Seeking the True, Good, and Beautiful Online

When we look at how the world has changed since the time of Jesus, there is no doubt a lot that is different. New continents have been discovered since then, historical events and technological innovations have changed how we live, and we have new social, cultural, and political frameworks for how to understand the world.

At the same time, human beings are still human beings. In many ways, the things we care about today aren’t all that different from what mattered to the people of Jesus’s day. Our Gospel this morning is a good example. The Pharisees come to Jesus, concerned that his disciples were failing to comply with a basic external practice of the Jewish law: to ritually wash one’s hands before eating. Jesus, in turn, criticizes the Pharisees for failing to adhere to the interior precept of that same law: to maintain a clean heart, so that in all things God may be glorified.

At first glance, the debate of this Gospel may seem very distant from our lives today. But while you and I may not be familiar with the particulars of the ancient Jewish ritual of hand washing, we are certainly familiar with the more fundamental questions involved here – things like: minding someone else’s business rather than our own, of keeping up appearances in order to look good to others, and of failing to actually live out the values we impose on others. The dangers of gossip, judgmentalism, and hypocrisy are ever-present in our modern world. And that’s maybe especially true for us who are Christians – not because we are naturally worse in those regards than others, but because our Lord specifically calls us to be better than others. If we want to follow Jesus, we have to keep our heart clean, as well as our hands.

Jan Luyken's Bible, The Dispute about Eating with Unwashed Hands (early 18th cent.)
(From the Phillip Medhurst Collection of Bible Prints)

One area of our lives where these questions often converge is in our interactions on the internet. Jesus said that “nothing that enters one from outside can defile that person.” Perhaps we might be tempted to object when we consider what can be found online: on message boards and blogs, on social media apps, and even far worse things from other corners of the internet. It’s enough to make anyone feel defiled! But even here, the wisdom of Jesus holds up: the internet is a human invention, and so what we find there is ultimately a reflection of ourselves. The problems of the internet are all too real, but they too originate from within our own hearts.

How should we as Christians behave online? The simple answer is: the same way we should behave offline. If the things we read, or the things we watch, or the things we post or like or share, are in any way inconsistent with our commitment to Christ, then we should stop doing them, simple as that. In practice, that may not always be simple to figure out. That’s why I think there are three general principles that can guide our online behavior, to keep it consistent with our Christian faith:

• “Is it true?” The internet is a forum for all kinds of facts and viewpoints, but unfortunately this also means it’s rife with false information, speculation, and outright conspiracy theories. As Christians, we have a commitment to the Truth, and so we should constantly be asking ourselves: Is what I am reading/watching/posting true? Is it consistent with what I know to be true, from my faith, my values, and my lived experience? Is it leading me and others closer to the One who is Truth itself?

• “Is it good?” As Christians, we have a duty to pursue goodness, for ourselves and others. This includes our interactions online. There’s a lot that can be found online which is good: information, communication, recreation. But as I mentioned, there’s a lot that isn’t good, too. We should ask ourselves: Is what I am reading/watching/posting aligned with what is good? Is it beneficial to me in being a better person, a holier person? Is it conducive to helping others in their own pursuit of goodness?

• “Is it beautiful?” There’s a lot on the internet, especially on social media, that is about appearing beautiful, or having a life that appears to be beautiful. But often those concerns can lead to a disconnect between appearance and reality; they can distract us from what is truly beautiful – Christian virtue, the human heart conformed to the image and likeness of God. If we all strove to be a little more spiritually beautiful in our dealings online – more charitable, more forgiving, more understanding, more Christlike in all that we say and do – then we could take great strides in making even that part of our lives to conform with our Christian identity.

Friends, whether we are very active online or not, Jesus provides all of us with a good examination of conscience today. The evil things we see in the world and on the internet have their origin within us. That’s why, as Christians, we must be especially careful online and in person not to fall victim, as the Pharisees did, to gossip, to judgmentalism, to hypocrisy, or to any other way of attending only to externals and not to the interiors of our own hearts. Let’s be sure instead to seek the True, the Good, and the Beautiful in all that we do, or say, or post – so that in all things God may be glorified.

Meeting the Lord Halfway

Recently, I was talking with a friend who is also a priest. We haven’t seen each other in several years, and we discussed trying to find a time to meet up. The problem is both of our schedules are pretty busy, and neither of us have time to travel all the way to where the other lives. So, I suggested, “Okay, what if we tried to meet in the middle?” Meeting halfway might be a compromise that could work for both of us.

Life, in many ways, is all about compromise, about making adjustments when what you want and what someone else wants aren’t both possible. Whether it’s in business, or in social settings, or even in handling our own expectations of ourselves, the ability to compromise, to meet someone halfway, is an important skill to have.

But is compromise always good? Aren’t there some things for which compromising might actually lead us away from what is good? Today’s readings point us in this direction. In the first reading, Joshua tells the people of Israel that there can be no compromise in their worship of the Lord God; to worship the idols of the country they found themselves in was necessarily to betray the worship of the true God who brought them out of slavery in Egypt. And in the second reading, St. Paul encourages husbands and wives to not give up in striving to love each other in the fullest possible way: in fidelity, in self-sacrifice, in mutual respect. Compromising any of those goals is to betray is promised in marriage, and indeed, to fall short of the ideal of married love, the love that Christ has for the Church.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is also unwilling to compromise. The sixth chapter of John began with the passage we heard four weeks ago: when Jesus multiplies the loaves and the fish to feed the five thousand. But it ends with today’s passage, when many people walk away from Jesus – even many of his disciples, we are told, stop following him because they found his teaching too hard to accept. Perhaps we might think: Why couldn’t Jesus soften his teaching a bit? Maybe compromise a little on what he was asking of his followers? Surely, that would seem to be a better way to maximize the number of his disciples? But Jesus, it seems, isn’t interested in merely winning people over. He has come to lead them to the Truth, and just like in worship and in the goods of marriage, the Truth is not something that can be compromised. Jesus himself *is* the Truth, as we know from another part of John’s Gospel: “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life.” If we want to receive the fullness of He who is Truth and Life, we can’t be satisfied with half measures.

Gustave Brion, Jesus and Peter on the Water (1863)

For that reason, in our own path of discipleship, it is important to understand that eventually we will all be tempted to compromise our faith. At some point or another, we will run up against something that challenges us, that seems hard to accept, and we will feel the inclination to walk away. For some people, it is believing in the truth of the Scriptures themselves: can the Gospels really give us an accurate portrayal of the life and death of this man who lived two millennia ago? Or maybe, it is the authority of the Church: does the Catholic Church really speak with the Lord’s spiritual and moral authority? Most often, though, especially for those of us in the pews on Sunday, it is something more subtle. Maybe we are willing to come to Mass each week, but when the Lord invites us to deepen our prayer life, or study his Word in the Scriptures, or meet him in the sacrament of reconciliation, we are hesitant. Maybe we are proud to call ourselves Catholic, unless it means risking the esteem of others or accepting those teachings of the Church that we find difficult. Maybe we are glad to believe in everything Jesus commanded us to do, except for those bits about loving and praying for our enemies, or forgiving from our hearts those who hurt us, or renouncing our possessions, or cutting out of our lives whatever causes us to sin.

As I said, at some point or another, we will find that something about ourselves – some belief or behavior or attitude – is opposed to the One who is Truth and Life. The question then will be: are we willing to change, to adapt to what Jesus calls us to, or will we walk away? Can we accept what the Lord offers, even when it is hard, or will we let our faith be compromised? What we need in those difficult moments is the humility that Peter showed. Maybe, like him, we don’t understand everything right then, maybe we struggle to believe what Jesus or the Church teaches, but it’s right there in that moment that our Father in heaven can give us the grace to say what Peter said: “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” To hold on to our faith in the hard moments, to resist the urge to walk away, is to take one step further in the path of discipleship, one step closer to heaven.

Friends, maybe at times we wish God would meet us halfway – and in truth, he has. Jesus himself is our Mediator with the Father, the gift God has given to us to meet us halfway. By his life on earth, by his Presence still among us, he comes to meet us – especially in the reality of the Eucharist, the celebration of the very sacrament which many found difficult to accept. When we meet the Lord here, in the humility of faith, then we trust that he will lead us the rest of the way: to eternal life.

The Queen of All Saints

One of the things I love most about our Catholic faith is that it is truly universal. The Catholic Church has reached all corners of the world such that, no matter where you go, you can find evidence of our elder brothers and sisters in the faith, the saints. For example, in Italy, you can venerate the relics of countless saints, including St. Peter, St. Benedict, St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Catherine of Siena. In India, many people make pilgrimage to the tombs of St. Thomas the Apostle and St. Francis Xavier. In Africa, you can visit the shrines of St. Charles Lwanga and his fellow martyrs in Uganda, of Bl. Benedict Daswa in South Africa, and of Bl. Cyprian Tansi in Nigeria. And here in the western hemisphere, there are the tombs of St. Martin de Porres and St. Rose of Lima in Peru; St. Jose Sanchez del Rio and Bl. Miguel Pro in Mexico; and St. Elizabeth Ann Seton, St. Katherine Drexel, and St. John Neumann right here in the United States.

All of these saints, and every saint in heaven, gave glory to God by the way they lived and died. And since the earliest days of the Church, Christians have had their own faith strengthened by honoring and venerating the mortal bodies of those saintly men and women who came before them. But there’s one saint for whom we *can’t* do this. Mary, the Mother of Jesus, is the greatest of the saints – we call her the Queen of All Saints. And yet, there is no church or shrine that claims to have any of her relics. In all of our two-thousand-year history, there has never been a tradition of Christians venerating her bones or mortal remains.

And that is because, as we celebrate today, Mary’s body is *not* here on earth but in heaven. Our faith teaches that, at the close of her life, not only Mary’s soul but also her body entered heaven, and thus she was preserved from the corruption of death. The mortal fragility of our bodies, as well as the fact that our mortal bodies decompose after we pass away, is a result of human sinfulness. But because Mary was conceived immaculately, and thus preserved from all stain of sin, it was fitting that she would not be subject to the corruption of death. And, as our Church has solemnly defined, her Immaculate Conception resulted in the Assumption of her body and soul into heaven at the close of her earthly life.

 

Jerónimo Jacinto de Espinosa, The Adoration of the Most Holy Eucharist (c. 1650) 

So, why does this matter for us? For at least two reasons. First, it tells us what we believe about the Mother of God. All of the saints in heaven are, as I said before, our elder brothers and sisters in the faith; all of them can help us here on earth, not only by their example but also by their intercession for us. But above all, Mary can help us because she enjoys the fullness of the Resurrected human life, just as Jesus enjoys it. The other saints in heaven? They are perfectly happy, since they behold God face to face. But in a certain sense they are also incomplete, since their souls are still awaiting final reunion with their bodies; like us, they look forward also to the Resurrection, when their earthly bodies will be resurrected and glorified to join their beatified souls. Mary, on the other hand, already enjoys the fullness of that blessed reality. Because God has crowned her with the fullness of every possible blessing, she is able to intercede for us in the fullest possible way.

The second reason today’s solemnity is important is that shows us the final end of our faith – what God wants for all persons who believe in his Son. Mary is the Mother of Jesus but she is also the disciple par excellence, and by means of the blessings she received – in this life and especially in the life to come – she shows us what God intends for every disciple of Jesus. In her, we see that our faith is not just a nice idea – something to give us comfort in difficult moments but which isn’t really true – and certainly not a luxury, something that is beneficial to have but which can be left aside when it’s inconvenient. No, our faith is the most absolutely essential, life-or-death thing that we have; it is what really will save us, not just our souls but our bodies too. We see in Mary what God’s final purpose is for our human lives: to dwell with him in heaven, in the fullness of our human life, body and soul. What we hope for is something far greater than to be angels, because angels do not have bodies. We hope to be like Mary – beholding God, worshiping him with our souls and our bodies, in perfect happiness forever.

Friends, if we weren’t celebrating today’s feast we would have heard today these words of Jesus in the Gospel: “Whoever eats my Flesh and drinks my Blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day.” Because we come here to partake of the Lord's Body and Blood, we can therefore await with firm hope and eager joy that Day of Resurrection which Mary now enjoys. For on that Day, our bodies and the bodies of all the saints, from wherever they rest on earth – from Italy, and India, and Africa, and from here in our own country – all of them will be raised up and, we pray, glorified in heaven, as Mary’s body is now. 

May this Eucharist be the pledge of that salvation for which we hope.

Sealed with the Spirit

Authenticity is important. Whenever I receive a letter, or an email, or a phone call, I make sure it is authentic – that is, that the person contacting me really is who they say they are. Recently, I’ve noticed this happen to me as well. When I call or email someone I don’t know well, people sometimes want to make sure it’s the real me, and not just someone pretending to be me. Very wise in this day and age of fake messages and spam calls!

Spiritually, authenticity is also important. We say that we are the beloved children of God, created by him and redeemed by him, and who now share in a mystical way in his own divine life. But how do we verify that? Who’s to say we aren’t just pretending all of those things? When times get tough, when people question us or we question ourselves, perhaps we need some sign of assurance that we really are who we say we are.

In today’s second reading, Saint Paul gives us an answer to the question of how we can be sure of our spiritual identity. Writing to the Christian community in Ephesus, he says that God has placed his seal upon all who believe in his Son. In ancient times, a seal was a unique sign of ownership: it verified the authenticity of the object or person that carried it. St. Paul says that we have been sealed with the Holy Spirit for the day of redemption, and so it is by his presence that we are who we claim to be. We receive the Holy Spirit at our baptism, when our souls are marked with the Lord’s seal and he claims us definitively as his own.

It’s important not to pass over this idea too quickly. How do we know we are really God’s beloved children? First and foremost, by *his* action, by what *he* has done. We tend to think of holiness as something primarily dependent upon us; whatever our relationship with God might be at the moment, we think of it as determined mostly our efforts, strivings, prayers, etc. In fact, the opposite is true. It is always God’s action that is first and foremost. In baptism, he claimed us definitively as his sons and daughters and we remain marked with that seal forever.

Saint Paul the Apostle (c. 1620) by Claude Vignon

Of course, having been marked with his seal, having been given the authentic presence of his Holy Spirit, God calls us to cooperate with him in living out that authentic identity he has given us. That’s why St. Paul is encouraging the Ephesians to not give into what is out of step with the identity they have in the Holy Spirit – “bitterness, fury, anger, shouting… reviling… along with all malice,” – but instead to “be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving one another as God has forgiven you in Christ.” Those may sound like just nice platitudes, but they’re not. They are the real abilities to do what we would otherwise not be able to do, precisely because we have been marked by the Holy Spirit. By his grace and presence, our thoughts and desires, our attitudes, our actions, and above all how we treat one another can be transformed into those of Jesus, into the very identity of Christ.

That matters, not just for us but also for others. We can think about all the ways in which we want a better world: more peaceful, more loving, more oriented toward the truth, more forgiving. At times, we may wonder, “Where is God; why is he not acting to bring about such a world?” The answer is he is: he is precisely in and through us, and through all those whom he has marked as his sons and daughters. With the Holy Spirit within us, we are the instruments by which he seeks to remake his creation. That’s why it’s so critical for us to not be fake or pretending in our Christian identity, but to live out that identity authentically. When we choose to give up bitterness, fury, anger, malice, when we choose to be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving others because God has forgiven us, then we aren’t just choosing to be holier for ourselves alone – we are helping to bring about the very transformation of the world, the very world that God wants to give us.

Friends, to help us to do all of this, our heavenly Father also gives us his constant assistance. He gives us the Living Bread come down from heaven, the very Body and Blood of his Son, who recreates us with his Presence, who gives us a renewed share in his identity each time we receive him. May the grace of this Eucharist assist us to authentically live out the identity with which we were sealed in our baptism – to be faithful to the name of Christian until the day of redemption.

Stubborn Faith

One of the things about ministering to a community that has two language groups is that I’m constantly working to make myself better understood. To do that, I have to keep learning. Recently, I learned – or probably, relearned – the Spanish word for “stubborn”: “terco.” It’s an important word to know, if for not other reason than that I have been described as “terco” myself a time or two.

Stubbornness, “la terquedad,” is often a hindrance to growth in the spiritual life. Today’s readings give us good examples of this. In the reading from Exodus, the Israelites are journeying in the desert. Having been led out of slavery in Egypt, they are now undergoing a period of trial before they enter the Promised Land. However, rather than rely upon the God who rescued them from bondage so dramatically, they resort instead to grumbling. God is trying to test and deepen their faith, but out of stubbornness for what they knew before, the Israelites only complain.

Something similar is going on in the Gospel. Jesus has been performing miracles all around the region of Galilee, culminating in the one we heard about last week, the multiplication of the loaves and the fish. But despite all the signs that have been given to them, the people are stubborn. Despite just being fed miraculously by him, they ask Jesus again for a sign for why they should believe in him. He chides them for not looking beyond their physical hunger to see what God is doing right in front of their eyes.

Peter Paul Rubens, The Israelites Gathering Manna in the Desert (c. 1627)

What might these readings tell us about ourselves? We face trials, too – perhaps we feel we are being tested right now, in some way specific to ourselves, or just generally with all that is going on around us. When these arise, we can resort to being stubborn in the way that the Israelites and the people of Galilee were. We can grumble and complain, we can focus on what we don’t have or yearn for what we used to have, and we can even demand that God give us some sign for why we should believe in him.

But that’s not really the best response, is it? Not only does it not actually help meet our needs, but that kind of stubborn grumbling usually leads us even further away from God, perhaps forever. The Christian author C.S. Lewis once wrote: “Hell begins with a grumbling mood, always complaining, always blaming others... In each of us there is something growing, which will BE hell unless it is nipped in the bud.” What Lewis recognizes is that we need to cut off at the root that temptation to grumble and be bitter or else it may very well lead to our own damnation.

A better response to any trial or testing is intentional perseverance in faith. In a sense, this is a kind of stubbornness, too, but not one that comes from grumbling or focusing on what we don’t have – or demanding that we be shown proof for why to believe – but rather a remembrance of and reliance upon the goodness of God. Recalling the blessings of God, present or past, can inspire in us a gratitude for what he has given and ward off temptation to abandon hope in a time of current need. Blessed Solanus Casey, a Franciscan priest from Detroit who lived in the first half of the 20th century and whose feast we celebrated this past week, used to give a simple bit of advice to those who were undergoing trials: “Thank God ahead of time.” When we give thanks to God for what we have received, or even (strange as it may seem) for what we have not yet received, we look beyond our present need and become open to what he is doing right in front of us. This sort of stubborn faith – refusing to give into discouragement, rejecting any temptation to complain or become ungrateful – is just the sort of faith that God wants to grow and deepen within us in order to lead us to something greater. In this way, our trials can become little periods in the desert, by which he teaches us to rely upon him as we journey ever closer to his Promised Land.

Friends, in this life, the Lord wants us always to keep learning – not new words of a foreign language, but new ways of trusting in him and seeing what he is doing right in front of our eyes. Let’s ask the Lord to make us all “terco,” stubborn – but stubborn not in our grumbling but in our faith in him. Whatever trial or difficulty we may be facing, let’s take the advice of Fr. Casey and “thank God ahead of time,” even as we keep asking him for what we need. As we prepare to receive the Bread of Life, our Daily Bread, may this Sacrament strengthen our faith and increase our gratitude so that we may never stray from God’s grace.

See the Whole Story

Just about any event can be told from multiple perspectives. For example, the Olympics have just started. In any competition, the basic story of what happens is the same, but different perspectives will emphasize different things. The winning side will understand the event differently than the losing side; the view of the coach is going to be different from the view of the spectators. Perspective matters, and to see the whole story, you need to hear each perspective.

In today’s Gospel, we hear the miracle of Jesus’s multiplication of the loaves and the fish. It’s the only one of Jesus’s miracles that is attested to by all four Evangelists: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John each relate this story. They do so in their own way, with slightly different emphases and details, but all relating the same central event: Jesus did something unexplainable in human terms, miraculously feeding thousands of people, and it affected them so greatly that they wanted to carry him off to make him king. While that is the basic story of what happened, to fully understand this Gospel perhaps we should consider it from different perspectives.

The first perspective we might consider is that of the crowd. They have been following Jesus around the Sea of Galilee, and we are told why: “because they saw the signs he was performing on the sick.” These thousands of people came out from their towns and villages to encounter healing, or better, a Healer – someone who could cure them of what ailed them. Often that was physical illness, but maybe in other cases it was something in their soul: a world-weariness, a tendency to despair, even forgiveness of their sins. They recognized in Jesus someone who could meet their deepest needs, so much so that they apparently were willing to risk staying out late in a deserted place with nothing to eat.

From this viewpoint of the crowd, we might ask: What are my needs right now? Where do I need healing? Can Jesus help me with that? Do I believe that he can?

Another perspective in the Gospel is that of the disciples. Jesus makes it clear to them that he is concerned about the crowd’s welfare; he wants to give them something to eat, and he invites the disciples to help him. Philip responds with skepticism; they have nowhere near enough money to be able to buy food for all the thousands of people. Andrew begins doing what he can, offering the meager resources of a few loaves and fish, but he also doesn’t see what good that will do. Importantly, though, once Jesus begins to act, they respond with faith. They trust that Jesus will be able to meet the need that is before them, even if they don’t understand precisely how. And Jesus uses that trust, just as he uses the loaves and the fish. The disciples help him to distribute the food and to gather up what is left over, and only then is the true extent of the miracle known.

Based on the disciples’ perspective, we might ask: Where is the Lord inviting me to help him to meet the needs of others? Will I respond with skepticism or reluctance? Or will I respond with trust, doing what I can and trusting him to provide the rest?

Anton von Perger, Multiplication of the Loaves (1838)

And, of course, there’s a third perspective from which we can look at this miracle: that of Jesus himself. While we can’t presume to know the mind of Christ, perhaps today’s psalm give us some insight into what he must have thought and felt as he performed this miracle: “The hand of the Lord feeds us, he answers all our needs.” As man, Jesus knew the Scriptures intimately; as God, he was their very author. In the miracle of the loaves and the fish, he makes the meaning of Psalm 145 come alive in a very tangible way. He is the Lord God in the flesh, feeding his people and providing for their needs. Of course, Jesus wanted to provide for the needs of his people in a way far beyond physical food; he wanted to give them himself, his own Body and Blood to meet their deepest spiritual need, his own Presence. It’s for that reason then that this Gospel is full of Eucharistic imagery, and over the next several weeks, we will continue to hear from the sixth chapter of John, as Jesus explains the teaching of the Eucharist, his Body as true Food and his Blood as true Drink.

Perhaps we might consider: is the Eucharist at the center of my faith? Can I look beyond outward appearance to see Jesus meeting my needs? Do I understand it to be Jesus himself, feeding me with himself?

Friends, there is one last perspective to consider, and that is ours. This Gospel gives us a way of looking at life, because it’s not just Gospel stories and miracles long ago that demand a deeper perspective. At every moment, in every situation, we should strive to see the whole story, to understand the spiritual meaning of what is happening. For any event, we can ask: Where is the Lord at work here? Whose need is he meeting, mine or someone else’s? What is he asking of me? How does his Presence, especially in the Eucharist, help me to do what he asks?

May the Eucharist that we will celebrate – in which Jesus himself will feed us as truly as he fed the crowds, not with loaves and fish, but with his Body and his Blood – may this Eucharist lead us in all things to a deeper trust and reliance upon him. “The hand of the Lord feeds us, he answers all our needs.”

Resting in Jesus

The human body needs on average somewhere between seven to ten hours of rest each night, depending on one’s age and health. We know scientifically how important that rest is: it allows the body to be restored and rejuvenated, and it allows the mind to remember, process, and even learn from the experiences that happened that day. Rest is not just something we should do; it is something we must do to function well.

In the Gospel today, Jesus calls the disciples to come away with him for a while to rest. Remember how last week we heard that he had sent them out to evangelize: to go out to the towns and villages, to cast out demons, and to preach repentance. Apparently, they were successful! When they come back to tell Jesus what they had done, the people follow them and continue to appeal to them, to the point that the disciples don’t even have a chance to eat. If they were too busy to eat, they certainly were too busy to rest.

Jesus Commands the Apostles to Rest (c. 1894) by James Tissot

Taking time to rest is important; Jesus himself says so. But what kind of rest really benefits us? We need physical rest, obviously, but what about mental and emotional and spiritual rest? In reality, we often trade that kind of rest for relaxation: just zoning out, surfing the internet, scrolling social media, or binge watching TV. We may enjoy those things, but I think we also know at a deeper level that they’re not really restful. In fact, they can have the opposite effect, getting us worked up or stressed out, pushing us even farther away from being truly rested and restored. Other kinds of rest that we might think of – taking a day off, enjoying the company of friends, getting away for a vacation – those things are good, but even they don’t fully restore and rejuvenate us.

What we need is the kind of rest that Jesus calls the disciples to – a rest that is with him, in his company. Jesus commands this of every disciple, anyone who wishes to follow him, just as he commanded us last week to go out and bring his message to others. Both are necessary: to work and labor in his name, bearing his message to others, and to come away for a while and find rest and repose in him. This spiritual rest is what we call prayer. Sometimes we think of prayer only as something we *do*: words that we recite, or intentions that we speak to God. But prayer is also essentially a disposition, a way of being, a spiritual demeanor aimed at recognizing God’s presence and resting in him.

To do this, we have to eliminate distractions. Notice how Jesus invites the disciples to come away to a deserted place; that is because it is easiest to pray in quiet, in silence. When we try to pray in the same place that we spend most of our day, in the crowded, busy spaces – physical or spiritual - that we are accustomed to, we’re going to have difficulty. When we are unwilling to put down our phones, or put away our other devices, when we can’t pull ourselves away from the endless chatter that we listen to, it is going to be hard to rest in Jesus. That’s why he calls us to come away for a while – to leave those other things and even persons behind so as to spend time with him, resting in his presence. It is not always possible to do this. We may not be able to find that deserted place, physically or spiritually, that is most conducive for an encounter with the Lord. When that happens, try to pray anyway; it is better to have imperfect prayer than no prayer at all. But we should try to carve out each day some time – even if only 15 or 20 minutes – where we can put ourselves into silence and solitude, and rest in Jesus. It is not always easy or enjoyable, but it is what he asks of us as disciples.

Of course, the greatest prayer we have is the Mass, and for that reason the Mass should be the place of our greatest spiritual rest. Notice I said "spiritual" – Mass is not the place to catch up on sleep! But how important it is to see the Mass, the Sunday Mass especially, as more than just something we do out of habit, even more than just an obligation. It is an obligation; Jesus commands it, but he does so because he knows we need it. We should wish to come to Mass because we see it as the place of our deepest rest, our opportunity be spiritually restored and rejuvenated, to contemplate and understand better the experiences of that happen to us in the world. The Mass is our spiritual rest, because it is where we encounter God most nearly in this world. Jesus himself is our peace, as St. Paul tells the Ephesians, and so in the Mass we are most clearly in the care of our Good Shepherd. It is here in the Mass where we hear his words spoken to us and where his loving mercy is brought near. It is here in the Mass where he ministers to us, as he did to the people of the towns and villages of Galilee who came to him. It is here in the Mass that we – the Lord’s friends, his disciples – come away for a while from all that wearies and worries us, to step out of the world for a time to rest with him, so that refreshed and rejuvenated, we can go back to once again labor in his name.

Perhaps you heard that this past week Pope Francis issued some changes about how the Mass can be celebrated. Specifically, he restricted the celebration of the Mass in the way it was celebrated before the Second Vatican Council, the so-called Traditional Latin Mass. This form of the Mass isn’t very common in our diocese, and it won’t affect us here; but still, the pope’s decision has been controversial and is very painful for many Catholics who prefer that way of worship. While the particulars of the decision might be debated, I think what is important for us is that clearly the Holy Father desires that there be greater unity in how we worship at Mass: a deeper reverence, a fuller conscious participation, and a more loving appreciation for how the Mass puts us in communion with the Lord who is our spiritual rest. Perhaps we each can reflect upon how we approach the Mass, as individuals and as a community. Do we prepare well each week for the chance to meet Jesus, our Good Shepherd? Do we pray each day in preparation for the Mass, striving to make this the sum of all of our prayer? Do we come to find rest here – not relaxation, not entertainment – but rest, rejuvenation, communion with the Lord?

Friends, the Lord who calls us to rest and to pray will also help us to do that if we ask him. Like St. Paul tells the Ephesians, just as Jesus broke down the dividing wall between mankind and God by his Cross, let’s ask him now to break through all that keeps us from resting in him: our daily cares and responsibilities, our distractions and drudgery, even the disunity that sometimes appears here in his house. May the Eucharist that we will celebrate strengthen and unify us in body and in soul so that together we may find in him, especially in his Presence here, our peace and our rest.

Open or Closed

You might remember that in May our diocese ordained five men to the priesthood, and within the last few weeks, those new priests all have begun their parish assignments. They are doing so in parishes different from the ones they are from. Some people find this strange; they think it makes better sense to have a new priest begin his ministry in his home parish, where he already is known and has a base of support. But in reality, the opposite is true: it is usually much better for a priest, especially a new priest, to serve in a community where he is not well known.

We see the reason why in today’s Gospel. Jesus goes to his native place, his hometown, where the people have heard that he has become famous for his preaching and miracles. When he preaches in their synagogue, however, rather than be impressed with him, they become contemptuous. We are told “they took offense at him,” either because they don’t see the practicality of his preaching mission, or perhaps because they think he’s become too high and mighty. They know his background, the members of his extended family. Just who does he think he is, pretending to be a man of God?

The irony, of course, is that the people of his hometown *don’t* know who Jesus really is. Their very familiarity with him is an obstacle to seeing his true identity, which comes not from his earthly family from his heavenly Father. Because they prejudge Jesus, they are not able to hear in his voice the voice of God speaking to them, and so they are closed off from seeing his power. We are told Jesus only worked a few miracles among them because their faith was so greatly lacking.

Christ in the Synagogue at Nazareth (1658) by Gerbrand van de Eeckhout

This Gospel should prompt within us a certain cautiousness about our own openness to hearing God’s voice and how that openness relates to our faith. Most of us think, “I’d be glad to hear what God has to say, if only I knew!” That’s surely true when what he has to say is pleasing to us, but what about when it isn’t? When the Lord wants to speak something more challenging to us – forgiving that person that we don’t want to, or turning away from that sin that we like and have become accustomed to, or trusting him in a way that seems scary – it’s then that we might be tempted to think, “No, God couldn’t possibly be speaking to me in that way.” We end up thwarting the voice of God, and thus limiting what he can do with us, precisely because we think we know better. 

I find this often happens in relation to how we listen to the Church. As Catholics, we believe that the Church is not just the collection of believers; it is the community of faith, the Mystical Body of Christ guided by the Holy Spirit, in and through whom God really does speak to us. The question is whether we are always open to believing that. When our pope or our bishop teaches on a topic that we don’t want to hear about, we might be tempted to think: “That’s just the man talking, not God!” Or when the pastor preaches a challenging sermon, we might be tempted to say, “Oh Father, it’s so nice that you actually believe that, but that’s just not very realistic to how life really is.” Or if a friend or fellow parishioner invites us to reform our life, and embrace what the Church teaches rather than the culture, we might tempted to respond, “No, I just don’t think God would ask me to do that.” In all of those situations, and more, we have the choice either to open ourselves to what the power of God can do simply via our faith in him, or else to close ourselves off by believing that we know better.

I remember a particular encounter that I had shortly after I was ordained with a man who had fallen on rocky times. He was having trouble seeing God’s will for his life, and frankly, was doubting that God really cared much about him at all. I gave him some counsel that I knew would be difficult for him to hear but which was in accord with Church teaching and what I knew God wanted him to hear. A few months later he came back to me, and he said, “Father, thank you so much. You know, I didn’t believe you at first – I thought, ‘What does this young priest know about it?’ But then I did what you said, and you were exactly right.” God worked a miracle for that man, precisely because he was humble enough not to close himself to what was difficult to hear.

Friends, may we always have that same openness – to hear what we need to, even when it is hard. Like the people of Jesus’s hometown, foolishness and hardheartedness can be obstacles of our own making that prevent us from hearing how the Lord speaks to us. The truth is that he often does so in surprising ways, through unexpected voices, and even in that which may be difficult to hear. But if we trust in him, if as members of the Mystical Body of Christ we humbly open ourselves to what he is saying and not close ourselves in on our own presumptions, we can be sure that he will make his power known to us. Perhaps he may even do that which is miraculous – “What mighty deeds are wrought by his hands!”

Brushes with Life

Last week, I received some very sad news. I learned that a family I knew from a previous parish had passed away very suddenly. The parents and the daughter had gone on a family vacation when they were involved in a car accident just a few miles from home. It was the kind of news that first felt unbelievable and then just left me feeling helplessly sad. As I was praying for them, I realized that I’m sure I have driven on the same stretch of road many times myself. I began to recall the various occasions when I’ve been driving in which, if things had happened just a little differently, I would not be standing here speaking to you today.

I mention all of this not to depress you, but because I imagine we each could share a similar story. From time to time we have experiences that we might call a brush with death – whether driving, or in other ways, via illness or accident – a moment when we realize that things could have turned out very differently. And such experiences remind us, sometimes jarringly so, that our lives are fragile, and that tomorrow is not guaranteed for any of us.

Our readings today also address the topic of life and death. In the first reading of the Book of Wisdom, we are assured that death was not a part of God’s plan for human life. It entered our reality instead through sin, through the temptations of the devil and the weakness of human beings. What God wants for his human creatures is what he has always wanted for us: to have life! But why does then does he still permit death? He could, if he chose, simply take it away — he could give all of us immortality. But is merely taking away death a solution to the problem? Is that really dealing with the deeper issue of sin and evil that afflicts the world? If God just made it so that everyone lived forever, would we even want that? What would prevent us from sinning again, from falling back into spiritual death over and over again, forever?

What God needed was a solution to death much deeper than just taking it away. And he found it in sending us his Son, Jesus. Through Him, he created all things and brought them to life, and through him he also shows us his power over death, as we see very clearly in today’s Gospel. Through Jesus, the daughter of Jairus is raised from the dead; through Jesus, the woman in the crowd is healed of her hemorrhage and restored to the fullness of life. To encounter Jesus is to have a brush not with death but with life, with the very Author of Life. And, finally, in his own Death, Jesus achieved what all the other miracles in his life had been leading up toward: he undid the power of death, and opened the way for all persons into new and eternal life. In the Resurrection of Christ, God has at last provided a solution to the sorrow and sin of the world in such a way that life is no longer bound by death or any other earthly power.

George Henry Harlow, The Virtue of Faith (1817)

If God has done all this heavy lifting for us, what does he ask of us? To encounter his Son – to have a brush with his eternal life. Sometimes this might come in prayer, through the powerful consolation of God’s presence when we are feeling weak or of his love when we are feeling wounded. Perhaps it comes to us through the charity of others, a kind word or a helpful hand when we need it most, and our charity toward others when they do. It especially comes in the sacraments: those moments of encounter which are very truly a brush with the Lord’s life. Today’s Gospel reminds us of the importance of approaching every sacrament with faith. When we come forward to receive Holy Communion, we must each time reaffirm our faith in who is actually present; like Jairus, we must receive with great humility and reverence the One who enters under our roof. When we seek the grace of confession (which we should do before receiving Holy Communion if we are conscious of serious sin) then we must recognize in faith that it is truly Christ who is forgiving us – it is he who restores us to life, just as he did the woman in the crowd. We must make sure that we are never like the other members of the crowd, who despite their own needs and desires, failed to truly recognize the power of the One who was in their midst.

Friends, what God wants us for us is what he has always wanted: to have life. In Jesus, he has given us a way to have it to the full – not just earthly life as we know it, but the new and everlasting life of his Son’s Resurrection. It is that life toward which he is drawing us, and for which he permits even the sorrows and tragedies that we face. By faith, we learn to see beyond life’s fragility to recognize … not death, but the Risen Life of Christ, especially our brushes with it in the sacraments. Those sacred encounters are what empower us, sustaining us in the tragic and jarring moments of life, and renewing within us the hope we have for eternal life through his Son. May the gift of faith, renewed each day, bring us one day to full and final union with him.

Hold Fast

Most of us like to be the boss – of ourselves, anyway. We like to think of ourselves as the master of our own domain and captain of our own ship; and, perhaps even more, we don’t like it when we can’t be those things. Whether it is other people telling us what to do, or events and circumstances that constrain our freedom and limit our happiness, we don’t like it when we don’t feel in control about the course of our own lives.

Of course, if we take a step back, we realize how little it is that we do control. Our plans and priorities, our health and our well-being – most aspects of our lives are usually not nearly as assured as we believe them to be. This realization can lead us to great gratitude, if we come to see how all that we have been given is a gift. At other times, though, if some sudden storm appears on the horizon, or we comprehend the smallness of our little ship in the vast ocean of life, the realization that we not in control can lead to angst, and especially fear.

But if we are not in control, who is? God, of course, as our first reading tells us today. The Lord speaks to Job from the midst of the storm cloud, assuring him that he is the one who has set the limits of the earth and sea. If those forces of nature that appear chaotic to us – the storm and the sea – are actually within God’s grasp, controlled by him, then surely the events of our own lives are too. While this may offer some assurance, it also leads to the question of why God allows us the storms of life at all. Surely, if he loved us, he would save us from what is harmful? Yes – unless the storms themselves are not the greatest harm that might befall us. In that case, God might allow the storms to prevent something even more harmful.

Rembrandt van Rijn, The Storm on the Sea of Galilee (1633)

Today’s Gospel seems to indicate this. Jesus chides the disciples for their fear in the storm not because they have no reason to be afraid, but because they have an even greater reason not to be: his own presence with them in the boat. What really threatens us, it seems, is not the upheaval and turbulence of the storms of life, but our own illusion of self-reliance. When we think we are completely in control of our own selves, we leave no space for God. Therefore, as painful and frightening as they can be, the storms of life can also be a gift because they can help us realize anew that God is in control and not us. In the end, everything is in his hands, and whether we happen to be in tranquil waters or stormy seas at a given moment is less important than ensuring his presence is with us, in our boat, that we are holding fast to him and not anything else.

Friends, we all like the idea of being our own master, the captain of our own ship. But in reality, it is far better to let the Lord take charge: to learn, as St. Paul says, to live not for ourselves but for him who died and rose for us. May the love of Christ be what we hold fast to in all things, so that whatever the course of our journey in this life, he may guide us into the safe harbor of the life to come.