beyond that, I have been highly critical of reducing opposition to abortion to the overturning of Roe for the reasons that are now very apparent.

As always, I offer my views for whatever they're worth. As my Integrity Notes indicate, I opine for nothing or no one apart from myself.

Journeying with Jesus

Readings: Isa 66:10-14c; Ps 66:1-7.16.20; Gal 6:14-18; Luke 10:1-12.17-20

I love this long season of Ordinary Time because we read through the Gospel for any particular year in a semi-continuous way. I especially like this time during Year C of the Sunday lectionary, when we read the Gospel According to Saint Luke. The long section of Luke's Gospel we read over the summer and into the fall is about Jesus' journey to Jerusalem.

This "Travel Narrative" is the heart, the center, and the core of Luke's Gospel. It begins in Luke 9:51 and extends to Luke 18:14. This Travel Narrative, wherein Jesus goes from his native Galilee to Jerusalem, makes up 351 of the 1,151 verses that constitute Luke's Gospel. In other words, his Journey to Jerusalem is just a little shy of one-third of this Gospel (30.4%). Jesus' journey is in accord with the overarching idea of Luke-Acts, which is to show that Jesus came not only for Jews and those who kept the Law but for Gentiles and sinners too.

For those inclined to story-telling, keep in mind that for the next several months, we're in the midst of the Greatest Story Ever Told, the story of Jesus' life and ministry. We spend a lot of time on his birth, his passion, and death often to the neglect of his life and ministry. While I think stories can be and often are useful for making homiletical points, we run the risk of telling stories at the expense of understanding the Story, in which are participants.

Last week, the Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, the beginning of our Gospel reading was Luke 9:51. In English, this verse is two clauses of an even longer sentence: "When the days for his being taken up were fulfilled, he resolutely determined to journey to Jerusalem" (Luke 9:51). In all the Synoptic Gospels (i.e., Matthew, Mark, and Luke), Jesus only goes to Jerusalem once. To follow Jesus is to follow him through passion and crucifixion, which is the only path to resurrection.

Christian discipleship is not only intentional, it requires determination, commitment, and deep trust. The theological name for deep trust is hope, which we often dismiss as mere wishing.

The above observations are borne out by our Gospel this week. Jesus sends out seventy-two of his followers as advance parties to the places he intends to visit en route to Jerusalem. He tells them up-front that he is sending them "like lambs among wolves" (Luke 10:3). They are to proclaim- "the kingdom of God is at hand" (Luke 10:9). As the advance party for Jesus, proclaiming the imminence of God's kingdom is just another way of saying, "Jesus is coming!" How is that, you might ask? Well, as autobaselia, Jesus is the kingdom of God in person.

Wherever Jesus is, God's reign is established. Hence, whenever and wherever we make him present, which is what we are to do as members of his true body, there is God's kingdom.

In our second reading from Paul's Letter to the Galatians, the apostle reiterates that our response to Jesus' call to discipleship is to journey with him to Jerusalem. The man from Tarsus, no doubt referring to his own travails, notes that he bears "the marks of Jesus" on his body." Just as the Risen Lord still bears the wounds of his crucifixion, I have no doubt that our scars, our wounds, especially those received from the vulnerability of our love, are most dear to him. It bears noting that he does not inflict these scars. Heaven forbid! He heals them and transforms them into something beautiful.

Isaiah's post-exilic hymn to Jerusalem is, even for us Christians, a beautiful hymn: Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad because of her, all you who love her. One thing that links our readings from Isaiah, Galatians, and Luke together is the pattern of hope being realized through suffering and/or hardship. This is nothing other than the dying and rising that is the essence of Christian life.

So, over these next several months, let us resolutely determine to journey together with Jesus to Jerusalem in and through the liturgy.

If you're looking for something to help you on this journey, the late Eugene LaVerdiere's Dining in the Kingdom of God: The Origins of the Eucharist According to Luke remains a great companion for reading Luke's Gospel.

Paul's take on the opposition between "spirit" & "flesh"

I meant to post this sooner, but, well... I was not motivated to do so until today. In our second reading last Sunday, the Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time of Year C of the Sunday lectionary (a mouthful, I know!), which was from the fifth chapter of Saint Paul's Letter to the Galatians, we heard about the opposition between "Spirit" and "flesh."

In Galatians 5:17, we hear/read: "For the flesh has desires against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; these are opposed to each other..." In the original Greek, "Spirit" is pneuma. The reason "Spirit" in this passage is capitalized is because the Greek word is taken to be referring to the Holy Spirit.

It is the word for "flesh" in Galatians 5:13-18 that needs to be explained. In Koine Greek, the word for "body" is soma. This is not the word Paul uses in this passage. Hence, he is not making a dichotomy between "Spirit," or even "spirit," and matter. Frankly, this would've been inconceivable to him as well as those to whom he wrote. The word he uses for "flesh" is sarx.

In Paul's view, which was shaped as much by Greek philosophy as by Hebrew theology, the important distinction is between things that last and things that don't last, between what is real and what is transitory. He seeks to distinguish between the eternal and ephemeral. What is of the flesh is ephemeral- here today, gone tomorrow. What is of spirit, especially of the "Spirit," lasts forever.

Paul's anthropology, that is, his view of the human person, is ideally holistic, harmonious. As such, it isn't wholly unrelated to the body. Living according to the flesh, as Paul notes several verses on (see Galatians 5:19-21), means something like seeking to satisfy every urge and impulse. Let's face it, as Americans, we live in a pretty hedonistic milieu, a situation that tells us wanting something is what makes it good.

In Philippians, he writes about those who "conduct themselves as enemies of the cross of Christ." Of them he says, "Their God is their stomach; their glory is in their 'shame.' Their minds are occupied with earthly things." (see Philippians 3:18-19). We've practically lost all sense of the necessity of acesis.

His exhortation to the Galatians in this passage is to eschew the ephemeral and seek the eternal. Eschewing the ephemeral and seeking the eternal is not only why Christ set us free, it is the essence of freedom!

From a Christian view, the essence of freedom is not freedom from. It is freedom for. In all circumstances, as Paul not only teaches in his writings but bears witness to in his life, you are free to follow the Spirit.

The fruits of the Spirit, which, he points out a few verses further on, are "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Galatians 5:22-23). These are the ways that one fulfills the Law, which, as the apostle notes in verse 14 of the same chapter, "is fulfilled in one statement, namely, 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'" (Galatians 5:14). What provocation!

Because living according to the Spirit is determined internally (and then lived outwardly) there is not nor can there ever be any law that constrains your freedom, especially the Spirit-empowered freedom you have from Christ. If you want to read about what this means "in-real-life," I urge you read Cardinal Nguyen Van Thuan's book: Five Loaves and Two Fish: Meditations on the Eucharist.

"Riding with Mary protecting immaculate love"

It's July, the seventh month of the year. How crazy is that? In June I more or less took a breather from blogging. Oddly enough, I remain doggedly committed to this ever-morphing medium. I am also currently taking a break from all social media. Instead of engaging on social media, I have been reading, listening, walking, praying, and resting.

One of the best things I've listened to recently was an interview with John Doe. Jim DeRogatis and Greg Kot spoke with John for their Sound Opinions podcast. While Doe has an impressive and surprisingly long acting resume, he's best known as the bassist and driving force behind one of the best, most enigmatic punk bands- X. Doe was interviewed on the occasion of the 40th anniversary of the release of X's third studio album: Under the Big Black Sun.

Under the Big Black Sun, which I have been listening to this week, remains a truly great record. A longtime friend, who is a professor of Philosophy, and a musician himself, insists that X was and remains (in 2020 they released their album Alphabetland) a very "Catholic" band. I saw X live on 2 August 2018 with another good friend who alerted me to this podcast.

In addition to Under the Big Black Sun, I've also been listening to Bach's Mass in B Minor. It is sublime in every aspect. At least to me, there is not now nor has there ever been any incongruence in my listening habits.

I've also been reading more (I always read- it's like breathing). I am finishing up a fascinating and well-written biography of Saint Ignatius of Loyola- Ignatius of Loyola: The Pilgrim Saint, by the Basque priest José Ignacio Tellechea Idígoras, translated from Spanish by Cornelius M. Buckley, S.J. I am also finishing Barbara Walter's How Civil Wars Start: and How to Stop Them. This book is a good companion to the Congressional Hearings on 6 January 2021. In a different vein, I am also reading Arthur Brooks' From Strength to Strength: Finding Success, Happiness, and Deep Purpose in the Second Half of Life.

Once I finish these I am going to re-read Aldous Huxley's A Brave New World and read Amanda Ripley's High Conflict: Why We Get Trapped and How We Get Out.

Thinking of reading in the summertime, I am reminded of how unencumbered I was during summers growing up. It was during summers that I received a good deal of my education. I am more autodidactic than is probably good for me. This "education" consisted of simply reading a lot of books. During the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school, I read 1984, Farenheit 451, and A Brave New World successively. This was 1982, the same year Under the Big Black Sun was released. The experience of reading those three books one after the other changed my life as much as any experience I've ever had. It was the beginning of my awareness.

Towards the end of my sophomore year, for English class, I read Orwell's short story A Hanging. Reading that was the effective cause of my opposition to the death penalty. Because this happened at a low ebb of my religious belief, while my opposition to the death penalty is certainly part of my religion, my opposition to it did have not its genesis in that.

In many ways, Orwell, most of whose works I've read (many I have re-read), remains something of my political lodestar. Another book I plan to read this summer is John Sutherland's Orwell's Nose: A Pathological Biography, which I acquired a few years ago from the University of Chicago Press, during their annual blowout sale.

If you haven't read it, I encourage you to read Jonathan Haidt's article for The Atlantic, "Why the Past 10 of American Life Have Been Uniquely Stupid." In an amazing chapter of her book, Walter demonstrates how our stupidity is exploited by and through social media. At end of his piece, Haidt makes some public policy proposals worth considering.

Since Easter, I've been working to ensure that July is what I've taken to calling a slack month. This means I have no commitments outside of my normal ones. I am learning to protect time, which is a way of protecting myself.

Unsurprisingly, our first song for the relaunched Friday traditio is from Under the Big Back Sun: "Riding With Mary."