Reflecting on James 3:16-4:3

If you’ve been feeling unusually at home with the readings lately it’s because we have been hearing the Letter of James.  In some ways it’s a welcome relief to read a letter from the end of the first century that is so accessible to our contemporary western ears.

Where DO the wars and conflicts among us come from? Most of us aren’t in a position to send troops into war, but have we done everything we can to heal a decades-long rift in the family? And that begs a second question: Why ARE all these family enmities allowed to go on and on?  Are we really going to have another Thanksgiving/Christmas season ahead where there will be separate dinners for separate families because siblings haven’t spoken to each other in years?  At what point will grace be invited to the table?

It’s God’s amazing grace that allows us to submit to each other and truly listen to each other purely, peaceably, gently, compliantly, full of mercy and good fruits, without insincerity.

But we don’t work like that.  Unless we’re in boot camp (or singing at the Met) we don’t think we should have to take any criticism or correction. We like all conversations to be easy, and our “true friends” to take our side even when we are wrong.  A word of correction at the dinner table signals a polite silence and early departure.  We can no longer be friends.

The years go by, and the broken families pile up, and September comes and we dread the holidays ahead.  And the ancient Christian community to whom James writes whispers to us through the ages: get over it.

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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 James 2:14-18

Nothing makes me laugh harder than being around people who are laughing. Nothing brings me to tears faster than being with someone who is weeping. And nothing stirs my faith like seeing it in action.

It’s that experience of standing during the Communion Procession and listening to people coming forward to receive the Eucharist, singing their hearts out. For me, that says I believe this.

Or, the other day, pondering today’s gospel, I asked a friend, “Who do you say Jesus is?” She looked at me incredulously. He’s my hope. He’s my heart. He’s my Savior. And her beautiful and easy profession of faith said to me she believes this.

But when I observe the endless works of mercy and justice that pour out from the lives of those called by that Name, when I see how compassionately the hungry are fed and the homeless housed by those who love Jesus, I know they believe this.

It seems that every year or so I have a new favorite hymn, a new sacred friend whose lyrics and music bring me deeper into the mystery of God. I find myself hearing it in my head throughout the day, or the lyrics coming to me at odd times.

For several months now I’ve been coming back to Father Pat Dolan’s haunting Prayer of the Body and Blood, which he dedicated to Most Precious Blood parish in Denver.  Father Pat has been pastor of this inspiring faith community for eight years now, but the charism of this Denver parish from its earliest beginning (when the Vincentian priests and Daughters of Charity staffed it) until now has always been of intense and intentional service to those who are poor. The song moves the singer (and the hearer) into a deep reflection of the ways in which grace abounds where love abounds.

Some lifelong Catholics have a hard time articulating who Jesus is to them. They don’t have to. As Father Pat wrote, May serving others serve as our belief.

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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 James 2: 1-5

The St. Jerome Mission

They broke our hearts again.  They always break our hearts, with their humility and warmth, and their love of the Catholic faith and la virgen de Guadalupe.

I’m speaking of the six members of a parish in Juarez, Mexico who traveled all night on the bus to come to Denver last weekend.  They had come to celebrate with many of the benefactors of The St. Jerome Mission, a parish center and retreat house just recently completed for their parish in Juarez.  You can see this great endeavor of faith at www.stjeromemission.com

We did all kinds of fun things, including a visit to Red Rocks Amphitheatre, where they thrilled to the prehistoric beauty of the rock outcroppings that were home to the Ute tribes in ancient days.  We celebrated the Eucharist twice, once at a Spanish-language Mass where they and the entire congregation sang their hearts out.

Sometimes our bilingual members had to attend to other matters, leaving the rest of us smiling and nodding at each other, unable to converse.  One evening I was overjoyed to remember that this column also appears in Spanish in many parishes!  We all gathered around the computer to scroll through three years of www.lahistoriayusted.com (www.thestoryandyou.com ).   Seeing the artwork that accompanies each Gospel story their eyes lit up with recognition and joy.  Ah. There’s John the Baptist!  There’s Mary Magdalene!

And I thought of today’s letter of James: Did not God choose those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom? Their love of Jesus is as sturdy and enduring as the Red Rocks.  They who have so little shared with us their greatest treasure: a deep and joyful faith.

Are there “riches” that are keeping you from a deeper 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 Deuteronomy 4: 1-2, 6-8

Last week I received a call from the Lost and Found office at the Denver airport, telling me my keys had been found on the grounds outside.  (I had dropped them while getting out of the car there.)  When I arrived, the clerk asked me for some description of them.  I told her about the different keys—what in the world DO they open, I wondered—but she wanted something more definitive.  How about the keychain?  Can you describe it?

Oh good.  I can do this.  Let’s see.  I think it’s red.  Yes, red something.  Maybe with some kind of pattern.  Isn’t that enough for you?  She looked at me with a funny expression.  Do you have the time? Odd that she would ask, with the clock right behind her. I glanced at my watch, then back at her face, then back at my watch again.  Ha!  Of course!  My watch and my keychain are the exact same set. If I would just notice my watchband, right there on my wrist, I could describe my keychain.  But I’m so used to my watch on my wrist that I don’t notice it, even when it’s screaming to get my attention.

Our connection with God is like that. The author of the first reading from Deuteronomy got it right: For what great nation is there that has gods so close to it as the LORD, our God, is to us whenever we call upon him? It’s the nearness of God, closer than our breath, closer than our heartbeat, which we find so hard to access, yet God is never as close as when we call for help.

Call on God today.  Then watch carefully for the things very near to you.  God is there.

In what ways do you sense the nearness of God?

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

Lydia and Paul at Philippi

Reflecting on Ephesians 5:21-32

It’s been a long, hot, deadly summer.  And now comes the deadliest New Testament section in the whole lectionary, the instruction about the roles of women and men in marriage.

When you look at those words, Wives should be subordinate to their husbands as to the Lord, you may feel like those disciples in the gospel today.  Like them, you might decide to return to your former way of life, and no longer accompany him.

Anyone who “speaks for Jesus” and doesn’t love women just doesn’t know Jesus very well.  His friendship with women is everywhere in the gospels.  He has dinner with them, and heals them, and on the day of his resurrection reveals himself first to Mary Magdalene.

But years before these gospel accounts were written, it fell to Paul to take this radical message of inclusion straight into the heart of the Roman world.  Phoebe, Lydia, Priscilla, Junia, and Chloe are just a few of the fascinating characters who make up his faith communities.  I suspect that it was his women friends who put up the bail to spring him out of jail in Caesarea, and maybe other places as well.

But even with all that, is the author of Ephesians ready to take on the heart of Roman patriarchy?   Actually, yes.  Because any man who loves his wife “as he loves his own body” is not going to abuse or hurt himself by dominating his wife.  And where there is no dominance there is loving submission, one to another.

Imagine a world where every person loves as Christ loves the Church.  Now that’s a marriage made in heaven.

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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 Ephesians 4:30-5:2

What if someone wrote you a personal note of practical advice like the one we heard in Ephesians today?  Here’s a letter someone might send to me, inspired by today’s second reading:

My dear Kathy,

Watch carefully how you live.  Remember the times you’ve acted foolishly.  Don’t do that again.  Remember that time when you held your tongue and reserved judgment?  That’s what wisdom feels like.  Do that some more.

Make the most of your days.  I like how you’ve been riding your bike more this summer.  Keep it up this fall.  It’s a holy thing to get in touch with the simplicity and fun of childhood.  That’s where you first started your conversations with God, remember?  Don’t forget that first love.  God is really present there.

And when you feel the Spirit, give thanks!  Notice when friends appear, or events unfold, or little children reach out their arms and say, “Watch me!”  Watch it all.  Feel the fading summer sun and the blessed cool nights.  God is there.

And never, never stop praying for those who grieve, especially those who lost their loved ones through violence this summer.  Pray for those whose wounds will be a lifelong challenge.  Pray for the miracle of changed hearts and minds.

And keep talking about the scriptures.  Remind people of the psalms and hymns that give them life.  Season your conversations with words of faith.  And always be ready to give an answer to everyone who asks you the reason for your own hope (I Pt. 3:15).

And eat more ice cream.  (That one may not have been in the original translation.)

How about writing yourself a similar letter?

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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 Ephesians 4:30-5:2

The second reading (from Ephesians) haunts me this week.  How wise the author of this letter is, and how desperately we still need those words today.

It’s hard to imagine how different the world used to be.  St. Patrick heard confessions from Christians in Ireland who rejoiced that they had murdered fewer people that year than they had the year before!  Saint Ignatius Loyola, after his conversion (!), set off to murder a man whom he fancied had insulted the Virgin Mary.  Grace and the Holy Spirit compelled him to take a different turn in the road, and that has made all the difference.

Believe it or not, the world is actually a safer place now than ever in history.  But what is the state of our souls?  Ephesians begs the earliest Christians to remove all anger and fury…reviling and malice from their hearts.  Ah.  So that’s where we can find common ground with those ancient believers, whose lives were in far more peril than ours but whose hearts bore the same burdens of rage and desires for revenge.

I wonder why these new Ephesian converts struggled with each other.  Was it bad blood between families?  Or, God forbid, were they fighting about religion? The Sikh community in Wisconsin now has to bear the terrible loss of their loved ones because one man let his racism and his ignorance of religion take over his soul.

Forgive each other as Christ has forgiven you. St. Paul knew that was the only way out of the sad webs of enmity we weave throughout our lives. It is the only truth that saves, then and now.

Are you having trouble forgiving someone?  Try to remember when someone forgave you.  That’s where God shows up, guaranteed.

Is there an area of your live where you need to learn tolerance?

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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 Ephesians 4:17, 20-24

The Ephesians reading today exhorts us to not give any attention or energy to deceitful desires, but to create a new self in Christ.

This brings me back to the terrible events of sixteen days ago, when one person gave so much attention and energy to deceitful desires that it was only a matter of time before they became reality.

The most inspiring words of this nightmare have come from those inside that theatre, and from the faith communities that love them.  This is where I find the heart of the struggle most beautifully articulated.

Even while in shock, one of the wounded knew the scriptures well enough to paraphrase John 1:3, 4 in relaying his ordeal:  It was so dark in there, and the sounds were so loud, and no one could see because of the tear gas he set off.  But here’s the good news: the Light is greater than the darkness, and the darkness shall never overcome it.

Archbishop Aquila and Bishop Conley sent a press release that I thought was the most powerful faith statement to come out of the ordeal:  In the chaos of the moment, people poured from the movie theater into the darkness of the night—the darkness of confusion, of ambiguity, of despair. We stand in solidarity with our brothers and sisters cast into that darkness. They do not stand alone.

No, they don’t.  Ever.  But today I renew my baptismal promise to reject sin and refuse to be mastered by it.  That’s my little candle, but it burns amid the millions of flames of love kindled to accompany the victims on their way to the Light.

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

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

Reflecting on John 6: 1-15

We were there that day.  We saw it with our own eyes.  And we still can’t explain what happened.

It was close to Passover, so our family members had come all the way from Damascus for the feast.  A huge number of Jews—we must have been five thousand at least—had crossed the Sea to see more of Jesus, who had performed many wonderful signs while he was in Jerusalem and Galilee.

I can’t believe we forgot to bring food. We were so enraptured by Jesus that when he left to go across the Sea we just got in boats and followed him.  But by then it was too late to prepare the proper Jewish foods, since we were in the Gentile territories.

I thought we looked like the sheep in David’s psalm, the way we all rested in the green pastures.  Yes, hungry sheep waiting for the Shepherd to feed us.

There was a boy there who had five barley loaves and two fish.  The man they call Andrew asked him for them, and then gave them to Jesus.

It was just like the Passover!  Jesus took the loaves, blessed them, broke them and gave them to us.  But this I’ll never understand: unlike the matzo at Passover, this bread never ran out.  And there were enough baskets left over to feed the twelve tribes of Israel!

We were all astonished.  A number of us remembered how God had rained down bread from heaven all the years that our people sojourned in the desert.

Is Jesus another Moses?  We don’t think so.  There was just something about those loaves.

In what ways does Jesus fill you?

Every time I think about this story I bless my wonderful second-year teacher in the Biblical School, Gene Guiliano.  Most of the words of this column came straight from him.

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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 Mark 6:30-34

For he is our peace

The other day I heard a touching account of a young couple who spent the last seventeen years bringing the Gospel to the remote tribes of West Africa.  Unlike earlier missionaries who refused to learn from and adapt to African culture (the hapless preacher in The Poisonwood Bible comes to mind), this couple simply brought friendship to the Bini peoples. These bush-people had never seen a white person, never had any contact with anyone outside of their own region, and the enmities and hatreds of hundreds of years of strife between the tribes was always present.

These ancient Africans are mostly animists, holding that souls and spirits exist in everything.  But here’s the thing: none of these spirits offered a way out of their rage against neighboring tribes that had looted their land and murdered their families over the centuries.  War, and war, and war, and still no peace.

And then this couple, over years of friendship, told them the Good News which we hear in the second reading from Ephesians today: For he is our peace, he who made us one and broke down the dividing wall of enmity, through his flesh.  He came and preached peace to those who were far off and peace to those who were near.

This astounding good news—that forgiveness and reconciliation are the only way out of the dead end of endless war—was embraced by many of the friends they made there.  This Jesus knew betrayal and the agony of the cross, and his response was pure forgiveness.  And the world is still learning how to stand in that grace.

No Jesus?  No peace.  Know Jesus? Know peace.

And now comes the news of the massacre in Aurora.  Who can speak in the face of such  horror?

Oh Jesus, our only peace, we cry out to you today.  Send your angels to hold those who grieve. Send you healing upon those who are injured. Send your Holy Spirit to convert our culture from its attraction to guns and violence.

You are our peace.  Transform us into peacemakers.  AMEN.

Is the peace that Jesus offered making a difference in your life?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

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