Year C Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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

It would impossible to preach today without making reference to what has happened over the past several weeks: we have witnessed policemen killing two black men under very suspicious circumstances; during a peaceful protest in Dallas over excessive police violence against black people, five police officers were senselessly gunned down while protecting the protestors; this past Thursday, a man ran over people as they watched the conclusion of a Bastille Day fireworks show in Nice, France; to top it all off we witnessed Friday’s bloody coup attempt in Turkey. Given all of this, it’s easy to conclude that the world has gone crazy and begin to draw apocalyptic conclusions. But, my friends, it’s always the end of the world until the end of the world.

As followers of Jesus Christ, in addition to wondering why all of these things happen (“Why?” being the most human of questions), it’s important to ask, what should I do? Today’s Gospel gives us a concrete answer. Bombarded as we are by both round the clock news and with access to so many social media platforms, we are exposed to horrific events much more quickly and incessantly than ever before. Our exposure is often unfiltered, sparing us no details of the horror. In times like these it is easy to feel overwhelmed and a more than a bit traumatized. But we are not called to give in to worry, fear, or resign ourselves to apathy.

Over the past several Sundays we have begun the section of St. Luke’s Gospel known as “The Journey Narrative.” This section comprises slightly less than half of Luke’s Gospel. According to Luke and the other synoptics (i.e., Matthew and Mark), Jesus makes only one trip to Jerusalem. So, for twenty Sundays in this cycle of readings, we journey with Jesus, as his disciples, towards the Holy City. We are invited to pay attention and learn along the way.

It has been observed that the meal in the home of Martha and Mary “is a story of both eucharist and ministry” (LaVerdiere, Dining in the Kingdom of God 76). This story “shows how those in ministry can be distracted by secondary considerations and diverted from what is absolutely necessary and critical to the meaning of everything else they do” (76). In the Eucharist Christ not only communicates himself to us, but desires and invites us to make ourselves fully present to him (76). We make ourselves fully present “by listening and attending to his word” (76). Listening to and heeding the Lord’s word is the only guarantee that what we do is in the service of ushering in God’s reign.

Rublev Trinity icon, Aquinas Hall chapel, Mt. Angel Monastery, Oregon

Today’s Gospel begins: “Now as they went on their way, he entered a village; and a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house.” By welcoming Jesus, which was almost unheard of for a woman in that time and culture, Martha followed a very ancient Middle Eastern custom of extending hospitality to the traveler. It is precisely here that the Gospel story touches the story from Genesis we heard in our first reading. In that story a similar incident occurs when Abraham and Sarah offer hospitality to the three strangers, who appear suddenly and unexpectedly. Notice the rush that occurs upon the strangers’ arrival. After allowing them to wash their feet and having made them comfortable in the shade, and no doubt scrambling to provide hors d’ouvres for his guests, Abraham “hastened” to tell Sarah: “Quick . . . make some rolls!” He then “ran” to pick out a choice steer for a servant to prepare “quickly.” In short, like Martha, Abraham and Sarah are “distracted with much serving” in order to provide hospitality for their guests. Yet, Abraham and Sarah are not chastised. On the contrary, after having offered their guests hospitality, Abraham and Sarah are blessed upon their departure with the promise of a son. Both stories share the common element of welcoming the holy one who may appear as a friend or a stranger. As the famous icon by Andrei Rublev intimates, Abraham and Sarah hosted the Holy Trinity. What earned Martha Jesus’ gentle rebuke was her anxiety-driven complaint. The Lord’s gentle rebuke was really an invitation for her to sit at his feet and listen to his word so that, like Abraham and Sarah, she, too, would be left with a blessing.

In Luke’s narrative, our reading for this Sunday is closely connected to what immediately precedes it and what immediately follows. In what might easily be dismissed as a quaint domestic story from which we draw the neat little moral lesson, namely that perhaps we should slow down a bit sometimes, we need to see how this meal in the home of Martha and Mary connects what came before and what follows. In this short vignette, Jesus modeled the challenge he gave to those who would be his disciples (9:57-62), as well as what he told the seventy-two, who were sent out to proclaim the Good News (10:1-12), namely to rely solely on God and bring peace to all who welcomed them. In the home of Martha and Mary Jesus also paves the way for what is to follow: learning how to pray. What follows begins with Luke’s version of the Lord’s Prayer, followed by several parables about prayer.

Like Martha, we can easily be distracted and/or become “anxious and worried about many things” and so neglect the one thing necessary, which is to be present to the Lord in order to attend and listen to his word. Our understanding of his word should be the basis of our action. Let’s note that just because Mary was sitting at Jesus’ feet does not mean she wasn’t doing anything. “It does mean that she was not distracted by the ministry [the service] or worried and excited about many things” (Dining 85).

This brings me to how we should respond during this distressing summer and beyond. We respond by listening to the Lord and acting accordingly. Hence, we should make time to attend to his word daily. We do this primarily by reading the Scriptures. One way to effectively do this is by practicing the ancient Christian art of lectio divina, which is Latin for “divine reading.” The four steps involved in practicing lectio divina – reading, meditating, praying, and contemplating - are easy enough to learn. You can practice lectio divina using the Gospel from the daily readings, or, perhaps more usefully, by praying with readings for the upcoming Sunday each week in preparation for that privileged time when we gather on Sunday to celebrate the Lord’s Supper. Doing this will facilitate our communication with the Lord and with one another. It will enable us to communicate the saving news of Jesus Christ to a world so badly in need of him.

"Christ in the House of Martha and Mary," by Johannes Vermeer, between ca. 1654 & ca. 1656- Google Art Project

New Testament scholar Eugene LaVerdiere noted that a number of features found in the story of the meal at the house of Martha and Mary indicate that it was written “to mirror” the Eucharist as it was experienced by early Christians: it is the first time in one of St. Luke’s meal stories that Jesus is referred to as Lord, Mary at Jesus feet puts her in the position of a disciple, a learner, Martha’s service is referred to using a term denoting Christian ministry, diakonia (from which the word “deacon” is derived) let’s not forget the sisters welcoming Jesus into their home (Dining 85-86).

We welcome Jesus into our home, into our very selves, not only when, just before receiving communion, we say, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only the say the word and my soul shall be healed,” but also when, after hearing, “A reading from the holy Gospel according to Luke,” we make the sign of the cross on our foreheads, over our lips, and hearts, as we say, “Glory to you, O Lord.” Our making the sign of the cross is our way of asking God to put his word in our minds, on our lips, and in our hearts. But let’s not forget that the effectiveness of Jesus’ healing word is at least partly dependent on our listening and responding to it. This response we call faith, which bids us to love, which brings about hope in a world that often leaves so many feeling hopeless. This is how we make known the mystery about which St. Paul wrote so beautifully in his Letter the Colossians.

A string of thoughts on perplexing matters

I am always thinking and re-thinking matters. Like everyone else, trying, in my own limited way, to make sense of the world in order to live in it in a constructive way and, if I many be so bold, attempt to be happy while doing what I understand to be God's will. I feel that what I wrote about mercy (see "Let Mercy Lead"), while I reaffirm all of it, needs something else to balance it. It seems to me that one of the things our society clearly lacks is the ability to appropriately respond to evil. For one thing, as with the Orlando shootings, instead of pinning blame on the murderer, who was apparently about as messed up as a person can be, "conservative' Christians, of which he was not one by a long shot, bore the brunt of the blame in the aftermath. It's often the case that we simply fail to recognize evil, or refuse to call it what is (i.e., "jihadist Islam"- a form of violent Islamism that cannot be equated with the whole of Islam, but must be identified in order to be combated), lest we label anyone as being evil in the belief that evil is as evil does.

All of this hinders the proclamation of the Gospel. Increasingly it is difficult to denounce sin and invite people to repent. This ties back to something I wrote in my post on mercy: When people come realize how messed up they are and realize that they can't fix themselves, even if a person is resolved to be better, to do better, to live better, due to their skepticism about there being a merciful Savior who bore the weight of their sins and took away the eternal punishment due their sin, they still feel the guilt for past offenses, which often hinders their ability to turn over a new leaf. Due to this, they're skeptical that they can cooperate with what God is doing through Christ in setting world aright through penance, reparations, and seeking indulgences, etc.

It’s also easy to take to some form of activism. Let’s be honest, for most of us, our activism usually consists of several posts on social media, or some over-the-top, frustration-driven comments to family, friends, or co-workers and/or a blog post. If you follow the logic that doing anything is better than doing nothing, then activism of some kind is bound to follow. Is this to say we shouldn’t be concerned about justice? No! We should be very concerned with justice and with peace, as well as liberty. These concerns may lead us to speak up and speak out. We should do so in a calm, clear, and charitable way. But activism in and of itself usually proves futile and can still leave us feeling powerless and exposed, if not much more angry. Anger, while sometimes justified, is not a solution to anything at the end of day. All too easily, anger leads to hate and hate, as we see far too often, can lead to violence. We need avoid the risk of perpetuating the cycle.

One of the reasons I dedicated so many blog posts last year on universalism (see "Seeking clarity about heaven and hell", "What does the Church teach about hell?", and "One More Thought on Universalism") is that presumption-driven universalism is contrary to the Gospel. When the Church fails to properly form consciences there will be judgment, which is why James says everyone should not aspire to be a teacher (James 3:1). While I think they overdo God's judgment sometimes, I continue to read a number of Reformed blogs, like Erik Raymond's Ordinary Pastor. It's interesting to note that Raymond was raised Catholic in Massachusetts. After converting to Reformed Protestantism while serving in the Air Force, he now pastors a Reformed church he helped to plant in Omaha, Emmaus Bible Church. I am apply a lot of what Erik writes.

I also like Rosaria Butterfield, who was also raised rather devoutly Catholic. Sadly, according to her autobiographical The Secret Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert, she bailed on the Church as a teenager when, shortly after her confirmation, she learned one of her best friends was having sex with one of the priests at their parish. After a number of years as a well-respected post-modern, feminist academic and living openly as lesbian, she, too, converted to Reformed Protestantism. It was Rosaria who reminded me of the importance of remaining immersed in Scripture. While the so-called young, reformed, and restless come in for a lot of criticism on a number of things, when it comes to politics, while not remaining silent on important, fundamental matters, like most life issues and even race relations, they don't let themselves bog down, they seem to grasp that politics are provisional. Instead, they tend to stick with preaching the Gospel as they understand it.

In all honesty, if I was a slightly less well-educated Catholic and not so suspicious about serious Calvinism's narrow conception of God's election, I sometimes think I could easily slip over to that side. In the end, I am more Lutheran than Calvinist. I don't find whatever Lutheran tendencies I have at odds with being Catholic. Like Giussani, being Catholic for me is the way I maintain the tension between Orthodoxy and Protestantism. My Lutheranism begins with a healthy assessment of my status before God and a recognition of the evil in my own heart, even after baptism I remain simul justus et peccator. But I reject forensic justification and, as a result, I have a different view of how God sanctifies us.

While it is never my place to judge the state of another person's soul, it is important for us all to remember that we will answer for ourselves someday. What we do with our lives matters. But fear of judgment should not be what drives us. Rather, we should be driven by love of God and neighbor. While God is mercy, he is also justice. We're not sinners in the hand of an angry God, we're sinners in the hand of a merciful and wholly just God. These days I find myself wondering what saints, what signs and wonders, God will send to remind us of this. All of this reminds me of how well C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien dealt with these matters in their imaginative writings. But this is likely due to the fact I am currently reading Joseph Loconte's A Hobbit, a Wardrobe and a Great War, a book I recommend highly.

Oddly enough, Lonconte, too, is another person who slowly rejected the Catholicism in which he was born and raised and has become a committed Protestant. He also wrote a book on John Locke, God, Locke, and Liberty: The Struggle for Religious Freedom in the West, I'd like to read. One of the points Loconte makes over and again, a point that did not originate with him and he is not the only one who makes it, is that liberal democracy, such as we have throughout the Western world, requires an underlying conservatism, which I take to be an understanding of what it is required for liberal democracy to work and for people flourish living in liberal democratic societies. Of course, critics of the liberal democratic state often and rather convincingly point out that there is nothing inherent in liberal democratic constructs that guarantee the required underlying conservatism. Chief among the features of this underlying conservatism is the very often neglected, when not ignored, principle of subsidiarity. This brings us to the rather uncomfortable reality of the importance of faith, perhaps a unique form of Christian faith and the values that arise directly from it, for such a form of government to succeed. Articulating the relationship between the Church and the state is another complex and highly contested matter. Separation of Church and state can easily lead to the Church being wholly subordinated to the state, which is why, as Pope St. John Paul II noted, after the right to life the next most important human right is religious liberty. Such an arrangement, at least one in which the importance of religious liberty is recognized, can also free the Church to exercise its prophetic role in society.

In light of this many worry about the collapse of Christianity in the United States. It is a valid concern. According Ed Stetzer, a Christian researcher (see "Churches in America- Part 3"), the Christian demographics that are collapsing are cultural and congregational Christians. The former don't typically go church, at least not regularly and consistently, and the latter have done so, not as a matter of faith and conviction but out of a kind of inertia.

According to Stetzer, convictional Christians today make up as much of the population, roughly 25%, as they ever have. That's nearly 81 million people. As anyone cognizant of these matters would be quick to point out, 81 million convicted Christians by no means comprise a political monolith. This is as true among Evangelicals and among Catholics as it is between Catholics and Evangelicals. By now it goes without saying that Western civilization is in crisis. By crisis I mean a time when difficult and important decisions must be made. It seems clear with the Brexit, with the Republicans choice of Trump and Sanders fairly successful insurgent campaign, as well as with similar challenges to long standing parties in Europe, that in many quarters people are ready for serious change, not necessarily revolutionary change, but comprehensive and radical (in the true sense of the word, returning to the root) reform.

Like many, I am torn between the left and the right. When it comes to economic matters, international affairs, and what we typically refer to as social issues I think there needs to be some rapprochement, or a popular electoral uprising that insists on one. In the U.S. we seem content, in light of our on-going failures, to remain bellicose. Instead of learning the lessons of Iraq, we seem to keep making the same mistakes in Libya, Syria, and elsewhere. Nobody will ever convince me that the phenomenon of ISIS would've happened without us making these blunders. But then ISIS helps us to remain perpetually at war, something Orwell warned about. There can be little doubt we have a rigged economy that results from our elected officials being in the pocket of big business and international corporations by-and-large having their way in the world. On the other hand, our intent to undermine marriage, to deny our femininity and masculinity, and to consider sexual liberty the highest echelon of human rights, also takes its toll, not least of which because it attempts to force all of us live a lie. Then there is our increasing indifference to human life from abortion, to the death penalty, to assisted suicide (the word "assisted" being key, its an effort to make others complicit in something intrinsically evil), to euthanasia. If you truly believe that human beings are created in the image of God, then I cannot see how you can glibly reverse the fundamental axiom that essence precedes existence without reaping the whirlwind.

We need to become far more familiar with the common good and what constitutes it. But we should not confuse it with the utilitarian concept that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. As we read in the Catechism: "In keeping with the social nature of man, the good of each individual is necessarily related to the common good, which in turn can be defined only in reference to the human person" (par. 1905). If you want to know more about the common good, I encourage you to read the Catechism of the Catholic Church 1905-1912.

"Will you search through the lonely earth for me"?

Late last week I came across a current BBC 4's television series, Detectorists. I've more or less binge watched my way through both series (i.e., seasons). Mackenzie Crook, who so brilliantly played Gareth in the original and, for my money, the only show The Office, is the show's creator, writer, director. He also plays one of the two main characters: Andy Stone. The show is about two friends who are dedicated "detectorists," that is, people who spend as much time as possible walking with their metal detectors through the fields of rural northern Essex. While the setting, characters, and situations are somewhat different, the vibe of "Detectorists" puts me very much in mind of the Irish RTE series Trivia. I suppose the most succinct way I can think of describe this "vibe" is funny in a wonderfully understated way and often poignant.

Life, much like the scriptural commentaries of Origen, ranges from the ridiculous to the sublime, making stops at all points in between. As I ease into middle age, I am learning to enjoy the ride. One effort I have made over the last year is not living my life in reverse, or mentally thinking what I would do in situations in which I can't see ever finding myself. I've found it a useful mental strategy.

Detectorists: Lance & Andy

Last Saturday I used the Scripture reading from Morning Prayer to practice lectio divina. It was rather spontaneous, as opposed to a deliberate choice. The text was Romans 12:14-16a: "Bless your persecutors; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Have the same attitude toward all. Put away ambitious thoughts and associate with those who are lowly" (Morning Prayer for Saturday, Week II). What leapt out at me was the final sentence. As I mulled that whole sentence, it quickly shrunk down to the phrase, "Put away ambitious thoughts." But then, the twelfth chapter of Romans has long been one of my favorite passages in the whole of Scripture. If one were to translate Paul's Greek literally, it would read something like: "Being disposed to no the high," made more sensible in English- not being disposed to what is high. What is it we are not be disposed to? The transliterated word is hupséla, the correct variant of the word hupsélos. What is hupsélos? That which is high, or lofty.

What have my previous two paragraphs to do with my first paragraph, what is the link? I think it's simple and, at least to me, quite obvious: Detectorists and Trivia are both shows about everyday, rather humble, people, who are trying, in their often self-subverting way, to be happy and fulfilled. The characters, again in their own, often screwed ways, also strive to be good in the awareness that their own happiness is not disconnected from the happiness of others. I also like the relative calmness of both programs. Being calm is something I am working on. This requires daily working on being kind, patient, and understanding. I don't know about you, sisters and brothers, but for me this requires a lot prayer, which is a great thing.

At least for me, cultivating a calm disposition depends on eschewing caffeine and alcohol. Unexpectedly, I've found giving up the latter more beneficial than the former. In the year since I gave up both I've experimented with introducing them back into my life here and there. Those experiments only verified that I made the correct choice in giving them up.

Our Friday traditio for this hot summer week is Johnny Flynn singing his folk song, "Detectorists," in an episode from the show's first series-

Mercy revisited

I received a note today from a friend, a very good man, who, like we all should, is grappling with mercy. What prompted his note to me was this from last Friday's traditio:

I am always puzzled when Christians insist that mercy is only for the repentant. Mercy is for everyone. I don't know about you, but I want mercy even for the unrepentant. Pope Francis is insistent that The Name of God is Mercy. In other words, God does not withhold mercy from anyone. I suppose it is possible to reject God's mercy. I suspect that for many it's not so much an outright rejection of God's mercy given us in Christ as much as thinking it too good to be true. Hence, those of us who have accepted God's mercy, out of love and in a loving manner, need to demonstrate the reality of this very Good News

While I will keep private what he wrote to me, I will share an edited and expanded version of the substantive part of my reply.

Mercy can be a tricky concept, which makes it all the more important to be clear about what we mean when we use it. This is often the case with simple concepts - the simpler it is, the more complex we're prone to make it. I think this is especially true in matters pertaining to theology, especially for those of us who take it seriously. In the fourth volume of the theological encyclopedia Sacramentum Mundi, theologian Adolf Darlap began his short article on mercy thus: "the readiness of God to come to the aid of his distressed creature out of free grace" (10).

No one can earn or ever "make" himself worthy of God's mercy. All I can do is acknowledge my need for it and then receive it. Only by God's grace are we ever worthy. It is God who makes us worthy. In Christ, the Father has deemed everyone worthy of Divine Mercy. Isn't this St. Faustina's message?

God never withholds mercy. We remain free to deny or refuse it, however. It cannot be stated enough: God does not withhold mercy! God is merciful because God is love (1 John 4:8.16). It is never a question as to whether or not God loves you. The only relevant question is, Do you love God? It makes all the difference in the world to get these things the right way around. If we don't we run the risk of reinforcing the widely held view of "the Christian God," which is that of an angry and demanding tyrant, who demands our acquiescence and remains angry if we refuse to give in. In other words, like the father in Jesus' Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), God is not vindictive, but patient and actively looking for his child to come home. Of course, the prodigal son could've stayed far away and unreconciled. I think it was Henri Nouwen who suggested that the title of the parable could easily be "The Parable of the Profligate Father."

Divine mercy isn't that different, if it differs at all, from "ordinary" mercy. It's a distinction that makes no sense in Christian terms. It may well be the case that something other than mercy is being invoked, but to play God's mercy off against "ordinary" mercy strikes me as a false move. If there was such a vast difference then the very point of Jesus' Parable of the Prodigal Son would be rendered moot because we would be incapable of being merciful. But over and again Christ bids us to act mercifully, even telling us "Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy" (Matt 5:7). If we're going to compare mercy to a worldly mindset, then let's just say that according to such a mindset mercy makes no sense at all.

Being moved with compassion

Readings: Deut. 30:10-14; Ps. 69:14.17.30-31.33-34.36-37; Col 1:15-20; Luke 10:25-37

Having Jesus' Parable of the Good Samaritan as our Gospel reading for this Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time could not have come at a better time. In our Gospel today Jesus delivers the parable in response to the question, "Who is my neighbor?" In reply to the question that precipitated the dialogue, "Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?," Jesus responded in rabbinical fashion with a question of his own: "What is written in the law?" To which the "scholar of the law" questioning him, responded with what we, as Christians, recognize as the Two Great Commandments: "You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself." After telling him he answered correctly, the Lord says to his interlocutor, "do this and you will live."

It is important to point out that both of these commandments, indeed, arise directly from the law, from the Torah. The commandment to love God with one's entire being is set forth in the book of Deuteronomy, in the verse immediately following the Shema Yisrael, Deuteronomy 6:5. The second commandment to love your neighbor as you love yourself is given in Leviticus 19:18. So, these were really nothing new to Jesus' questioner, or, presumably, to anyone listening to him in this pericope.

If read Leviticus 19:18 in its entirety, as well as the two verses immediately preceding, a good argument can be made that the neighbor to be loved "as yourself" is an Israelite's fellow Israelite: "Take no revenge and cherish no grudge against your own people. You shall love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD." This is the crux of the matter in this exchange between Jesus and a scholar of the law. The inspired author of St. Luke's Gospel noted that the scholar "wished to justify himself" (always a dangerous proposition) and so he asked Jesus, "Who is my neighbor?" It is this question that provided the Lord with the segue he needed, as it were, to lay down something radically new.

In order to grasp how truly radical Jesus' call is, it is necessary to understand how loathsome Samaritans were to Jews and vice-versa. One gets a sense of this mutual animosity in the narrative in St. John's Gospel about the Samaritan woman's encounter with Jesus at the well, which is one of the longest encounters Jesus has with anyone throughout the four canonical Gospels (John 4:4-42). Pick the group of people you are most inclined to despise and look down upon, then put a member of that group in the role of the Samaritan in Jesus' parable, then see that person become what theologian Fr. Jon Sobrino called the Good Samaritan: "an ideal, total human being" ("The Samaritan Church and the Principle of Mercy"). In this time of great violence and unrest that comes complete with no shortage of racial and religious divisions, not just in the U.S., but the world over, the importance of this parable for Christians, who fancy ourselves Jesus' disciples, cannot be exaggerated.

Let's not forget that in this parable the man who was beaten, robbed, and left for dead was seen and ignored in his misery by two observant Jews, who were apparently more concerned about maintaining their ritual purity than with helping a fellow human being in dire distress and need.

In the words of Sobrino, "The ideal human being, the complete human being" according to Jesus' Parable of the Good Samartian, "is the one who interiorizes, absorbs in her innards, the suffering of another— in the case of the parable, unjustly afflicted suffering— in such a way that this interiorized suffering becomes a part of her, is transformed into an internal principle, the first and the last, of her activity" ("The Samaritan Church and the Principle of Mercy"). In this parable we see love become mercy and, in turn, mercy become justice.

The Greek word translated as the phrase "moved with compassion" is transliterated splagchnizomai. It means to be moved in one's inward parts, one's bowels, deep within one's body. It's this same word that is translated as "moved with pity," or "moved with compassion," when applied to Jesus himself. In other words, upon seeing the man beaten and left for dead, the Samaritan had a visceral, or a gut, reaction and felt compelled to help the beaten and stranded man. This is what Sobrino means by interiorizing the suffering of others.

In short, the scholar's neighbor was not limited to his fellow Jews. Your neighbor is not your fellow Catholic, or even your fellow Christian, but the suffering person you encounter. As is suggested in our first reading, this is not highfalutin theology. Turning again to Sobrino's theological commentary on the Parable of the Good Samaritan - "This love is the particular praxic love that swells within a person at the sight of another person's unjustly inflicted suffering, driving its subject to eradicate that suffering for no other reason than that it exists, and precluding any excuse for not so doing" ("The Samaritan Church and the Principle of Mercy"). This is how we recognize Christ's preeminence and how God makes "peace by the blood of his cross."

"Let mercy lead"

It's been one hell of a summer so far, not just in the U.S., but the world over. I use the word "hell" quite deliberately. In the face of all the suffering and death, which makes us feel so powerless, and because we're human beings, we cannot avoid the most human of questions: Why? This question can lead us down a lot initially promising alleys, but sooner or later life has a way of bringing us to an insurmountable wall indicating they are dead ends.

Christ on the Cross is the only remotely satisfactory theodicy ("the vindication of divine goodness and providence in view of the existence of evil") I have ever found. But this, too, prompts questions, even deeper ones, but such is- to steal from Von Balthasar - Theo-Logic (God's logic). There are both cultural/contextual as well as trans-cultural reasons Paul insisted that Christ crucified was "a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles" (1 Cor. 1:23).

I am always puzzled when Christians insist that mercy is only for the repentant. Mercy is for everyone. I don't know about you, but I want mercy even for the unrepentant. Pope Francis is insistent that The Name of God is Mercy. In other words, God does not withhold mercy from anyone. I suppose it is possible to reject God's mercy. I suspect that for many it's not so much an outright rejection of God's mercy given us in Christ as much as thinking it too good to be true. Hence, those of us who have accepted God's mercy, out of love and in a loving manner, need to demonstrate the reality of this very Good News.

In his magisterial Letter to the Romans Paul noted it is "only with difficulty does one die for a just person, though perhaps for a good person one might even find courage to die. But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us" (Rom. 5:8). Think about it. It is the greatest act of mercy imaginable. Therefore, it bears up under our heaviest questions. More importantly, the Cross of Christ bears up under our greatest fears, disappointments, and sorrows. Christ crucified is the best proof for the existence of God.

Our traditio for this week, after a two week break, is the late and still dearly missed Rich Mullins: "Let Mercy Lead"

If we can reach
Beyond the wisdom of this age
Into the foolishness of God
That foolishness will save
Those who believe
Although their foolish hearts may break
They will find peace
And I'll meet you in that place
Where mercy leads

Criticizing the critics, going to bat for the Pope, and citing Nietzsche

I kid you not (I know usually that is an introduction for a big lie- I am trying to buck the trend), yesterday I saw an article that was a critique of a critique someone wrote about Catholics who criticize Pope Francis (here it is: "10 things Michael Cook gets wrong in his criticism of papal critics"). I will say up-front, I have not read either the "10 things" article or the article it sought to criticize. It could be spot on, woefully wrong, or anywhere in between. Seeing the headline prompted this thought: "People criticize Pope Francis - people criticize the people who criticize Pope Francis - people criticize the people who criticize those who criticize Pope Francis." Can't we see where this leads? Besides, how does that square with, "I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another. This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (John 13:34-35)?

This reflection prompted yet another thought: Do you read, watch, and listen only to have your preconceptions confirmed? If so, what is the point? It's not a rhetorical question. It seems to me a shame when Catholics publicly proceed to teach sound doctrine, set everyone straight, with the smug assurance that they possess all truth and the proper point-of-view. How is that catholic? Do I mean that the Church doesn't teach truth and speak clearly on certain matters? Not at all. But how you perceive the truth depends a lot on where you're standing. I see a lot of attempts by Catholics convinced of their own infallible grasp and application of the truth, argue like what they believe, which purports to be the totality of what the Church teaches on many matters, is self-evidently true and that the truth is obvious to the disinterested casual observer.

In my view, the best medium for truth is beauty. Encountering true beauty can only make you better, which is the path to becoming good. It's like discerning who to marry: marry the person who makes you want to be a better, whose companionship gracefully commands you to be a better person, which is very different from the person demanding that you change (run far away from a person like that!).

In his memoir of faith, Lapsed Agnostic, John Waters asked the Church hierarchs of Ireland what comes after don't? I think that's a question we need to ask ourselves often, especially if you're intent on engaging publicly from the standpoint of our Christian faith.

What comes after don't is not a discourse. It is a witness. A witness that is not joyful, joy-filled, is not a Christian witness. As Nietzesche, who was very devout as a young man, wrote in "Zarathustra's Prologue" in his magnum opus Thus Spake Zarathustra:

They called God that which opposed and afflicted them: and verily, there was much hero-spirit in their worship!

And they knew not how to love their God otherwise than by nailing men to the cross!

As corpses they thought to live; in black draped they their corpses; even in their talk do I still feel the evil flavour of charnel-houses.

And he who liveth nigh unto them liveth nigh unto black pools, wherein the toad singeth his song with sweet gravity.

Better songs would they have to sing, for me to believe in their Saviour: more! like saved ones would his disciples have to appear unto me!