Who's in Charge?

“Who is in charge here?” If you have ever participated in a team environment, or a group setting, or even an informal meeting, you know that question inevitably comes up. Who is the person responsible? Who has been charged with authority? Who can I turn to for some answers?

That question is at the heart of our readings today. Throughout the history of mankind’s relationship with God, human beings have struggled with wanting to be in charge of how and when we relate to God. We want God’s love and presence and assistance, but only on our terms. But this week, our readings remind us that our covenant with God is one that necessitates we understand that he is the one truly in charge, and that is for our benefit.

The reading from the Old Testament – about the Spirit coming down to rest upon the various members of the Israelite community – is a foreshadowing of the event we call Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit was poured out upon the Apostles and the other disciples after Jesus’s Ascension. This is not an abstract reality, but something that really happens even today – that by means of the sacraments, especially baptism and confirmation, the Holy Spirit doesn’t just dwell among us, as the Christian community, but *within* us as individuals.

But this returns us to the question I asked at the beginning: “who's in charge?” God wants us all to share in his authority, which is why he gives us the graces of the Holy Spirit, the very presence of the Spirit to lead and guide us. But while we are his instruments, the authority always remains his. It is the Lord who must be in charge of our lives, not us. When we forget that, we become like the apostle John in the Gospel. He is dismayed, perhaps even jealous, that those who were not explicitly followers of Jesus were displaying signs that they too had received the Holy Spirit. Take note of Jesus’s response – basically, he says, “Leave that to me – I am in charge here, not you.”

Contemplation (1896) by Jozef Israëls

Jesus wanted his disciple John to be attentive to his own self, and so does he ask the same of us. We must be on guard against causing scandal, and giving others a reason to sin. We must be aware of how even things we consider small or unimportant can separate us from the love of God and prevent the Holy Spirit from being active within us. We need to be careful in our attitude toward acquiring wealth and focusing on material things, as St. James tells us in the second reading. Often, we acknowledge the Lord’s authority in simple, concrete ways: by resisting temptations to jealousy, by committing ourselves to sharing what we have with those who are less fortunate, by examining our own attitudes to see where we might be living hypocritically, not in accord with what we profess in faith. If we are going to acknowledge the Lord’s authority, then we have to be committed to submitting to the Lord’s authority in all things.

So, brothers and sisters, when we think about our lives, our futures, our daily interactions with others, we can ask, “Who's in charge?” The answer must be God – not that we should abandon all agency and action, but rather that we should always be aware of how we must make space in our lives for the Lord’s action in us. Let us pray that his Spirit, whom he has given to us in baptism and confirmation, and who prepares us now to receive the Sacrament of the Altar, may the Spirit strengthen us to live in the truth of Christ and give witness to him in all things.

Attentive to Whom We Receive

Human beings, especially adults, have an innate attentiveness to children. This has been shown even scientifically. We are naturally attuned to hear the voice of a crying baby over other noises, and people innately know to watch their language or what they’re discussing, if a child is present. If a person sees a child struggling with something, like opening a door or carrying a heavy package, they are more likely to stop and be of help. None of this should be surprising, of course, but it does show us something interesting: we treat children – even those who are not our own – differently than we tend to treat others.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus tries to get the disciples’ attention by placing a child in their midst. He has been telling them, both in last week’s Gospel and again today, that he is going to Jerusalem to suffer and die in order to rise after three days. But they aren’t getting the message. They are too busy discussing their own achievements, their own greatness, and most likely arguing with each other about it. They probably are doing exactly what James warns us about in today’s second reading: existing in “jealousy and selfish ambition,” with conflicts and covetousness and envy dominating their attitude.

Perhaps we can see now the point that Jesus makes at the end of the Gospel. He doesn’t correct their attitude by words so much as by drawing their attention to the presence of that child. How silly they must have felt with all of their boasting and jealous ambition, compared to the tender innocence of the child in front of them. His point is this: true greatness comes not from striving to inflate ourselves, by focusing on what we have achieved and what others haven’t, but by adopting an attentive ness to those who are lowly and seeking to serve them.

Fritz von Uhde, "And Calling a Child to Him..." (c. 1904)

Notice that this is not the Gospel where Jesus encourages us to be childlike ourselves, to become like children in order to inherit the kingdom of heaven. That certainly helps! But what he’s really saying here is that we must seek to receive in his name those who are children, and all others like them: those who are vulnerable, who are insignificant in the eyes of the world, those who are not playing the game of trying to get ahead, those who are the “nobodies” of the world. It’s with precisely those folks that Jesus identifies because he will be one of them himself, especially when he is rejected, accused, arrested, tortured, and put to death. That’s why he tells us that whenever we receive them – whenever we are attentive to them, seek to serve them, try to meet their needs and thereby accord them the dignity they have – when we receive them, we really receive him, and his Father who sent him.

This Gospel gives us a lot to reflect upon. If a child asked for our help, or if we saw one in need, we would assist right away; and if Jesus himself were the one in need of aid, even more so. But why do we fail to see the presence of Jesus in those who are childlike: the poor, the migrant, the addict, the mentally ill, the teenager who is rebelling, the spouse who is emotionally frayed, the young person who wishes to be validated, the elderly person who is lonely and forlorn. In each of these, and more, Jesus offers us the chance to turn outward from ourselves a bit – to detach from our own inward self-centeredness and our striving to be great – and to receive him and to serve him, to love him, in the presence of those with whom he identifies. And eventually this should become our default way of relating to everyone: to be truly great by serving everyone, especially the least.

Friends, in this and every Eucharist, the Lord becomes humbly present for us. Under the appearances of Bread and Wine, he nonetheless draws us to profess our belief that what we see, and touch, and receive is really him: his Body and his Blood. And he gives us this gift not just for ourselves, but so that with his Presence in us we can then go and find his presence elsewhere, in the needy, the lowly, the childlike, all of those with whom he identifies – so that by receiving them we might receive him, by loving them we will love him.

Following Jesus in Suffering

Any form of entertainment – watching a movie, reading a book, turning on the ballgame – usually needs some twists and turns along the way to keep our attention. If the plot happens just how we expected, if the game goes just the way we thought, we probably won’t find it all that interesting. What usually entertains us are the things that keep us guessing.

Plot twists in real life though are very different. Unexpected occurrences and surprising events are often not entertaining, but instead traumatic and even disorienting. For example, many of us this weekend have been thinking back to the 9/11 attacks, and to where we were twenty years ago when we heard about them. The great loss of life was devastating, but perhaps just as traumatic was the shock of it – of being attacked here on our own soil. That was a painful plot twist that perhaps we could not have imagined before the attacks twenty years ago.

In the Gospel today, Peter also experiences a painful shock. Having just confessed his faith in Jesus as not just a wise man or holy preacher, but as God’s chosen, anointed Messiah, Peter finds out that Christ is going to Jerusalem to suffer and die, and to do so knowingly and willingly. The idea of God’s own Son dying at the hands of sinners was surely not a plot twist that Peter anticipated. But as Jesus himself says, any suggestion to the contrary – to think that such couldn’t happen or shouldn’t – is to think “not as God does, but as human beings do.”

Jesus then takes this plot twist one step further. Turning to his disciples, and the crowd at large, he says that his followers must also deny themselves and take up their cross. It’s a pretty clear rebuke of the mindset that Peter had: that suffering was somehow incompatible with what God wills. That attitude is still around today, and it presents an ever-present temptation to us who say we are followers of Jesus. Sometimes, we can fall into the trap of thinking, “Jesus suffered so that I don’t have to.” There is an element of truth there, but it needs a little expanding: Jesus suffered death so that I won’t suffer eternal death – eternal separation from God in hell. That is the deepest and most joyous truth of our faith. But it doesn’t mean that we don’t have to suffer at all. In fact, as we hear today, we should instead say, “Jesus suffered, therefore I will have to suffer also.” To follow him, we must follow the path he took – not by avoiding the Cross, or finding some way around it, but by passing through it.

Titian, Christ Carrying the Cross (c. 1565)

Suffering, of course, is never pleasant. However, it can have meaning when we approach it as Jesus approached his Cross. Jesus went to the Cross out of love and a sense of purpose: he knew it would be the manner by which God would remake the world, opening the doors of salvation for all of humanity. That work of redemption that began with Jesus continues in our lives and helps remake us in the image of the Son, especially when we intentionally unite our sufferings to those of Christ. For the Christian, life’s unexpected turns are never just cruel twists of fate: losing a job, being diagnosed with an illness, or a family member passing away suddenly. These are not just random traumas, but opportunities to embrace the Cross, to share more deeply in the redemptive love of Christ. Or when we consider the more routine but nonetheless painful experiences of the day to day: stress at work, challenges in our marriage or in raising children, betrayal from those who should be our friends, discouragement or emptiness in our spiritual life. These sufferings don’t mean that God is absent or doesn’t hear our prayers; rather they are invitations to learn how to be remade into Christ’s image, and to bear well the Cross in order to share what comes after.

It’s essential not to forget there is an after. On Tuesday of this week, we will celebrate the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross – a chance to remember that the Cross was the instrument by which Christ defeated sin and death. Jesus’s victory came not by avoiding the Cross, or trying to go around it, but by passing through it into what followed after: the Resurrection. That’s the best plot twist in history, of course, and Jesus assures us that if we join him in his Cross, we will share in his victory: “whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it.” If we try to save our life by avoiding suffering, going around the Cross, then we will end up losing everything. But if instead, we enter into our sufferings knowingly, and willingly, and lovingly, then the difficulties and sorrows of the present moment will be more than made up for in our sharing of Jesus’s victory, the Resurrection.

Friends, Jesus assures us today that the mystery of suffering is not meaningless, as if God delighted in keeping us guessing. Rather, it’s through suffering that the Lord redeems the world, and he invites us to look deeply into our hearts today, to see whether we believe that. Maybe, like Peter, we face the temptation to reject the idea of suffering. If that’s the case, let’s ask the Lord for his encouragement, maybe even for a little of his rebuke, as he gave to Peter, to learn to think beyond our human way, but to think as God does – as Jesus did. Let’s ask the Lord to help us to see his presence in the crosses we face, and to find in them an opportunity to love him more deeply, to be remade in his image – so that following him now in our sufferings, we may hope to be exalted one day in his victory.

Opened to Life

The name Anne Sullivan is probably not one that rings a bell for most of us. But the name of her famous student might. Helen Keller became blind and deaf before the age of 2 as a result of illness; deprived of sight and sound, she was more or less cut off from the outside world. However, through her remaining sense of touch, and through the patient and persistent instruction of her teacher, Anne Sullivan, a new world opened up for Helen. She learned to read, write, even to speak, and eventually became a world-famous author, lecturer, and human rights activist. It was all possible because of the gift that she had been given by her teacher: not just to learn to read and speak, but to experience life in a totally new way.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives a man a similar gift: not just to heal his physical impediments, to make it possible for him to hear and to speak, but to open him to experiencing life in a totally new way. All of Jesus’s healing miracles have this dynamic: the lame man given the ability to walk again; the woman cured of the hemorrhage; Peter’s mother-in-law cured of a fever; blind Bartimeus made able to see. All of these persons and more received from Jesus some true, bodily healing, but in a certain sense, that healing was a means to a higher end: to open those persons to new life, to experiencing the fullness of life in a way that they had not known before.

The Healing of a Deaf and Mute Man, Ottheinrich Bible, c. 1420

Today’s Gospel probably brings to mind the people in our lives whom we wish to be healed. Maybe we think of someone sick with Covid, or a friend or family member who is battling cancer, or a loved one who is struggling with depression or addiction or some other form of mental illness. We might even think of ourselves! But while we can and should pray for God to heal these persons, we shouldn’t despair if he does not. Why? Because the true healing that God desires is not a bodily reality but a spiritual one. We see this even in the Gospels. Jesus doesn’t stay in every town and village until all the sick people are well. Rather, he works particular miracles at particular times to show everyone that he has the power to communicate life, to transform a person’s life, opening them to something greater.

In a very real sense, that something greater is Jesus himself. When he says, 'Ephphatha', “Be opened,” to the man in today’s Gospel, what he wants to open him to is not to hear any old thing, but to hear *him*; not just to speak any old thing, but to respond to *him*. Jesus wishes to communicate a new and deepened experience of life precisely so that we may encounter him at the center of our life, as our Life itself. In this way, then, this Gospel is applicable to all of us. We might be inclined to think of our friends and loved ones who are in need of healing, but really, we should think of ourselves – *we* are in desperate need of the spiritual healing that only Jesus can give.

Perhaps we might reflect on two questions this week, in light of this Gospel. First, where in my life do I need the transformation that Jesus can give? Where do I need to be spiritually opened to his life – to hear him, to respond to him – in some deeper way: in my prayer, in my relationships, in my moral life? And second, where can I help others to experience the same? Anne Sullivan helped transform Helen Keller’s life through her patient and persistent teaching. Today’s Gospel says the deaf man was brought to Jesus by others, and after his healing, he went out and proclaimed what had happened to him to others. Who is Jesus calling me to speak to, to witness to about the transformation I have received, about the new life that he has given to me?

Friends, this is the basic rhythm of the Christian life: to encounter Jesus, ever more deeply, and then to go and help others to do the same. Our previous pontiff, Benedict XVI, once said, “The happiness you are seeking, the happiness you have a right to enjoy has a name and a face: Jesus of Nazareth.” May we seek and find that Happiness ourselves, so that finding it, like the man in today’s Gospel, we also can proclaim the newness of life we have found in him.

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.”