Author: DVO

In today’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus speaks about angels: “Take care that you do not despise one of these little ones; for, I tell you, in heaven their angels continually see the face of my Father in heaven.” We also see in the reading from Psalm 81 a beautiful statement of God’s protection being partly provided by the angels. For many, angels are simply viewed as cute, winged figures as have been depicted in art or as kindly old men like Clarence in the movie “It’s A Wonderful Life.” Belief in guardian angels has been in the mind of the Church since the earliest days and has been discussed at length by many noteworthy theologians such as St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Jerome. The angels Jesus spoke to today in Matthew’s gospel can take on a visible form, such as when the Angel Gabriel came to Mary, or remain unseen. But even in an unrecognized state, angels can still be communicative. Many beloved saints enjoyed such a relationship with their guardian angel. St. Pio of Pietrelcina (Padre Pio) and St. Gemma Galgani are two well-known examples. Such direct contact with a guardian angel was also the case for St. Catherine of Siena, St. Francis De Sales, and others. With this thought in mind, we close today’s reflection with a prayer to our Guardian Angel: “Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom His love commits me here; Ever this day (or night) be at my side, to light, guard, and guide my way. Amen.”   

Many faithful Christians live in obedience to doing the right things, always seeking to do the other’s will, not their own. But like the older brother in the story of the Prodigal Son, this obedience is not accomplished in the joyfulness of its moral or generous actions. Like the older brother, this obedience can lead to internal strife, resentment, bitterness, and envy of those who live in an amoral manner, selfishly living out their lives. Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that, in essence, our obedient actions are correct, but we lack the proper energy to be joyful in our efforts. As Christians, we need to look at Jesus as our example. He lived a life of radical generosity and self-surrender and never fell into the kind of self-pity emanating from the sense of having missed out on something. What was his secret? Scripture gives us the answer in the parable of the man plowing a field and finding a buried treasure and in the parable of the merchant who, after years of searching, finds the pearl of great price. In each case, the individual gives away everything they own so that they can buy the treasure or the pearl. Neither person regrets for a second what they had to give up in order to find this treasure, but instead acts out of the unspeakable joy of what they have discovered and the riches this is now bringing to their life. Each person is so fueled by the joy of what they have found that they are not focused on what they have given up. To the very extent that we die to ourselves in order to live for others, we run the perennial risk of falling into the kind of bitterness that besets us whenever we feel we have missed out on something. That’s an occupational hazard, a very serious one, inside Christian discipleship and the spiritual life in general. And so, our focus must always be on the treasure, the pearl of great price, the rich meaning, the self-authenticating joy that is the natural fruit of any genuine self-sacrifice. And that joyful energy will take us beyond self-pity and envy of the amoral to staying awash in the unconditional love of God.

Today, the Church celebrates the Memorial of Saint Jerome, a doctor of the Church and considered the most learned of the Church Fathers. He is most widely known for his translation of the Bible from Greek into Latin, known as the Vulgate Bible, and his Scripture commentary, which is still widely used today. His zealous pursuit and defense of truth, scholarship, and asceticism made him a frequent critic of his contemporaries in the fourth and fifth centuries. His commitment to excellence and thorough research for his prolific writings on Scripture, theology, and monastic life significantly influenced the Church in the early Middle Ages. Our gospel reading speaks of people being “amazed” by Jesus’ works. We, too, can live our lives in amazement at what we have heard about Jesus, but have we taken the time to really read His story, to get to know him in a personal way? St. Jerome’s famous quote, “Ignorance of the Scriptures is ignorance of Christ,” speaks to a challenge facing most people of faith: their failure to investigate that which they profess to believe. Like the seed that fell on rocky ground in Jesus’ parable, they are prone to fall away when effort is demanded of them. Like the house built on sand, their faith can be blown away by the stiff winds of life if not grounded in the rock of scripture. If the Word of God is to bear fruit, it must be reflected upon in the heart and acted upon in life.

Does Christianity demand “niceness”? Benedictine Oblate Elizabeth Scalia writes that the question always brings her back to the Gospel of John and specifically to the calling of Nathaniel by Christ. Encouraged by his friends to meet the one “about whom Moses and the prophets wrote, Jesus, son of Joseph, from Nazareth,” Nathaniel snarks, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” My “nice” friends would be all over that. What a mean thing to say about someone he didn’t even know! What a hurtful and dismissive remark to the people of Nazareth, who are as good as anyone else and deserving of full respect. I concur, to a point. Depending on one’s leanings, that uncharitable snob, Nathaniel, was either an elitist one percenter or an aloof ninety-nine percenter, but either way, he wasn’t nice. Interestingly, Jesus didn’t seem to find Nathaniel’s demeanor too uncharitable for his company or even to mind his tossed-off derision. One can imagine him smiling and putting a friendly arm around Nathaniel’s shoulders as he responds, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” In a manner of speaking, he was saying Nathaniel was someone he could trust to speak the unwelcome word from time to time or, at the very least, not simply tell Jesus what he thought the rabbi wanted to hear. Jesus, it seemed, preferred someone who would speak a slightly edgy truth over someone who would be “nice” but dishonest. Being himself all Truth, dishonesty in the guise of niceness would not serve Christ then and does not serve us well in our faith journey today.

What would Jesus do? For some Christians, that’s the easy answer to every question.  At a deep level, Fr. Ron Rolheiser says that’s actually true. Jesus is the ultimate criterion. He is the way, the truth, and the life; anything that contradicts him is not a way to God. Yet, while Jesus is a non-negotiable criterion, he’s not simplistic. Looking at his life, we see that sometimes he did things one way, sometimes another way, and sometimes he started out doing something one way and ended up changing his mind and doing it in a different way. That’s why, I suspect, within Christianity, there are so many different denominations, spiritualities, and ways of worship, each with its own interpretation of Jesus. Jesus is complex. So, where does this leave us? Most of us submit our private interpretation to the canonical (“dogmatic”) tradition of our particular church and accept, though not in blind, uncritical obedience, the interpretation of that larger community, its longer history, and its wider experience, humbly accepting that it can be naïve (and arrogant) to bracket 2000 years of Christian experience so as to believe that our insight into Jesus is a needed corrective to a vision that has inspired so many millions of people through so many centuries.  Above all else, Jesus revealed this about God: God is good. What would Jesus do? Admittedly, the question is complex. However, we know we have the wrong answer whenever we make God anything less than fully good, whenever we set conditions for unconditional love, and whenever, however subtly, we block access to God and God’s mercy.

Father Patrick van der Vorst reflects on this day when we celebrate the Feast of Saint Vincent de Paul. He writes that it ties in beautifully with the reading for today, especially where the disciples are being sent out to proclaim the Good News from village to village. That is what the Saint Vincent de Paul Societies (SVP) are doing worldwide, in over 86 countries, proclaiming the Good News and providing love and care for the least among us all. Saint Vincent (1581-1660) was a very prolific writer. He wrote over 30,000 letters in his lifetime. Until 1645, he wrote the letters himself; during the last 15 years of his life, he dictated them. By the 18th century, 7,000 letters had already been published. The contents range from the very mundane, where Vincent shares that he has nothing to write and say, to very strongly worded letters in opposition to Jansenism, a then-popular movement on the rise throughout Europe. However, the bulk of his letters were written as beautiful Christian messages of charity, hope, and love. I share a picture of Saint Vincent’s letter on 7 July 1648. While it is always lovely to see the handwriting of the saints, it is mainly how he signs off (below his name), which is beautiful. He writes: ‘Vincens Depaul, Unworthy priest of the Mission.’ To all the Vincentian missionaries, Daughters of Charity, and lay Vincentians worldwide, a very happy Feast day. Saint Vincent, pray for us.

In reflecting on today’s passage from Luke, Fr. Ron Rolheiser asks, “Is Jesus distancing himself from his mother here? No. He’s pointing out the real link between them: among all the people in the gospels, Mary is the pre-eminent example of the one who hears the word of God and keeps it.” Fr. Rolheiser interestingly looks at how Mary gave birth to Christ as something we are called to do in our lives – giving birth to faith in Christ. “Looking at how Mary gave birth to Christ, we see that it’s not something that’s done instantly. Faith, like biology, also relies on a process with several distinct, organic moments. What are these moments? What is the process by which we give birth to faith in the world? Mary wants imitation, not admiration. Our task, too, is to give birth to Christ. Mary is the paradigm for doing that. From her, we get the pattern: Let the word of God take root and make you pregnant; gestate that by giving it the nourishing sustenance of your own life; submit to the pain that is demanded for it to be born to the outside; then spend years coaxing it from infancy to adulthood; and finally, during and after all of this, do some pondering, accept the pain of not understanding and of letting go. It began with Mary, but each of us is asked to make our own contribution to giving flesh to faith in the world.”

Fr. Eric Hollas writes of the sometimes confusing speech of Jesus, who seems to speak in riddles. It’s a small wonder the disciples occasionally asked for clarification. In today’s Gospel, Jesus went one step further, and his words seem to defy any convention of fair play. Where’s the justice in taking from those who have little and giving to those who have much? Jesus is not speaking in economic terms, nor is he talking about justice. Light shared or hidden was the topic of his lesson, and that has little to do with how many gifts we have and everything to do with whether we use our gifts. Those who hear the word must become a light to others, for even the kingdom’s mysteries made known to the disciples must come to light. Jesus told us that he is “the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” We know that even the smallest amount of light can dispel the darkness. Your light brings Christ’s light into the darkest of lives to show them the path to peace, hope, and love.

The parable of the vineyard workers in today’s gospel reading shines a spotlight on the extravagant generosity of God. As the story goes, a landowner goes out several times during the day seeking workers for his vineyard. Each worker is given the same opportunity to work for the regular daily wage. This meant that the late hires received from the landowner the same compensation as the early arrivals. The story speaks of the unmerited and amazing generosity of our Lord. Yet many of us, when we first hear this story, side with the early workers who worked a full day but got the same wage as those who only worked an hour. How can that be fair? Our first reading today from Isaiah provides insight into our challenge in accepting that we cannot possibly think as God thinks. God can never be figured out or second-guessed if the Scriptures are to be believed. You can shake your fist at God or bend your knee to worship God, but you can never understand God. Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that we like to compare God’s ways to our ways and, on that basis, find God unacceptable. We do this in sincere and well-intentioned ways; for example, we say things like: “If there were an all-loving and all-powerful God, this suffering would not exist!” “God could never permit this!” “This cannot make sense!” “An all-powerful God would do something about this!” These expressions and the attitudes that go with them seem enlightened, sympathetic, and courageous; certainly, most people would say that of Harold Kushner’s book, “When Bad Things Happen to Good People,” which says precisely those things. However, this notion of “understanding God” is problematic. Why? Simply put, a God whose thoughts are our thoughts and whose ways are our ways, a God who can be understood, is eventually not an object for reverence or worship. Such a God is too small, ordinary, and impotent to be an object of faith. Likewise, such a God can neither be fully Creator nor Redeemer and will be seen as an opium for those lacking intellectual courage. Does this mean we should stop trying to understand God and asking questions? No. Faith never demands that we stop asking hard questions. However, at the end of the day, whether you are staring at blessing or curse, graciousness or suffering, love or hate, life or death, you can only say this of God: “Holy, Holy, Holy!…God’s ways are not my ways!” Faith embraces this reality, trusts in God’s promises, and faithfully seeks to do His will. 

Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that we do a lot of looking without seeing much. Seeing implies more than having good eyesight. Our eyes can be wide open, and we can see very little. He speaks of Paul and his conversion on the road to Damascus and how we always assume that it tells us that Paul was struck blind by his vision, but I think the text implies more. It tells us that Paul got up off the ground with his eyes wide open, seeing nothing.  That doesn’t necessarily equate with physical blindness. He may well have been seeing physically, but he wasn’t seeing the meaning of what he was getting himself into. Someone had to come and open his eyes, not just so that he could see again physically but especially so that he could see more deeply into the mystery of Christ. Seeing, truly seeing, implies more than having eyes that are physically healthy and open. We all see the outer surface of things, but what’s beneath isn’t as automatically seen. One of the key movements within our spiritual lives is the movement from fantasy to prayer, a movement that ultimately frees us from wanting to press to ourselves all that’s beautiful to appreciating beauty for its own sake. We can only really see and appreciate beauty when we stop lusting for it. Our longing for relevance makes us look out at the world with restless, dissatisfied eyes. We practice mindfulness and see the richness of the present moment only when our disquiet is stilled by solitude. Longing and hunger distort our vision. Gratitude restores it. It enables insight. The most grateful person you know has the best eyesight of all the people you know.