Author: DVO

Christianity calls the human creature to be something it desires at its deepest levels: love of oneself and others. But this effort appears throughout human history to be the most challenging to practice carrying out because of our inability to be obedient to that call, that desire. We “try” to obtain that virtue through unvirtuous behaviors. The one human (and divine) being who taught and showed us how to achieve our deepest desire was Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ. Jesus was the consummate example of being an example of love to the core of what we are created to be. As the Son of God, he could have certainly been the most dominant leader the world had ever seen by wielding his divine power to bring us all in line with the ways of God. But he chose to wield his power and authority through forgiving and healing, always appealing to our free will and never forcing himself on anyone. That defines being a servant leader, and this, in my experience, is the hardest saying we have difficulty dealing with. And because we have difficulty with this teaching and therefore fail to provide others with a model of this kind of “lived love,” many baptized Christians have turned to what the world models as the “way to live” and turn their back on anything related to what they believe is a failed way to live life. The most earth-shaking thing I think any faithful follower of Jesus can hear from people is, “God has no place in my life. He is not relevant.” When the author of life is no longer relevant, our response should be to double down on being his light and love because light dispels the darkness of this thought process, and seeing love lived out concurs all. People will come to love’s light when they see its impact on how we live our lives as his disciples, obedient to love’s calling of fostering a servant’s heart.

Christianity is the earthiest of all religions. Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that Christianity doesn’t call you out of the physical, out of the body, or out of the world. Instead, Christ enters the physical, becomes one with it, blesses it, redeems it, and tells us there is no reason to escape it. Something in that statement goes against the grain. Christ’s relationship to the physical, his language of eating him, was perceived as cannibalism that literally scandalized his contemporaries. It is still hard for us to accept today. But it’s also a wonderful part of Christianity. In the Eucharist, our skin gets touched. Given all our tensions, we need that touch, frequently, daily even. The late essayist and novelist Andre Dubus once wrote an excellent little apologia about why he went to Eucharist regularly, “This morning I received the sacrament I still believe in. The priest elevated the host, then the chalice, and spoke the words of the ritual, and the bread became flesh, the wine became blood, and minutes later, I placed on my tongue the taste of forgiveness and love that affirmed, perhaps celebrated, my being alive, my being mortal. This has nothing to do with immortality, with eternity. Although I believe in that life, I love the earth too much to contemplate life apart from it. No, this has to do with mortality and the touch of flesh, and my belief in the sacrament of the Eucharist is simple: without touch, God is a monologue, an idea, a philosophy; he must touch and be touched, the tongue on flesh, and that touch is the result of the monologues, the idea, the philosophies which led to faith; but in the instant of the touch there is no place for thinking, for talking, the silent touch affirms all that and goes deeper: it affirms the mysteries of love and mortality.” Skin heals when touched. It’s why Jesus gave us the Eucharist.

What is the provenance of this distinctively Catholic conviction that Jesus is “really, truly, and substantially present” under the Eucharistic signs of bread and wine? Bishop Robert Barron would suggest that we begin with the breathtaking discourse of the Lord, found in the sixth chapter of the Gospel of John. Astounded by the miraculous multiplication of the loaves and fishes, the crowds come to Jesus, and he tells them not to search for perishable bread but rather for the bread that “endures to eternal life.”  He then specifies, “I am the living bread come down from heaven…the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.” The central claim of the New Testament is that Jesus is not simply one teacher among many, one more in a long line of prophets, but rather “the word made flesh,” the incarnation of the divine word which made and sustains the world. At the consecration at every Mass, the priest takes bread and wine and pronounces over them, not his own words, but Christ’s. He acts not in his own person but in persona Christi, and hence he affects the transformation that Catholics call “transubstantiation,” the changing of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. And this is why, in the presence of those transformed elements, the only proper action is to fall down in worship.

A continuing challenge for most Christians, including yours truly, is consistently doing the will of the Father. Thomas Merton, the great American Trappist monk, reflecting on the topic of God’s will, said: “The will of God is not a ‘fate’ to which we submit, but a creative act in our life producing something absolutely new, something hitherto unforeseen by the laws and established patterns. Our cooperation in seeking the Kingdom of God by doing His will first consists not solely in conforming to laws but in opening our wills out to this creative act which must be retrieved in and by us.” The difficulty, in part, comes from our daily focus. When I am consistently in daily prayer, seeking the grace of the holy spirit to be attentive and humble to his direction, I find the peace needed to hear him and an attitude that opens me to obey His will in love. Being his vessel of love for others determines the quality of our faith. Fr. Rolheiser writes that a mature disciple doesn’t calculate or make distinctions as to whether God is inside of a particular situation or not, whether a person seems worth it or not, whether a person is a Christian or not, or whether a person appears to be a good person or not, before reaching out in service. A mature disciple serves whoever is in need, independent of those considerations. That is the will of the Father, to do the right thing because it is the right thing to do, not for me but for others.

The Gospel of Mark lets us conclude that every human experience, if given a chance, can speak to us of God. The commission to evangelize requires us to be poets or interpreters of everyday experiences. We help others see life as touched by God. We do that by looking at life in the light of faith. Evangelizing involves looking more deeply into the ordinary to see the Extraordinary and naming the divine graciousness sustaining us. Evangelization is about naming grace. Evangelists in every age do not make God present but name God’s presence. If you have good news, it’s natural to want to share it. We have a kind word at the ready, a hand to lend, and a shoulder to share burdens or catch tears. We tell the truth with love. We have peace at our core, and we share it. We work on our own growth, which leaves little time for gossip or judging. Most of all, we love people with the love we have received and forgive with the mercy we have been shown. The apostles did more than preach about Jesus; they shared the personal stories of their own development of a love relationship with Christ. Love became a golden thread that bound them to their listeners and captivated their hearts. That is why they became such astonishing convert makers. They used the most irresistible force ever invented to change people’s minds by changing people’s hearts first. That is why Easter time always seems as close to paradise as we get on earth and puts the fire and enthusiasm into evangelization.  

So many good people spend most of their lives working to put food on the table to nourish themselves and their families. Fr. Roger J. Landry writes that we all know how important that is, but Jesus is saying that as hard as we work to fulfill that duty of love, we must work much harder for the food that He will give us, the food of eternal life. What is that food that God puts on the table? What is that nourishment of eternal life? If most people spend forty hours a week or more, sometimes working two or three jobs for perishables, what is the imperishable nutrition for which Jesus tells us we should labor even more strenuously? But the main point for us is not simply to know what is the imperishable nourishment for which we should be striving but actually to live for it, to labor for it. Many Catholics, just like the first-century Jews, spend more of their time hungering and working for hamburgers and french fries, for pancakes and sausages, for salads and sweets, than we do for Jesus’ Word, will, and flesh and blood – these are the truly imperishable things. We encounter all of these attributes at Mass. We begin with God’s Word, we make an act of faith with regard to it, we unite ourselves with God’s will and “do this in memory of [Him]” and then have the incredible privilege of receiving the Word made Flesh, God’s daily spiritual manna, in the Eucharist. Becoming one body with Christ in the Eucharist is meant to help us become one with his will and faithfully accomplish it in the world, as we, united with Christ our head, become his hands, feet, heart, and his mouth in the world. That is what the risen life of a Christian in union with Risen Jesus is all about.

Bishop Robert Barron writes that today’s Gospel is one of the greatest stories ever told of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. It is a story of the Church and its mission; therefore, it speaks to us all. On the day of the “new creation,” they are walking in precisely the wrong direction, away from Jerusalem. St. Josemaría Escrivá writes that in the course of their conversation with Jesus, the disciples’ mood changes from sadness to joy. The disciples didn’t get it at first. They didn’t get the Secret. The Mystery. The key. The pattern. And what was that? God’s self-emptying love, yes, even unto death. God’s act of taking upon himself the sins of the world in order to take them away, the Mystery of redemption through suffering. St. Gregory the Great said because those whom Truth was walking couldn’t be alien to charity, they invited him, a stranger, to be their guest. They set the table, brought food, and recognized in the breaking of the bread the God they did not know as he explained the sacred scriptures. The Lord was not recognized when he was speaking, but he deigned to be recognized as he was being fed. Jesus, at first, explains his mission with reference to the prophets, but then, he makes it as vividly present to them as he can; “He took the bread, pronounced the blessing, then broke the bread and began to distribute it to them.” And that’s when it all fell into place, and the puzzle was solved. The Eucharist made present this love unto death, which is more powerful than sin and death. The Eucharist was and is the key. This is the great Eucharistic action of the Church: Jesus offering his very self to us, presenting the drama of his death and resurrection sacramentally.

There has always been confusion about the gifts of the Spirit and its association exclusively with the ordained, not the laity. These gifts are historically the most underutilized and misunderstood gifts given to the Church and the Body of Christ by God; “And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him because he abides with you, and he will be in you…But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything and remind you of all that I have said to you (John 14:16-17, 26). Many of the ordained teach that the “laying on of hands” is exclusively the clergy’s domain. Yet the Church has never taught this. The Catechism of the Catholic Church, the collection of the Church’s official teaching, says, “The Holy Spirit is the principle of every vital and truly saving action in each part of the Body. He works in many ways to build up the Body in charity by the many special graces (called ‘charisms’), by which he makes the faithful ‘fit and ready to undertake various tasks and offices for the renewal and building up of the Church.’ Whether extraordinary or simple and humble, charisms are graces of the Holy Spirit which directly or indirectly benefit the Church, ordered as they are to her building up, to the good of men, and to the needs of the world” (CCC 798-799). The laying on of hands is the charism of healing. The laity is the Body of Christ and, as such, are provided, as God graces, various gifts, and charisms, not for their gratification but for the greater glory of God in service to others.

Jesus Christ is the source of our sustenance. Today’s reading tells the story of the multiplication of the fishes and loaves. This story appears six times in the four Gospels and suggests to each of us the importance of how God sustains us. Thomas Aquinas wrote that the Eucharist is our daily “food for the journey” of life. Archbishop George Niederauer writes that the crowd in today’s reading sees the bread and fish only as a short-term feeding, with more to come soon. Their gratitude to Jesus fits the cynical maxim that they have “a lively sense of favors still to come.” They want a God they can harness and use for their desires rather than a God they can surrender to in love. So afterward, Jesus moves away from them quickly. By contrast, in the first reading, we hear about the apostles joyfully witnessing to Jesus as the risen Savior and their willingness to share in his sufferings on the Cross. Early teachers of our faith loved this comparison that just as many grains of wheat go to make up one loaf of bread, and many grapes go to make up one cup of wine, many different Catholics also go to make up the one body of those who believe in Christ. The Lord strengthens us to live out our faith together through the breaking of bread we partake in through the Eucharistic celebration.    

People struggle with the idea of believing in Jesus but also having to “obey” him. They feel this infringes on their freedom. So, what exactly does it mean to obey Christ? Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that the main thrust of this verse is woven in the two commandments Jesus spoke: “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.” Obedience to Christ is simply making an effort to submit one’s ego (with all its wounds, desires, lusts, private ambitions, and envies) to these commandments of love. It means putting Jesus and how he asked us to live our life higher than ourselves. It requires living what we believe. It’s not easy, but we have other examples of a life lived within this objective to encourage us: Teilhard de Chardin, Simone Weil, Mother Teresa, Daniel Berrigan…the list could go on. In each person mentioned above, we see a life predicated on a genuflecting of their will to something higher than themselves. By their own admission, they were not perfect, but they did consistently make an effort, with the grace of God, to live in obedience to Christ. That is all He asks of each of us, to be His light and love to the world.