Mercy unbounded

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

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

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

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

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

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

Crumbs of Love, by Michael Cook, 2008

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

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

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

According to the oracle from Isaiah, it is

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

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

Being vulnerable

Once again this week I teetered on not posting. Maybe it's late summer malaise. If so, it is exacerbated by coming to grips with so many things that are happening.

I've been thinking a lot lately about vulnerability. Like a lot words, "vulnerability" has taken onboard a lot of added meaning. We talk about the need to protect vulnerable people, as we should. "Vulnerable" in that sense seems a straightforward use of the word.

We also talk about "being vulnerable," more specifically, making ourselves vulnerable. This is almost always spoken about as if it's something one ought or even needs to do. This rather expands the word.

As to the encouragement to make one's self vulnerable, in the first place, I would say that to be alive is to be vulernable. It's easy to argue that is vulnerable enough! How much more vulnerable do you want to make yourself?

Well, to love is to make yourself vulnerable. I daresay most of us have had our hearts broken and not only by lovers but perhaps by parents, children, friends, fellow believers. Love is a risk. If the risk was removed, would it be, could it be, love?

All of this is a wind up to stating the reality that going into ministry, when done with proper awareness and discernment, is to make yourself quite vulnerable. Like marriage, this should scare you a bit. This is also why sometimes those in ministry can seem a little gun shy.

I sometimes think I try too hard to tie things up with neat little bows. I am going to do that today, on this penitential Friday.

Our very late traditio, which I had ready on Friday, is Colin Hays' cover of Stevie Winwood's "Can't Find My Way Home."

Year A Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: 1 Kings 19:9a.11-13a; Psalm 85:9-14; Romans 9:1-5; Matthew 14:22-33

Last week’s Gospel found Jesus trying to get away to spend time in prayer. His plan was altered when, upon his arrival on the far shore, he encountered a vast crowd. Being “moved with pity for them,” the Lord cured the sick among them. After this, he performed a miracle by feeding thousands.¹

Remember that what prompted the Lord to seek out a deserted place where he could be by himself was the death of John the Baptist. It was grief that led him to desire to be alone with the Father. Our Gospel today picks up where the feeding of the 5,000 left off.

After his interaction with the multitude, the Lord still deeply desired to be alone to pray. This time he was able to go up the mountain by himself. The inspired author of Matthew seems to indicate that Jesus was on the mountain praying for quite a while. He planned to pray for so long, in fact, that he sent his disciples on their way while he stayed behind to pray.

When faced with life’s unexpected twists and turns, especially when faced with inexplicable tragedies, unexpected disappointments, and unforeseen setbacks, which leave you grief-stricken and/or feeling vulnerable and powerless, where do you go? To whom do you turn?

We live in an age when, even among people of faith, prayer easily becomes the last resort- what one does when there is nothing else s/he can possibly do. But the Lord’s first impulse upon learning of the violent death of the Baptist at the hands of Herod was to find a deserted place where he could be alone with the Father. Yet, even in his grief, he took time to serve others, even though that meant delaying his own plans.

More than healing the sick among the vast crowd, Jesus gave thanks to God, blessed it, and then broke the bread before distributing the food. This reminds us of something we hear each week in the Preface of the Eucharistic Prayer: “It is truly right and just, our duty and our salvation, always and everywhere to give you thanks, Lord, holy Father. . .”²

Out of prudence, we normally tend to avoid absolutes like “always” and “everywhere.” Yet, when it comes to giving thanks to God, we are exhorted to have no such reluctance, no such reticence. Sometimes this is more of a provocation than it is a consolation. Yet, this is exactly what the Lord models for us.

Saint Paul sums this beautifully in his Second Letter to the Corinthians:

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and God of all encouragement, who encourages us in our every affliction, so that we may be able to encourage those who are in any affliction with the encouragement with which we ourselves are encouraged by God. For as Christ’s sufferings overflow to us, so through Christ does our encouragement also overflow³

My dear friends, as hard as this can be at times, this is what living out our baptism, living the Paschal Mystery looks like! As our Collect for today indicates, it is through Christ and “taught by the Holy Spirit” that “we dare to call [God] our Father.”⁴

After his time in prayer, Jesus set out to join his disciples, who’d already set sail across the Sea of Galilee. As they made their way across the water in the dark of night, they saw Jesus approaching them, walking on the water. Understandably, this frightened them.

The Lord assured them that it was indeed him and exhorted them, “do not be afraid.”⁵ Looking at this allegorically, the sea becomes the great mystery of life, wide, deep, often unpredictable, and at times quite scary. The boat is what we build to keep ourselves provisionally safe from the vicissitudes of life. But even in the relative safety of the boat, we know the power of storms at sea.

As long as the waters are calm, the boat seems a safe place. Those in the boat accompany one another during this sometimes-perilous crossing. As the wind whips up and waves start to rise and crash, here comes the Lord, improbably walking toward us. It is Jesus who transforms the waters into the vastness of God's love and mercy. He says to you, "Come."

Peter’s stepping out is what Paul wrote about when he insisted that it is by receiving God’s encouragement in our afflictions that we are able to encourage others experiencing affliction. It is by sharing in Christ’s cross that you already share in his resurrection. You need not even fear death. God, who is love, is stronger than death!

Peter knows full well that he cannot walk on the water on his own. He needs the Lord's help to do so. Jesus is all too happy to say to his eager follower, “Come.”⁶ Lo and behold, Peter steps out of the boat and begins to make his way across the water to Jesus.

Losing his focus on Christ, Peter suddenly becomes all too aware of himself. He begins to sink. But even then, Jesus immediately stretched out his hand and caught Peter. Fear, which is so tied up with focus on self, is often what holds us back.

The Lord repeatedly says to his disciples, “Do not be afraid.” In Saint Matthew’s Gospel alone, he says it three times. Besides today’s passage, he says this to Peter, James, and John after his Transfiguration, when they saw Moses and Elijah and heard the Father’s voice.⁷ Finally, the Risen Lord tells the women who came to the tomb, “Do not be afraid! Go tell my brothers to leave for Galilee, and they will see me there.”⁸

True prayer, the kind of prayer Jesus no doubt engaged in while on the mountain, results in self-forgetting. The consolation we offer to those who are afflicted in the midst of our own afflictions also requires self-forgetting, which arises from true prayer.

The sea of life is wide, deep, and unpredictable. We never know what tomorrow may bring, good or bad. And so, like Peter stepping out of the boat, let us squarely face reality by making an act of faith. Let’s do it by borrowing words from a famous prayer of Thomas Merton:

I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me to face my perils alone⁹

And so, with Peter, we implore: “Lord, save me!”¹⁰

---

1 See Matthew 14:13-21.^↩
2 Roman Missal. Preface VI of the Sundays in Ordinary Time, sec. 57.^↩
3 2 Corthinthians 1:3-5.^↩
4 Roman Missal. Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time.^↩
5 Matthew 14:27.^↩
6 Matthew 14:29.^↩
7 See Matthew 17:1-8.^↩
8 See Matthew 28:1-10.^↩
9 Thomas Merton. “The Merton Prayer,” from Thoughts in Solitude.^↩
10 Matthew 14:30.^↩

Interior renewal, being grounded in Reality

It was touch-and-go as to whether I was going to post a traditio this week. Needless to say, it's been a fairly draining time. The good thing about this show is that it need not go on.

There are desolations aplenty. In his goodness, God also provides consolations. Among the consolations over these past several days have been continuing to read Jane Foulcher's Life Here Together: The Prophetic Gift of the Tibhirine Monks and listening to the episode of John Dear's "The Nonviolent Jesus" podcast with Jim Finley on God and the mystics.

The monks of the monastery in Tibhirine, Algeria

For six years immediately following high school, Finley was at Gethsemani Abbey in Kentucky. Pater Tom served as his novice master and provided him with spiritual direction. Jim also wrote what remains one of the best books on the spirituality of Pater Tom.

First published in 1978, ten years after Pater Tom's death, Finley's Merton's Palace of Nowhere is still worth reading. In fact, I am going to re-read it in September.

I plan to also read How Far to Follow?: The Martyrs of Atlas, by Bernardo Olivera, OSCO. Not be confused with the famous soccer player of the same name, at the time of the kidnapping and murder of the seven Cistercian monks from Our Lady of Atlas Priory in Algeria in 1996, Father Olivera was serving in Rome as Abbot General of the Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance (OSCO).

You may ask, to whom or what do these monks called "Cistercians" strictly observe? It's a great question. They seek to strictly observe the Rule of Saint Benedict. Dating to the twelfth century, the Cistercians are a Benedictine reform movement.

While I have had the book for several years, I will probably also (finally) read The Rule of Saint Benedict: Initiation into the Monastic Tradition 4, which contains Merton's teaching as novice master at Gethsemani on Saint Benedict's Regula.

Anyway, kind of a data dump and a Cistercian one at that. Maybe should institute "Media Monday." I really feel the need for interior renewal. I have also started listening to the first season of Finley's podcast Turning to the Mystics. Pater Tom is the main focus of this first season.

Our traditio for this First First Friday of August is a chant of the Jesus Prayer. This is chanted in "Church" Slavonic. This seems appropriate both given what I wrote above and that Fridays remain penitential days.

It occurred to me on Wednesday that I missed last month's anniversary. 19 July 2006 was the date I began posting regularly here in this cyberspace. While I started blog nearly a year earlier with a few posts written over a few days, it wasn't until nearly a year later that this endeavor really took off. So, it's been 21 years in total, but 20 as far as this being a real effort.

Tragedy challenges God's love

No sooner did I finish my reflection on this week's second reading from Romans chapter 8 about the all-encompassing nature of God's love yesterday than I received some very shocking news. Some long-time friends of ours, while in Idaho for a family reunion, were shot. One was wounded and the other friend killed.

I have to be honest and admit that the reality of this senseless tragedy has not really sunk in. Our friends were not shot by someone they knew. It was a random and very senseless act of violence, the kind of which is all too prevalent in our society.

I suppose those who are interested can find news reports coming out of Twin Falls, Idaho (see here). They had merely stopped to recharge their electric vehicle when their assailant shot them. After his shooting spree, the man responsible for it killed himself.

In the face of something like this, there are no satisfactory explanations, no good answers. There is only shock, grief, and, certainly, anger. Instead, such horrific events prompt many, many questions.

First and foremost, the question "Why?" For those of us who believe not just in God, but in an all-loving, all-caring, benevolent God, a God who is also omnipotent, "Why does God allow these things to happen?" All I can say is, I don't know. It makes no sense to me.

To attempt to answer these questions in any satisfactory way is to dismiss the pain and anguish that prompts them. During his visit to Spain, Pope Leo warned against the danger of well-meaning efforts to “spiritualize pain, superficially attributing it to 'God's will' or to some mysterious plan of his.” To do this, he noted, runs the risk of minimizing or silencing suffering, thus hurting people. God neither wants nor wills human suffering (see here).

Yet, suffering happens. But Christ, Pope Leo insisted, “carries [suffering] with us and invites us to trust in him with perseverance,” hopefully noting that “with God, life is always reborn." At least this is our hope.

Our Gospel today offers some insight (see Matthew 14:13-21). On learning of the Baptist's death, Jesus headed to a deserted place. It appears he does so to mourn and grieve John's death.

But word apparently got out that he was coming. As he stepped onto the shore, a "vast crowd" awaited him. Far from being self-pitying and reproachful, the Lord was "moved with pity for them." And so, he healed those who were sick. Beyond that, enlisting the reluctant help of his closest followers, he miraculously fed them all.

This is Jesus Christ. Meek, gentle, merciful, and caring. Rather than be a heavenly puppet-master, he became one of us, entered fully into our human condition, thus humbly subjecting himself to all that is human, including the grief of death. We see this, too, in John's Gospel, when he weeps at the death of his friend Lazarus (see John 11:1-44).

Anguish, disttress, the sword, even death cannot separate us from the love of God given us in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit. But sometimes in the face of reality, God, who is love, seems notably absent. But he's not.

God suffers with us and, in Christ, suffers for us. By his wounds, we are healed. Healing is often a long, slow process. Of course, we look forward to that ultimate healing. As I wrote this, the Holy Spirit brought to my mind this beautiful song written and sung years ago by Wayne Watson: "Home Free."

There are times when the walk through valley of the shadow of death is a very long and dark one. But Christ is with you every step of the way. Like the discouraged disciples Jesus accompanied as they made their way back home to Emmaus, it is often the case that we recognize him only when we look back.

When dealing with grave tragedies with which life is at times sadly fraught, God's love is scandalous in a different way, meaning he can seem absent or even non-existent. Cling to hope. Cling to Christ.

The scandal of God's love

Romans 8:35.37-39

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

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

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

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

God’s love does not depend on what we do or what we are like. He doesn’t care whether we are sinners or not. It makes no difference to him. He is just waiting to welcome us with joy and love. Sin doesn’t alter God’s attitude to us; it alters our attitude to him, so that we change him from the God who is simply love and nothing else into this punitive ogre, this Satan (italicization mine)

The importance of this point cannot be overemphasized.

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

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

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

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

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

"Rend the veil and we shall sail"

As I slowly and by God's grace begin to emerge from my doldrums, hoping and praying for a better second half of 2026, today's traditio is an easy one. It's one that's more in tune with the spirit of the Καθολικός διάκονος Friday traditio. The last several have not only been discernibly out of tune, but only striking a single note. These last several posts I have felt much more myself. It helps that I am nearing the end of some restful and less stressful weeks.

My own screenshot from the Vatican Bolletino for 31 July 2026

Reviewing The Pillar's "Starting Seven" for today, I quickly noted that the only audience Pope Leo had scheduled for today was with "la Signora Patricia Lee Smith." After a quick check, not believing my initial take, I discovered that the Pontiff had indeed granted an audience to the one and only Patti Smith. Patti is often referred to as "the godmother of punk." There is even a video of the beginning of their meeting. You can watch it here.

Patricia Lee Smith w/ His Holiness, Pope Leo XIV- 31 July 2026

Like the Holy Father, Patti was born in Chicago. She is nearly ten years his senior. In both 2014 and 2021, during Pope Francis' pontificate, Patti played at the Vatican's Christmas concert. While Smith is not Catholic, she has a great devotion to Saint Francis of Assisi, whom she calls an "environmentalist saint." Of course, Pope Leo has declared this year a Jubilee for Saint Francis.

It's safe to say, using a contemporary locution, that she is "Catholic adjacent." It's no small thing to have a private audience with the pope. Leo must've wanted to meet her. He's a person both with great expanse and with depth- not a hollow man.

Provocatively, the first words to the first song ("Gloria: In Excelsis Deo") on her earth-shattering debut album, released in 1975 (51 years ago!) simply entitled Horses, are: "Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine." For the unnuanced among us, you have unravel the thread a bit.

In his last Encyclical, Dilexit nos, on devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, Pope Francis, commenting on the Little Flower's Sacred Heart devotion, which, as was her wont, can seem a little non-standard, insisted:

Those moralizers who want to keep a tight rein on God’s mercy and grace might claim that Therese could say this because she was a saint, but a simple person could not say the same. In that way, they excise from the spirituality of Saint Therese its wonderful originality, which reflects the heart of the Gospel. Sadly, in certain Christian circles we often encounter this attempt to fit the Holy Spirit into a certain preconceived pattern in a way that enables them to keep everything under their supervision. Yet this astute Doctor of the Church reduces them to silence and directly contradicts their reductive view in these clear words: “If I had committed all possible crimes, I would always have the same confidence; I feel that this whole multitude of offenses would be like a drop of water thrown into a fiery furnace” (sec 137)

In 1978, with the Patti Smith Group, she also recorded the album Easter.

Despite being Friday (the Memorial of Saint Ignatius of Loyola), it is from Easter that today's traditio emanates. While the album features what is perhaps Patti's best-known song, "Because the Night" (co-written with Bruce Springsteen), that is not our traditio. Rather, it is the first track: "Till Victory."

Pope Leo XIV on the diaconate

I recently finished Elise Ann Allen's Pope Leo XIV: A Biography. Back in May, I pretty much read the entire book with the exception of Allen's interview with the Holy Father, which she conducted last summer. Allen's is a very good biography that gives the reader a good sense of who Robert Prevost, now Pope Leo XIV, is. I recommend it.

In her interview, she asked a couple of questions about the Synod on Synodality. She focused in on some of the major issues that have emerged from that eccelsial exercise. These issues have been taken up by different study groups. One of these issues is the role of women in the Church. A subsection to that is the proposal to ordain women as deacons.

The Holy Father, who I do not believe either as a priest or a bishop has a deep personal experience of working with deacons, takes up the issue in much the same way as the head of the papally-appointed commission, Cardinal Giuseppe Petrocchi, did (a good summary can be found here). That is to say, he pointed to the great need for a better understanding of the diaconate.

Specifically, the Pontiff asked why the diaconate as a permanent order of ministry has not been more widely implemented in the Church throughout the world. This would include South America, where his former Diocese of Chiclayo, Peru, seems to have zero men serving permanently as deacons.

Noting that the debate over women deacons "will continue to be an issue," Pope Leo clearly stated that presently, "I don't have an intention of changing the teaching of the Church on this topic." He went on to give an exposition of what he meant when he said there are some important questions about the diaconate as a permanent order of ordained ministry that the Church still needs to address.

Deacon Robert Prevost with Pope Saint John Paul II

Pointing to a Wednesday catechesis he gave to "a fairly large group of English-speaking permanent deacons," he observed,

"This is one of the groups where deacons are better represented because there are parts of the world that never really promoted the permanent diaconate, and that itself became a question: Why would we talk about ordaining women to the diaconate if the diaconate itself is not yet properly understood and properly developed and promoted within the Church? And what are the reasons for that? (Allen, page 267)

In Lumen Gentium section 29, which is the magna carta of the restored and renewed diaconate, the Council points to the importance, perhaps even the necessity of the diaconate:

Since these duties [those pertaining to the diaconate as set forth in the preceding paragraph], so very necessary to the life of the Church, can be fulfilled only with difficulty in many regions in accordance with the discipline of the Latin Church as it exists today, the diaconate can in the future be restored as a proper and permanent rank of the hierarchy

Pope Leo recognizes the "significant inspiration at the time of the Council when the permanent diaconate was in effect reinstated [I love his use of the phrase "in effect" here, it shows how carefully he thinks and speaks], it has not become, in many parts of the world, what I think some people thought it would be earlier on" (all taken from pages 267-269 of Allen's book).

At the Council, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church (i.e., Lumen Gentium) was divided into thirty-nine sections. Bishops at the Council voted on each of these seperately prior to voting on the entire constitution. Five of these sections specifically pertained to the diaconate. Four the five passed by comfortable margins. Only the proposal to ordain younger men deacons without having them make a vow of celibacy failed.

Pope Leo then proceeds to an important point Pope Francis made, which is that the Church doesn't need to clericalize everyone and all ministry. Overall, he calls for the Church universal to come to a better and deeper understanding of the diaconate as a permanent order of ministry in the Church. There is a lot of very good and important work that has been done on the diaconate by many people with a great expertise. This makes it so much more the shame that deacons, both in general and those with the requisite expertise, were not included in the Synod. In my view, what the Synod has produced on the diaconate so far, to put it bluntly, is very subpar.

The report by the commission appointed in 2020 by Pope Francis to study the diaconate (the second such commission he appointed- the first dissolved) is a hopeful sign that will lead to better effots, including when it come to synodality. As Deacon Ray Vann's Developing Diaconal Theology: A Study of the Diaconate and Actions in the Person of Christ the Head amply demonstrates, there really is not only widespread confusion, even among bishops, about the nature of the diaconate, but a hesitancy to really let deacons flourish, aiding the mission of the Church. This goes back to Ditewig's groundbreaking doctoral dissertation on deacons and governance in the Church.

One clarification is that there is no such thing as a "transitional" deacon. Once a deacon, always a deacon. As Deacon Bill Ditewig, one of those experts on the diaconate to whom I earlier alluded, oftens says in this regard: "Your bishop was not a transitional priest."

In my opinion (it is only that, my opinion), men destined for priestly ordination should spend 2-3 years serving as deacons prior to priestly ordination.

God loves you and calls you according to his purposes

Romans 8:28-30

Once again, this week, I want to focus on the so-called "epistle reading." And, once again, I do so for two reasons. First, this Gospel reading requires more work than I want to do. Second, being likely the most important book of the New Testament, apart from the Gospels, Saint Paul's Letter to the Romans is worthy of our attention.

What follows is clearly not a homily or even a sermon. It is a short and necessarily overly simplified, at least in some aspects, theological reflection.

In the Sunday lectionary for Ordinary Time, the Church seeks especially to harmonize the Old Testament, or first, reading with the Gospel. This sometimes has the effect of the second, or epistle, reading standing off in the corner. While this is not always the case, during the long stretch of Ordinary Time when we read semi-continuously through whichever synoptic Gospel (i.e., Matthew, Mark, Luke) we're reading that year (this year, Matthew), it is usually how it works out.

Today, I am not even going to look at the entire passage from Romans, which consists of just 3 verses. I'm only going to consider verse 28. It is a verse that gets cited a lot and not always in the best way. It often becomes a platitude, an unhelpful dismissal.

It's easy to forget the revelatory nature of Protestant theologian Karl Barth's concept of universal election. Coming from a reformed and Calvinistic theological perspective, Barth was very familiar with the concept that Paul sets forth in this passage: predestination.

Hyper-Calvinism espouses a doctrine usually denoted as "double predestination." This refers to the belief that God predestines some for salvation and others to damnation. It is a form of theological determinism, one in which freedom, in the end, plays no part. This hearkens back to the Old Testament connundrum about the nature of Israel's chosenness.

For Catholics, this became apparent when the current typical edition of the Missale Romanum (editio typica tertia), promulgated in 2002, began to be translated into the vernacular languages. The third English edition of the Roman Missal came into use in 2011. Yes, it took nine years to translate this vitally important sacred text!

How this issue became visible was through a directive issued by Pope Benedict XVI in 2006, roughly halfway through the translation process, that qui pro vobis et pro multis effundetur in remissionem peccatorum, is accurately translated from Latin and from the Greek of the biblical text as "which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins." Pro multis in Latin accurately translates as "for many" in English.

The above words constitute part of the institution narrative for the various Eucharistic Prayers. With these words, the Lord refers to his Precious Blood poured out for our salvation. In the previous edition of the English translation of the Roman Missal, pro multis was translated as "for all."

This brings us back to Barth's universal election. While it's died down a little, over the past several years there has been widespread discussion about Christian universalism. Universalism is the idea that, in the end, all will be saved. I don't believe any one will be saved against his will. It seems odd to me to replace one deterministic idea with another that also holds that freedom plays no role. Even so, I realize human freedom is not absolute nor is it unconditioned- a discussion for another day. At the end, no one will be forced to love Big Brother (i.e., God).

Universal election basically insists that all are called to salvation. Yet perhaps not everyone will heed God's call, his invitation. This brings me, inevitably, to Von Balthasar's controversial conclusion (Hans Urs had many such), set forth in his work Dare We Hope That All Men be Saved?: With a Short Discourse on Hell, that while Catholics are dogmatically committed to believe in hell, we should hope and pray that it is empty.

One could point to the witness of the mystical experiences of many saints who insist, based on their private revelations (which need not be held de fide), that hell is not empty. Of course, Dante's Inferno still informs our religious imagination about what hell might be like. C.S. Lewis' The Great Divorce places before the reader an alternate version. As for me, I content to let God be the Judge.

This brings me to a consideration of Romans 8:28. Let's take this text in reverse order. All that I wrote above is in the service of showing that you are called according to God's purpose. God's purpose, to quote N.T. Wright, "is the coming together of heaven and earth." Stated differently, God's purpose is to reconcile everyone and everything to himself in Christ. God's cosmic purpose includes you!

The question, therefore, is not "Does God love me?" God loves you, and there's nothing you can do about it. Instead, the question is always "Do I love God?" Being real, even those of us who love God don't love him as we ought or as much as we should. Yet, I really do love God, even if rarely with my entire being. This manifests in my failure to love my neighbor as much as I love myself.

Let's face it, as Paul is surely alluding to here, God's love, his care, his concern tend to be called into question when we experience suffering, hardships, setbacks, disappointments, attacks, etc. If you're anything like me (I pray that you are not), most of the time I chafe at the idea that difficulties are for my good. The idea, taken from what he dubbed "the military school of life," that "what does not kill me makes me stronger" originates from Nietzsche, that great opponent of Christianity, (Friedrich Nietzsche Twilight of the Idols. Aphorism #8. Trans. Anthony M. Ludovici).

Getting back to Christ shedding his blood for you, what kills you, helps you die to self, is a death worth dying. It was Nietzsche who also noted, “only where there are graves are there resurrections" (Thus Spoke Zarathustra. XXIV. Second Part, “The Priests.” Trans. Thomas Common).

What matters is that Christ is with you in the violent storm. He walks beside you through the valley of the shadow of death. Like Lazarus, he calls you forth from the tomb.

Since I've invoked Eucharistic Prayers, I'll end with this from Eucharistic Prayer for Use in Masses for Various Needs III (while an inelegant title, it's one my pastor uses a lot and one that resonates deeply with me, corresponding to my heart through my experience)

You are indeed Holy and to be glorified, O God,
who love the human race
and who always walk with us on the journey of life

"Use it any way you will"

My longtime leitmotif of the Καθολικός διάκονος Friday traditio is the fleeting nature of time. "Now" is just the intersection of the past and the future. Because now is super-fleeting, I am never at ease with the lazy exhortation to "live in the now."

Even living in the moment is problematic for me as a "life hack." You really have no choice but to live in the moment. My life unfolds moment to moment. Guess what? Every moment isn't and can't be all you want it to be. You see, there's something called reality.

In any case, today I had a wonderful moment. It was a moment that I can best describe as coming back to myself. Speaking of reality, as both of my readers know, 2026 thus far for me has been a steep climb.

Honestly, it's been a gift. I've really had to lean into God's unfailing and unconditional love for me. What happened today, the culmination of something that's slowly been happening over this week, is that I regained some self-confidence.

Over this year, I have been using a wonderful spiritual resource. It's book of daily reflections entitled An Ignatian Book of Days, edited by Jim Manney. More days than not, the daily reflection has hit me where I'm at, especially on many difficult days. Of course, on those days, I am more open, better disposed to listening with the ear of my heart.

Especially on a number of tough days, the reflections have not only been germane but also provocative. The acid test of spiritual advice or counsel is whether it holds up when things aren't going well. Let's face it, in the realm of spiritual counsel there is a lot of bullshit.

For example, this past Tuesday there was a reflection from an article by Mary Craig: "Suffering- Our Human Situation." The reflection ends with this suggested prayer:

For what it's worth, take it, God, and use it.
Use it to make me grow in compassion.
Use it any way you will

This morning, a few days later, I felt a great physical release. It was very real, very reassuring.

It's possible to care too little. It's also possible to care too much. I need to strive to better cultivate what Saint Ignatius called indiferencia. This is not apathy. Instead, it is the ability to let go of what does not help me. Having confidence in God's love is what enables me to do this. "In this is love: not that we have loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as expiation for our sins" (1 John 4:10).

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

For our traditio today I am going with "War Pigs" by Black Sabbath. This version, from an Ozzy Osbourne tribute (it's been a year and a few days since his death), features an all star lineup with Post Malone singing. Note his hat. Spanish Fork is in Utah. Love it. I leave the insinuations and implications to you.

Praying as I can, trusting the Spirit

Romans 8:26-27

This week I am departing from commenting on the Gospel reading. One reason is that this week there is too much to unpack. Instead, I'm going to write about the epistle reading from Saint Paul's Letter to the Romans. The more important reason is that Romans is a very significant book among our uniquely Christian scriptures.

I'd say after the Gospels, Romans is perhaps the most significant book- it certainly is when it comes to redemption and justification, that is, soteriology. In terms of significance, Ephesians vies with Romans even as its main theme is ecclesiology.

In his Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul sets forth his most mature theology. I dare say, Romans contains what can be called a systematic theology. There are many surprising things to be found in the chapters of this letter. Don't worry, I'm not going to delve into any those, let alone all of them.

The "holy ones" to whom the apostle refers (in Greek, the hagioi, which refers both to "holy" people and things), are the baptized. Transcending time and space, what Paul writes refers to you and I! God searches our hearts, seeking to discover, to uncover, to reveal what it is we most desire. Like all divine revelation, this revelation is for us.

I think the part of this passage that tends to command the most attention is how the Spirit intercedes for us: "with inexpressible groanings." The Spirit does this because "we do not know how to pray as we ought." Too often, my prayer consists of a lot of words. This is how I sometimes wind up feeling like I'm talking to myself instead of praying.

Weeping, laughing, sighing, groaning, quietly listening, singing, just being silent are all ways of praying. Let's not forget prostrations, a prayer posture pretty much lost among Western Christian, even kneeling is now rare.

As to what I really want, what I truly desire, it's easy to be deceived. If, as Servant of God Luigi Giussani insisted, my heart is the criteria by which I judge all things, then I need to heed the warning found in Sacred Scripture, "The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure" (Jeremiah 17:9 NIV).

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

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

________________________________________

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

Cultivating and conserving rich soil

Matthew 13:1-23

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want this light in me to show"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rest in the Lord

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

________________________________________________________

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Receive Christ, receive his love

Matthew 10:37-42

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

Year A Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

An ecumenical note

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A corollary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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