Reflecting on Matthew 13:44-52

It’s easy to spot the pearl of great price in people’s lives.  Each of us signals, just by getting up in the morning (or not), what we are willing to give up in order to have what we have.

Parents are the perfect examples of grace-filled people willing to give up much in order to have children.  I watch them in fascination.  The intense love they have for their kids, and their lifelong presence and support of them, provides a daily meditation for me on the depth and breadth of love, and of course its Author.

I’m also fascinated with what professions require of people.  Think back on the days when you were a student.  Can you remember your desk, filled with textbooks, and all those fun novels shoved to the side while you pursued your pearl of great price? And that sacrifice was worth it, wasn’t it?

Good health is another pearl that requires immense sacrifice in order to attain.  There are hundreds of delicious foods that must be ignored every day in order to feel and look better.  And there go those novels again, determinedly shut, and the gym shoes come on for another lovely walk in the park.

Could we take a minute to reflect on those who have chosen priesthood or Religious life?  Think for a moment of the sacrifices made every step of the way towards that goal, and then the daily sacrifices to live those vows.  They had to walk away from so much in order walk into the grace of ordination or Religious life.  Today might be a good day to thank them.

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Matthew 13:24-43

The most inspiring experience in my life is the Greenwood Gallery.  My friend Dr. Dan Feiten and his partners at Greenwood Pediatrics began this beautiful gallery in the lobbies of their medical offices decades ago.  Each season they choose several children who have experienced some childhood disease and have them photographed in a beautiful studio.  Their pictures are then hung in the lobbies of the offices, and I write the story about the child and that particular illness.  It’s a way of educating the parents who are in the waiting room about various childhood illnesses, and also to show the resilience and courage of the young patients.

But it’s the conversation with the parents that always gets me.  Here is the mom, exhausted but utterly in love with her autistic child who also has a sleep abnormality that gets him (and her) up several times every night.  Here is the dad, the great champion of his little daughter who has a congenital heart defect.  And here is the child, utterly unaware that he is smaller or slower or sicker than his classmates, laughing and running and loving his life, every, every minute.

When you think about it, the wheat in our lives will always be growing right next to the weeds.  Our talents will be honed through the sting of competition.  Our health will lose its battle with time.  Our perfect children will have to face a world that may not love them as much as we do.  But we all soldier on towards the sun.  Such is our painful, joyful journey back to the Garden.

What tensions of wheat and weeds do you sense in your life?

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Matthew 13: 1-23

Don’t ask us what we were thinking.  In this challenging economic climate, and with big chains just blocks from us, my pharmacist-husband Ben and I bought a beautiful retail space and opened up an old-time drugstore/coffee shop.

Ben Lager & Kathy McGovern

I’m not sure I could really articulate why we needed to do this until the other day.  I looked around and saw neighbors who live just houses away from each other finally meeting and enjoying their children together out on the front sidewalk.

Some generous and kind new friends from the neighborhood sat outside, talking to another friend and me about the bitterness they feel when religion is forced on them, when people carry Scripture signs to football games, when businesses put religious quotes on their billboards.  Now, I actually like these things, and was getting ready to say so.

But a dear and wise friend of mine happened to be in the store right then.  She moved closer to them and said, “Tell me more about your pain.  Tell me why you resist faith.  Let me help you touch your wounds.”

And then the floodwaters opened, and all their frustration, and feelings of isolation, and confusion and resentment poured out.

A few days later they returned to the store for a prescription.  Jane (not her real name) hugged me and said No one has ever asked me about my loss of faith before.  That conversation was more healing than three years in the religious setting of my childhood.

And it happened just because some faithful sower took the time to plant a seed in fertile ground, to listen, and then to be brave enough to invite strangers into the intimacy of their own struggles.

And I’ll bet that seed bears fruit and yields a hundredfold.

In what ways have you seen the fruits of the seeds sown in your life?

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Matthew 11:25-30

Have you ever had the blissful experience of having a burden lifted from your shoulders?  Maybe you’ve been worrying something to death, and a friend finds the perfect words to set your soul at rest.  Or maybe it’s a physical comfort, like having someone stronger take your heavy grocery bags, or grab your snow shovel and say, “Let me clear your walk for you.”

That’s grace.  That’s Jesus, lifting away your sad spirit and replacing it with His yoke, which is always peace, consolation, perfect rest.

So here’s your summer assignment.  Ride your bike to the park.  Find a spot under a big, leafy tree.  Lie down on your back and look up.  Now, here’s the blissful part.  Just stay there.

Ah.  Can you feel it?  That is the rest that Jesus invites you to today.  Do you labor under the stress of family problems?  Just lie there.  Let the sun warm you.  Look in awe at the thousands of astonishing things going on in that tree as it stretches to the sky.

Are you heavily burdened with illness, or unemployment, or bitter disappointment?  Don’t move.  Let Jesus give your soul a perfect rest as you soak in all the grace that exists in a single tree.

Let your eyes take in just a fraction of the breathless beauty that is summer, our Creator’s gift of grace.  Can you hear that bird, singing in the branches?  Here are the words she is singing:

Come to Him.  Find rest in Him.  He has already left your burdens under the Tree.

What experience have you had of a burden lifted?

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Deuteronomy 11:18, 26-28, 32 Matthew 7:21-27

Bind the Word in your heart and your head

Talk about taking things literally.  Moses told the people to hold so fast to the word of God that it would be bound at their wrists and on their foreheads, and still today the Orthodox Jewish man prepares for prayer by binding actual little boxes at his wrist and forehead, with tiny scrolls from the book of Deuteronomy inside them.   These phylacteries have served as prayer companions—Catholics would call them sacramentals—since at least the time of Christ (Mt. 23:5).   They signify that the wearer has taken the Word of God into his heart and soul.

What would it be like if we Catholics wore our faith on our sleeves like that?  Of course there are a few outward signs of our inward faith.    We place a crèche on the lawn during the Christmas season and wear ashes on our foreheads at the start of Lent.

These are signs to the outside world (and reminders to ourselves) that we are indelibly marked by Christ.  But my friend Vincente asked me a great question the other day: why don’t we Catholics make more of a mark on the culture than we do?  Why do we absorb the culture so much and correct the culture so little?

Why are we proud that, after a lifetime of Catholic formation, we can go out into the workplace and blend in so well that no one would ever guess that we are Catholic?

How unsettling to wonder if, after a lifetime of lukewarm “face time” in church, we will come before Christ at our deaths and he will say I never knew you.

What do you think is an authentic outward sign of your faith?

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Matthew 6: 24-34

You know, tomorrow really does have a way of taking care of itself.  Weeping endures for the night, but in the morning comes a certain, unnameable peace.  Today is the tomorrow we worried about yesterday, and it’s just almost never as bad as we pictured.

They neither toil nor spin

But that doesn’t stop us from worrying the problem to death.  If we keep circling in on it, touching its tender corners, re-thinking our conversations, rewinding our what-ifs, maybe we’ll find a crack large enough for us to slip our hand through and re-shift the orbit of the earth and get us back to yesterday, before we found the lump, before we bought the expensive house with the balloon payments, before we hit the gas instead of the brakes, before we canceled the insurance policy.

Whew.  Just writing down a few things to worry about makes me start worrying all over again.  But then I hear those comforting words of today’s Responsorial Psalm (62):  Only in God be at rest my soul. God is my stronghold, my safety.  I shall not be disturbed at all.

But wait.  Not so fast.  Can God be trusted?  God’s grace has been sufficient and even abundant in the past, but is that enough to take to the Bank of Tomorrow?  Maybe it’s like using a muscle.  The more we trust today, the stronger and more enduring is our ability to trust tomorrow.

So get out there and consider those lilies.  Or, better yet, winter wheat.  Or the silent snow.  Or your own buttoned-up heart.  There is a wisdom out there, whispering in the February chill.  Trust in me, oh my people.

In what ways does your faith build on past experience?

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Matthew 5:38-48

He offered resistance to evil

You have to wonder about Jesus’ instruction to offer no resistance to one who is evil. What would have happened if Hitler had been killed during the war? Was it morally wrong for Claus von Stauffenberg (a Catholic) to enlist the aid of thousands of other Christians (including Lutheran pastor Dietrich Bonheoffer) in an assassination attempt in July of 1944?  Records show that none took their resolve to break the fifth commandment lightly.  All had considered the millions still to be killed in the war and were willing to face God with their decision.

But no, the briefcase bomb was accidentally shifted and Hitler wasn’t killed. The Nazis quickly rounded up almost 5,000 conspirators and murdered them over the remaining 10 months of the war.

And yet today we hear Jesus say Turn the other cheek.  Walk the extra mile.  Hand over your cloak as well. Is there any wisdom out there to help us read this passage?  Plenty.

Here’s an interesting take on the text from Scripture scholar Walter Wink, who has written extensively on this issue.  He suggests that Jesus is offering some ingenious examples of passive resistance.

If a Roman occupier forces you to carry his weapon one mile (the limit by Roman law), then carry it two and put him in the brink for breaking the law!  If he slaps you on the cheek (a sign of his authority over you) then turn your cheek to the other side, forcing him to use his fist, which is the sign of your equality with him.

If he takes your tunic (only allowable for the day, not the night) then give him your cloak as well!  Stand naked in front of him and humiliate him in front of the guys.

What do you think of this?  How do you interpret the passage, what do you think of the assassination attempt on Hitler’s life which was instigated by believing Christians, etc.  This is a great text for conversation this week!  Jump in.

Does this passage trouble you?

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Matthew 5: 17-37

The Gospel today is so refreshing because it’s so in-your-face about the way we try to squirm out of really living it.

You are the light of the world

Don’t show up with your offering if you’re still furious with your brother.  Don’t be slimy about your fantasy life with people not your spouse and still pretend that you are faithful. Don’t do mean and unethical things just because nobody is watching (really?) or because the law hasn’t noticed your tax evasions yet. Don’t do just enough to not get caught, love just enough to keep up appearances, swear on anybody’s dead body.  Truth is truth and a lie’s a lie, so just tell the truth for heaven’s sake.

Here’s how the believer behaves, says Jesus.  Do the hard and holy work of reconciliation. Be faithful in your private life, and oh how your light will shine in public. Let your actions spring from authentic love.  Don’t watch the clock.  Don’t ask if there’ll be a test on the material.  Do fulfill the Law by abounding in love.  In fact, just love, and then do what you will.

Think of the children whom you love fiercely, whom you want others to love and give the benefit of the doubt, to whom you hope the world will extend friendship and compassion. No half-teachers, half-friends, half-loves.  You know how you want them to be loved.  Now go, says Jesus, and love like that.

Whoosh!  Did you feel that?  It felt a lot like the fire of Sinai, carried like an Olympic torch by you, the light of the world.

Are there ways in which you are just putting in the time instead of actually investing in love?

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Matthew 5:13-16

Darkness. The ancients experienced it in ways we can’t imagine.  My friend Erin told me about a scary twenty minutes of her life in a blackout one evening while she was walking home from work in Oakland, California.  She was just a few blocks from her house when the street lights went dark.  (This, by the way, is the same city in which my cousin was murdered in daylight as she was getting off the city bus 18 years ago.)

All these years later, Erin remembers that penetrating darkness, how immediately she became uneasy, then jumpy, then terrified as she walked the dark neighborhood streets she knew so well.  The lights from an oncoming car brought a few seconds of clarity.  Of course! That scary figure up ahead is just the open gate to the neighbor’s yard! But then she was plunged into darkness again as the car sped away, and those familiar streets morphed into sinister hiding places for ugliness and evil.

Some people, as Thomas Merton said, are walking around shining like the sun.  Every encounter with them makes you feel warm and loved.  They are found everywhere, little rays of light adopting children from Haiti, helping gang members recover their lives, getting up at night with the sick baby, loving that troubled adolescent, joyfully teaching the grandchildren their prayers, sitting with the parent who has long forgotten their name, preaching the Gospel and sometimes using words to do it.

And here’s the best part about being the light of the world: Isaiah says that when you shall call, the Lord will answer.

Who are the people you know who bring light?

In memory of Patty Cronin, a light-bearer

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Matthew 5:1-12a

I’ve experienced the blessing of being poor in spirit several times.  There was the day I sang a whole wedding Mass with the back of my skirt hooked on to my pantyhose.  Or the time I chose a lovely silk smock from the hanger at the hair salon, and as the stylist was putting my head in the water an exceptionally kind older woman touched me on the shoulder and said, “Honey, I think you’re wearing my blouse.”

I could do this all day.  My life is a series of horrible moments that have brought me this self-revelation: I am just faking it here.

And that’s the blessing.  The kingdom of God is just this: a deep and joyful awareness that God is God, and I’m not.  Scripture scholar Reginald Fuller said, after studying today’s reading from Zephaniah and the Gospel’s Beatitudes, “on the day of the Lord the only ground of security is humility.”  Not self-hate.  Not breast-beating.  Just the awareness that, at any moment, the world will see that We are just faking it here. But God upholds us and strengthens us.

Try to bring back an embarrassing experience.  Hold it.  Let it take your breath away again.  Bow your head under its terrible weight.  And now wrap it around you as a warm coat, a safeguard against the cold winds of assurance, arrogance, superiority, dominance.  And let the blessing warm you like a peppermint schnapps’ by the fire.  God is God and you aren’t.  Whew.  What a huge relief.   What a burden lifted.  What a blessing.

In what ways has a humbling experience blessed you?

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I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).