Reflecting on Matthew 23: 1-12

Don’t you love people who do wonderful, holy things every day, out of the sight of the rest of us?  Every once in a while we might accidentally catch them doing good, and I think it’s important that we do.  How else can we be edified and inspired if we never know that they are companioning an elderly neighbor through his last months in hospice, or loving and comforting a mentally ill spouse, or singing and dancing with a beautiful child backstage for four hours before she walks down the runway with Ed McCaffrey in the Down Syndrome Fashion Show?

There’s really no other possible explanation for the heroic things that average people do every day except for this: they are in love.  They have let themselves fall deeply in love with Love, and out of that collision has come hospitals, schools, shelters, food banks, foundations, and the spouse who, less than a year after her own mother’s long goodbye, now helps care for her husband’s mother as she begins that same journey.

Parents are the most inspiring example I can think of, especially those with children who are, how to say this, challenging?  Love is patient and kind, believes all things and hopes all things. Is there anything more beautiful than parents who believe and hope and love their children through the awkwardness of adolescence?

Let’s take a second to just let all that goodness pour over us and into us and out from us. It’s hard to be inspired by the Pharisees, who put their good works on display.  How sad.  Because our true measure is who we are when no one’s looking.

What example can you give of someone who is heroic in silent, small ways?

For Fred,  Lynda, Delane, and Mary

who continue to inspire after all these years

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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 Mathew 22: 34-40

The challenge today to love our neighbor as ourselves is, as one clever writer put it, “like sand in your swimsuit”.  You can squirm and wiggle and try to re-position yourself, but that sand isn’t letting go until you deal with it.

Moses, painting by Jusepe de Ribera 1591-1652

Do we have enough resources between us all to let others matter to us as much as they matter to themselves? I think so.  Let me tell you about the members of the St. Vincent de Paul Society, who’ve heard and seen it all and still dig deep within themselves to listen carefully and lovingly to those most in need of mercy.

Let me tell you about Portland researcher Dr. Brian Drucker.  Way back when he was in medical school he looked at chronic myelogenous leukemia and said, “I’m going to cure that”.  For twenty years he worked almost obsessively, even enduring the ridicule of his peers at a conference where he presented his approach to a cure.  But he let his patients matter to him as much as they mattered to themselves. And in 2001 Dr. Brian Drucker brought the chemotherapy drug Gleevec to market, the only true cancer breakthrough in our lifetimes.

Let me tell you about the Colorado Vincentian Volunteers, a group of twenty-somethings who give a year of service to children, teenagers and adults in Denver—precious human beings who long to matter to someone as much (or more, sometimes) as they matter to themselves.

Can you remember the times when you received that kind of love?  When someone really listened to your story and cared?  Really noticed your pain and helped take it away?  That’s what the laws of Moses, which Jesus is quoting in today’s Gospel, are demanding. 

 Or as Rabbi Hillel famously said,  “The whole Torah can be taught while standing on one leg: That which is despicable to you, do not do to your fellow.  This is the whole Torah, and the rest is commentary.  Go and learn it.”

In what ways have you mattered to someone as much as you matter to yourself?

In memory of Patty and Len Langenderfer.  Vincentian to the core, they simply noticed the needs of people whom they knew God had placed in their paths.  And nothing has been the same since.

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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 22:15-21

The Tribute Coin (Reubens, c.1612)

Every once in a while Jesus says something very funny, and today’s Gospel gives us one of his best zingers.  Cultural historian John Pilch points out that when Jesus says “Show me the coin that pays the Temple tax” he’s setting a trap that the Pharisees and Herodians never see coming until they’ve fallen right into it.

Since the denarius used for paying taxes bore the image of the emperor Tiberius (and the inscription identified him as the son of the “divine Augustus”) even having this coin in one’s possession was shameful.  But somehow those ever-observant Pharisees had the coin right there.  Can’t you just see Jesus given them the “Oh, well isn’t THIS interesting” look?

So they must already have been a little cowed when he took the sacrilegious coin from them and asked them whose image and likeness it bore.  Caesar’s, of course.  And then I imagine him asking “And whose image and likeness do YOU bear?” God’s, of course.  So live in that freedom.

“The world may have our hands, but God has our hearts” (Abraham Heschel).

In what ways do you see the image of God in those around 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 Philippians 4: 12-14, 19-20

It was Christ who carried you

I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me. How many times have you posted that on your refrigerator, recited it to yourself at the doctor’s office, or prayed it as you pushed yourself to swim that extra lap or run that extra mile?

I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me. How many times have you prayed that as you left your warm bed to tend to a crying child, or answer the call of an elderly neighbor, or get ready for another day of work that provides for your family and contributes to the good of society?

I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me. When you think back on times in your life when you were afraid, or powerless, or anxious, or sick, or in grief so deep you couldn’t breathe, can you now see that it was Christ who strengthened you, Christ who carried you, Christ who has never, never left you?

I can do all things in Christ who strengthens me, forever and ever, Amen.

What prayer do you hold in your heart and say throughout the day?

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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  Philippians 4:6-9, Matthew 21:33-43

One of the greatest things about growing up in my family was that our house was the meeting place for all of our friends.  We were ground zero for every pick-up basketball game, every Friday night fish-sticks-and-macaroni- dinner for ten before going off to swim at Celebrity Lanes.  My parents (of blessed memory) had waited many years for their kids to arrive, and they loved having their house filled with our friends and all the Beatles records that came with them.

Recently, I’ve had the great joy of re-connecting with many of the friends who came in and out of our house all those years.  Many of them have said to me, “Remember how I used to roll my eyes and laugh at your dad’s lectures before I left the house?  He had so much to tell me, and I didn’t want to hear any of it.  I wish I could go back and follow the advice he gave me then.”

As time passes it all comes into clearer view:  it’s only love that lasts, not fads and adolescent arrogance, not the pseudo-wisdom of pop psychiatry or the allure of instant popularity on Facebook.  Whatever is true, or honorable, or just, or pure, or lovely, or gracious, or excellent, or worthy of praise−−think on these things.  St. Paul’s words jump off the page today as we remember the times in our lives when we have been changed by an encounter with real graciousness, real forgiveness, real purity, real truth.

The Owner of the Vineyard graciously planted those fruits within our walls at our baptism.  How are we doing with the harvest?

What gracious or lovely or honorable things do you like to “think on”?

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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 21:28-32

Remember your mercies, Oh Lord

Wedding rehearsals are always filled with nervous questions:  What if I trip on my veil?  What if I forget my vows?  What if the photographer is late?

There is an antidote to all that anxiety:  make a mistake right off the bat and then enjoy the rest of the wedding.  Yes!  The flower girl had to be dragged down the aisle kicking and screaming!  Whew.  Now that the pressure for perfection is blown we can all relax.

At some point in our lives we finally see what everyone else has always known about us: we make mistakes.  It’s easy to be distracted from our own faults by observing the huge flaws of all of our friends, and when we run out of excuses watching them we can always turn to movie stars, international banking corporations and all those crooks in Washington.  Finally, we can depend on terrorists, serial killers and drug cartels to delay that inevitable, shocking moment of truth: we too have disappointed people and failed to love.  We too have promised to go into the vineyard, but never actually gone.

And it’s in that moment of discovery of our own sin that grace begins to settle in.  How great is the forgiveness others have offered to us more times than we knew!  Remember your mercies, oh Lord, and start with us.  Because we suddenly see how gracious you have been in overlooking and forgiving and lifting us up, over and over again.

And so, our cover blown, we can relax into God’s love, with the tax collectors and prostitutes who are speeding into the kingdom, full of sin, full of grace.

Are there people in your life with whom you can be totally yourself and still know that your are loved?

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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 Isaiah 55:6-9, Matthew 20:1-16a

I’m quitting. We’re all quitting. You’d quit too if you worked all day in that blazing sun, pulling those weeds and trying to plant crops in that hard ground. All day long I worked! I was one of the first ones there this morning. I got on the truck and ate the tortilla Maria made for me while they drove us out to the fields. I didn’t stop until lunch. And you know how hot it’s been. But I worked in that heat all day, and all day long the laborers kept coming.

Are you envious because I am generous?

And they got paid first! When I saw what they got I thought he must have upped the pay scale, but no, he paid me just what he promised.

But it’s not fair that the workers who came late, all the way up until 5 in the afternoon, got paid the very same thing I did! If that’s the way it works then from now on I’m showing up at the end of the day too.

“Are you envious because I’m generous?” he asked us when we complained. Well, I can tell you that his ways are not the ways of doing business! And his thoughts are not the thoughts of somebody who wants to keep his workers working hard for him!

I’m mad. I’m frustrated. But I’ve been thinking about all the things God has given me in my life that I didn’t earn. I want to get to know this guy better, whose ways are not my ways and whose thoughts are not my thoughts.

Name some of the things you have received from God that you didn’t earn.

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).

September 11, 2011

Reflecting on Sirach 27:30-28:7

Psalm 103:1-2, 3-4, 9-10, 11-12

Matthew 18: 21-35

Let me add my astonished voice to the millions of voices who must have said today, after hearing today’s Gospel, “Of all the days in history for these readings to come around!  God is clearly in our midst.”

Think about it.  Forty-two years of Sunday Masses have gone by since the new lectionary was received by the Church on the First Sunday of Advent, 1969.  That’s 2,184 Sundays.  Jesus’ great parable about the necessity of forgiveness has only appeared on fourteen of those Sundays, and one of those is today, on the tenth anniversary of the event which challenged our willingness to even speak of forgiveness, much less try to activate it.

September 11, 2001 is the date that will live in infamy for most Americans because more of us living today were of age on that date than were of age on December 7, 1941, and the generation who lived through that awful day in 1941 was equally shocked when those towers came down.

On this tenth anniversary of the temporary triumph of hate, let the memories come.  Let the shock set in again, and the sadness.  And then turns your eyes upon Jesus, and who speaks so intimately to the world today through Matthew’s Gospel account, and whose kindness is new every morning.

And hear old Sirach, reaching out to us in time today: Wrath and anger are hateful things, yet the sinner hugs them tight…The vengeful will suffer the LORD’s vengeance, for he remembers their sins in detail.

Who will speak the wisdom of Jesus, the Reconciler, in our age?  If not us, who?  If not now, when?  Let’s let our voices ring.  Let’s seek the way of peace together.  Let’s roll.

How has the event of September 11, 2001 impacted your relationship with God?

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 Matthew 18:15-20

I friend of mine, the mother of two young adults, once said this:  I think my kids love to watch “Friends” because the characters in that television show openly confront each other (hilariously, of course) and don’t have any hidden resentments.  But in real life nobody really relates that way, and so my kids leave all kinds of things unsaid, even with each other.  They were so much closer when they were kids, before they learned to hide their feelings.

It’s true, isn’t it?  The challenges of social interactions are so great that many conversations never happen, and decades-long resentments are never voiced, which means true intimacy is never approached.

Jesus knows a thing or two about intimacy, and gives us this bold suggestion: just open your mouth and say what’s on your mind.  Now, this is very risky.  Chances are great that the person whom you want to be closer to, but can’t because of whatever it is that’s bothering you, will listen respectfully, thank you for your “feedback”, and then check you off their list of their most intimate friends because they are inwardly seething.

And that’s where God’s words to Cain, sick with jealousy of his brother Abel, come in handy: Why are you angry? If you act rightly, you will be accepted; but if not, sin lies in wait at the door: its urge is for you, yet you can rule over it (Gen. 4:7).

At moments of great grace, sin crouches at the door.  Honesty is agonizing, but no great marriage or community ever thrived without it.

Have you ever had the grace to let a friend know that you have been hurt by 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 Mt 16: 21-27

Today, on this feast of St. Augustine, it’s good to read some of the things he had to say about today’s difficult Gospel:

We know what great things love can accomplish, even though it is often base and sensual.  We know what hardships people have endured, what intolerable indignities they have borne to attain the object of their love.  What we love indicates the sort of people we are, and therefore making a decision about this should be our one concern in choosing a way of life.

How absolutely brilliant, and yet so simple.  Figure out what (and whom) you love, and then choose your way of life.  Any career, any lifestyle will have its struggles, but if you choose a life in Christ you can be sure that it will come with a cross fit just for you.

My mind goes to images of Jesuits tied to rafts and sent over waterfalls in South America.  I can also conjure up stories of the great suffering of Catholic missionaries imprisoned in China for decades, or Franciscan Father Maximilian Kolbe offering to die in place of a stranger at Auschwitz.

But of course the real crosses are the daily ones, the aggravating ones, the ones that form us and give clarity to our decisions about whether we will make eye contact with that guy holding the sign on the corner, or pick up the phone when the lonely neighbor calls again.

What cross do you pick up and carry with love because of WHOM you love?  Let’s talk about it together here on the website.

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).