Author: DVO

In these ever-changing times, many look backward for comfort and direction. They say that the world’s ills, and especially the churches, would be better served if our preaching advised that the truth is real sin exists and that there are real and eternal consequences for sin. The gate to heaven is narrow, and the road to hell is wide. So why aren’t we preaching more about the dangers of hellfire? Fr. Rolheiser writes that threats work. Fear of divine punishment and fear of hellfire, admittedly, can be effective as a motivator. But he goes on to say that this is wrong. “It’s hard to be intimate friends with a God who frightens you. And you don’t enter a love relationship because you feel afraid or threatened. You enter a love relationship because you feel drawn there by love. The God Jesus incarnates and reveals is not a God who puts sincere, good-hearted people into hell against their will based on some human or moral lapse which, in our moral or religious categories, we deem a mortal sin. For example, I still hear this threat being preached sometimes in our churches: If you miss going to church on Sunday, it’s a mortal sin, and should you do that and die without confessing it, you will go to hell. What kind of God would underwrite this kind of belief? What kind of God would not give sincere people a second chance, a third one, and seventy-seven times seven more opportunities if they remain sincere? What kind of God would say to a person in hell: ‘Sorry, but you knew the rules! You’re repentant now, but it’s too late. You had your chance!’ The God we believe in as Christians is infinite understanding, compassion, and forgiveness. God’s love surpasses our own, and if we, in our better moments, can see the goodness of a human heart despite its lapses and weaknesses, how much more so will God do this?” Thomas More’s last words before King Henry VIII executed him are instructive: “I die the King’s good servant, but God’s first.” Thomas More did fear someone. He had that holy fear that the Bible speaks of often, the fear of the Lord. He feared losing the intimacy and friendship with God. Compared to that, everything else was straw.

“What, then, will this child be?” Every parent has probably repeated this verse at some point in their child’s life. Our hopes and aspirations come to the forefront of our minds as we wonder what might become of a son or daughter coming into this world. We might hope that our children will feel deeply loved or will have the opportunity to fulfill their dreams, or they will walk in the way of faith. I know these are things that we hoped for our children. But what were the hopes of Zechariah and Elizabeth? Today we read that Elizabeth, the wife of Zechariah, is about to give birth to a son. They had been blessed to know that they would have a son, what his name would be, and what his life would be dedicated to. Of course, when Zechariah heard this from the angel Gabriel, he was in disbelief. Wouldn’t you be just as doubtful? My wife and I were happy that our children came out healthy with ten fingers and ten toes. But our lesson today is, like Zechariah, who was in disbelief of what Gabriel was telling him, we can also be confronted with teachings we do not like, or have our hearts tugged by the spirit to step out in faith, or for deeper conversion on something God wants us to do. We must remember this lesson from Zechariah’s encounter and know that God accomplishes His will in any way he chooses. As His children, ours is to be obedient to his call, to quiet our hearts, and then to ask him to help us understand more fully the reality he wants us to enter into. Like Zechariah, we have been promised that the Lord will bless our trust and obedience when we step out in faith. 

Br. Guy Consolmagno writes that humility is essential to his life as an astronomer. “After all, in the face of this overwhelming universe—God’s creation—who could be proud? But even daily, I work in the company of many brilliant scientists; no ego could survive that. Likewise, within the company of saints, we soon learn to recognize that our own accomplishments are nothing to brag about. Another essential part of being an astronomer is the ability to say, “I don’t know.” It’s a great human temptation to pretend otherwise and act as though we have everything under control, but that’s never true. Worse, you’ll never try to learn more if you don’t admit what you don’t know. Truth is like an island. The more we know, the bigger the island, but the bigger the island, the longer the shoreline—the boundary where we encounter the vast ocean of what we don’t know. The more we know, the more we realize how ignorant we are. The same is true in our spiritual life. The better a person we are, the more we are aware of our shortcomings. So when St. Paul says that he “will boast of the things that show my weakness,” it is, in truth, a boast. He is good enough to recognize his weaknesses. Of course, when it comes to boasting, today’s Gospel reminds us of another advantage of bragging about our weaknesses: no thief will ever break in and steal them from us!

The Our Father is, without any doubt, the most commented-on passage in all Holy Scripture. No wonder the prayer Jesus taught is so dear to Christian hearts. The early Christians, guided by the precepts of salvation and following the divine commandment, centered their prayer life on this sublime and simple form of words given to them by Jesus. And the last Christians will certainly raise their hearts to say the Our Father for the last time when they are on the point of being taken to heaven. In the meantime, from childhood to death, the Our Father is a prayer that fills us with hope and consolation. Jesus fully realized how helpful this prayer would be to us. We are grateful to him for giving it to us, the apostles for passing it on to us, and our parents, especially our mothers, for teaching it to us in our infancy. St Augustine says that the Lord’s Prayer is so perfect that it sums up everything a person needs to ask God for in a few words. Let us, therefore, humbly petition the Lord with this prayer as we begin each day, centered on the One who is the great I AM.

“When you fast, do not look gloomy.” Unfortunately, that was an accurate statement on my fasting. When I gave up eating certain sugary or high-carbohydrate foods, I tended to take on a dour countenance. As I matured in my understanding of fasting, I learned that fasting is much more than giving up certain foods. Fasting allows us to consciously let go of attitudes and behaviors that keep us from loving God, loving our neighbor, and loving our own dignity. There was nothing in my preparation that focused on this idea of fasting. Fasting can help us “de-centralize the self,” which is crucial in making space for God. There are three aspects of de-centralizing ourselves: The first is through prayer, which de-centralizes the mind; the second is through almsgiving, which de-centralizes our heart; and the third is through fasting, which de-centralizes our body. Fr. Richard Rohr writes, “Fasting is the opportunity to surrender to the divine flow that leads us to a peaceful inner opening that keeps the conduit of living water flowing. It is a quiet willingness to trust that you are a beloved son or daughter of God.” That allows us to draw our strength from what God has deposited within our souls. The generating motor is inside us now instead of a lure or a threat from outside. We do things going forward because they are true, not because we have to or because we are afraid of punishment.

Aileen O’Donoghue ponders on who her “enemies” are. “My ‘enemies’ are rarely true enemies; they’re usually people who are either difficult to get along with or who annoy me. And yet, when I hear this passage, I think, Really? Jesus wants me to love that jerk?” Yes, he does. We sometimes fail to see what Jesus is saying within the context of his overall message. Jesus tells us in today’s reading to “be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” Remembering that he prefaces that statement with examples of loving others is important. His message is a call to love in ways that challenge us – even scare us. This love he calls towards is the love of another simply for the other, with no quid pro expectation. Could this be the perfection he asks us to embrace, the perfection of love? The Apostle John tells us, “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.” When you abide in love, love is perfected in you. George Watson, a famous post-Civil War evangelist, said, “When the heart is made pure, it is then in a condition to be filled with the Holy Spirit, the abiding Comforter, whose presence floods the soul with unmixed love.” The perfection we are asked to pursue is all about perfecting the indwelling love of the spirit. That should be our daily effort – emptying ourselves so we can be filled with his love – then going forth to share that love with others. That’s the mission of the Church and the mission of all who call him Lord and Savior. That is the evangelism we can and should participate in.

Alejandro Iñárritu’s film The Revenant is the story that revolves around a fur trapper from the early 19th century named Hugh Glass and his quest for retribution against the man (Fitzgerald) who kills his son in cold blood and buries him in a shallow grace – left to die. Bishop Robert Barron writes that The Revenant is unremittingly honest in its portrayal of people caught in the awful reality of this fallen world, which is marked through and through by violence, suspicion, hatred, revenge, and the constant struggle to survive in the context of an indifferent nature. For the residents of this universe, the correct mottos are indeed “kill or be killed,” “love your friends but hate your enemies,” and “an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.” If there is no God, as Fitzgerald suggests to one of his underlings, survival at any cost, the law of the jungle, is the supreme law. But if there is a dimension that transcends nature, if there is a God who provides a moral compass and presides over human affairs, then one can let go of vengeance and seek a higher justice. The film ends just as this consciousness of God dawns on Glass. How much of human history has been dominated by revenge which produces an endless cycle of violence? And how present is this dynamic in today’s struggles: Muslim factionalism in the Middle East, anti-Christian violence in Africa, and terrorism everywhere? Nothing within fallen nature will ever break us free of these cycles. Only an openness to the transcendent God, a higher power to whom we can entrust our thirst for justice, will solve the problem that most bedevil the human heart. The slowly-dawning awareness of this truth is the greatest re-birth undergone by Glass.

Today’s Gospel reading begins with a familiar scene: Jesus is preaching, healing, and giving himself completely to everyone who comes to him. But then he pauses; the overwhelming need of the crowds strikes him. And notice this; he doesn’t just redouble his efforts or pray to the Father for his intervention. No, he turns to the disciples and urges them to pray for more workers. Then he sends them out to do works of ministry without him. From that day onward, it became clear that Jesus didn’t intend to do everything himself. He has reserved much of the work of his kingdom for his followers, including us. Bishop Barron writes that we Catholics cannot avoid the demand of evangelization, of proclaiming the faith. Vatican II couldn’t be clearer on this score, seeing the Church as nothing but a vehicle for evangelization. According to Vatican II, it’s not so much the case that the Church has a mission, but rather that a mission has the Church. Bringing people to Christ is not one work among many; rather, it is the central work of the Church, around which everything else we do revolves. Do we need evangelization? The statistics couldn’t be clearer. Did you know there are nearly as many ex-Catholics as Catholics in this country? Did you know that by some estimates, between 50 and 80% of those who attend one of the largest Protestant mega-churches are former Catholics? Did you know that the fastest-growing category in those polls of religious affiliation is “none?” St. Augustine says we need to work as if it all depends on us but pray as if it all depends on God. That can sound awfully challenging, but Jesus reminds us that we have freely received God’s goodness and grace—and that’s what we should be working hard to give away. So let’s give ourselves over willingly to this great work of welcoming and advancing God’s kingdom among us.

Yesterday we celebrated the Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Today we enter with awe into the inner chamber of his Mother’s heart. Sr. Gail Fitzpatrick writes about the amazing contrast this is yet is also deeply uniting. Jesus’ heart overflows with God’s love. It is physically and emotionally tortured by the rejection and hatred of the ones he sought to draw into the circle of the Father’s love. Ultimately, Jesus’ heart is pierced in death—blood and water flow out. Mary, the first disciple of Jesus, shared his heart’s love and suffering. She suffered in the watching, waiting, and pondering, in the hope that holds in prayer but cannot control the events that inevitably lead to her son’s death. Today we might remember all the mothers, fathers, and friends who watch and wait in the suffering of loved ones – the “disappeared” of our world – the beloved elders who courageously walk their final steps into eternity – the children whose lives are tragically cut short. Each of us is called to bear the heartache of others – that is the cost of love. We can learn from Mary to ponder the mystery of God in every person and event. Nothing, no matter how painful, is outside of the circle of God’s love. Mary didn’t understand but accepted in faith these events, even to the breaking open of her own heart.

Fr. Rolheiser writes that the Roman Catholic devotional tradition is one of the great complements to theology. This tradition doesn’t trade on critical thinking but on the romantic imagination. It aspires to inflame the heart. Admittedly, this is risky. Feelings can lead us in many directions, but faith without feeling is perhaps the greater danger. The heart also needs its due. Wendy Wright, a theologian at Creighton University in Nebraska, has written a remarkable book entitled: Sacred Heart – Gateway to God. The book chronicles how she was led to faith and how she now sustains herself there: “A layered reality is part of the Catholic imagination. To possess this imagination is to dwell in a universe inhabited by unseen presences – the presence of God, the presence of saints, and the presence of one another. There are no isolated individuals but rather unique beings whose deepest life is discovered in and through one another. This life transcends the confines of space and time…We – and Jesus and the saints – exist in some essential way outside of the chronology of historical time. We have being beyond the strictures of geographical space. And we can sense this now, in the concreteness of our lives.” The Catholic devotional tradition has long helped make us aware of our many-layered universe. We need to continue to employ its imagination if we are to help our fleshy hearts feel what lies inside God’s eternal heart.