With little thought, we readily slide into alternatives. The road ahead has traffic stopped, so we take an alternate route. But God has no backup plan. There is only plan ‘A,’ and that one plan holds fast forever.

Tuesday of Fifth Week of Easter
Acts 14:19-28
John 14:27-31

At some time in your life, probably when you were young, you held a gyroscope in your hand. You wrapped the string around the center post, gave that string a hard pull, and the caged wheel would rapidly spin. You set it on a pointed cone or on a string-held taunt, and it would hold fast to the plane of the spinning wheel until that wheel lost its momentum. If you held that spinning wheel in your hand, you could feel resistance if you tried to turn it.

Motorcycle stability operates on the same principle. The Spinning wheels resist changes in orientation due to angular momentum, helping keep the bike upright. The cyclist can feel it particularly in cornering.

Change the image: Sometimes during World War II, bomber pilots were scoffed at for reporting making less than expected headway after hours of flying. The laughter and criticism stopped only when the jet stream was discovered.

Change again: The smaller and lighter the boat in the river, the more cautiously must the boat’s operator guide the boat from current to shore. Why? Because the strength of the current will more readily capsize a lightweight boat, particularly one that sits low in the water.

With these images in mind, let’s look at today’s Scripture. In the opening verses, we find Paul being stoned by Jews from Antioch and Iconium. No matter that no reason is offered in the text for the stoning, we know the reason: it is the logic of the gyroscope and the reasoning of the jet stream. The Jews who opposed Paul and stoned him were spinning through life in a particular manner and resisted any effort to change. Nevertheless, Paul and his companions “made a considerable number of disciples,” and were pragmatic about the momentum of the times, the strong headwinds of the culture, and the flow of the current: “It is necessary for us to undergo many hardships to enter the Kingdom of God.”

When we move on to the Gospel, we find that Jesus, too, was pragmatic: “the ruler of the world is coming.” The spinning has not stopped. The headwinds have not diminished. The current has not ceased to flow. These are the facts that will make it “necessary for us (the disciples) to undergo many hardships to enter the Kingdom of God.”

But even before this reminder of what lies ahead, Jesus promises peace. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you.” If only for brief periods, the world may give us peace from international or national conflict, peace within our communities and families, peace from trials and tribulations, or peace from other forms of conflict. But these never last; they are always short-lived, like a drop of water cast onto a hot skillet. No, the peace of Christ is different; it is the peace of knowing that, no matter what seems to prevail, someone I can trust is in charge of it all. That is why the Father reminds us through Paul: “Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.” “If God is for us, who is against us? He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, will he not also give us all things with him?” (Romans 8:31-32)

“We know that in everything God works for good with those who love him, who are called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

With little thought, we readily slide into alternatives. The road ahead has traffic stopped, so we take an alternate route. But God has no backup plan. There is only plan ‘A,’ and that one plan holds fast forever.

“For he has made known to us in all wisdom and insight the mystery of his will, according to his purpose which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fulness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth. In him, according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to the counsel of his will.” (Ephesians 1:9-11)

When this reflection first began to take shape, Jesus’ words regarding peace were at the forefront, and the image of the river current came to mind. It seems that God’s eternal plan, plan ‘A’ if you will, absolutely resists modification. It is THE plan, the one and only plan, and it inevitably moves toward fulfillment without the slightest of sidetracks. We pray for that fulfillment regularly when we pray “thy Kingdom come.” The Our Father was never intended to be a passive prayer, as if floating downriver on the current was sufficient. It was and is a prayer of action, a prayer of taking up the paddle of the canoe, of actively resisting any alternative force that would turn us aside. But in taking up the paddle, we must be careful, for when we do so, we also take on the possibility of moving out of the current and leaving the plan.

The flow of the water may carry us toward one bank or another, past rocks or sunken trees, and even through turbulence. It may move fast; it may be slow.

Nevertheless, residing in the current provides the kind of peace that the world cannot give. This is the peace that Jesus has promised.

Go with the flow.

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In the Book of Acts, we hear that a ‘great number’ or a ‘large number’ came to believe. The incident piqued my curiosity — not because people scattered in the face of persecution, nor because their message was received, but because it made me wonder what they actually said to those they met. Acts tells us in nonspecific terms that they were “preaching the word.” The details are not listed. So, what were they preaching?

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Easter
Acts 11:19-26
John 10:22-30

“Those who had been scattered by the persecution that arose because of Stephen went as far as Phoenicia, Cyprus, and Antioch, preaching the word to no one but Jews. There were some Cypriots and Cyrenians among them, however, who came to Antioch and began to speak to the Greeks as well.”

Later in this passage, we hear that a ‘great number’ or a ‘large number’ came to believe. The incident piqued my curiosity — not because people scattered in the face of persecution, nor because their message was received, but because it made me wonder what they actually said to those they met.

Acts tells us in nonspecific terms that they were “preaching the word.” The details are not listed. So, what were they preaching?

I suppose peace is a possibility — world peace, national peace, community peace, domestic peace, inner peace? But that probably would have gone nowhere if their audience simply considered their life circumstances. Yes, there was the Pax Romana (Peace of the Roman Empire), but that was just another way of acknowledging that Roman power prevented those under its control from fighting one another. War wasted the money and resources that were supposed to go to Rome.

You might guess that they preached caring for the widow and the orphan, but that message had been inadequately received (and commonly ignored) since it was first introduced.

Justice? Was Justice the word they preached? Doubt it. Sure, Justice was seen as one of the hallmarks of the coming messiah, but there was little these immigrants from Israel could do to effect its actual practice in the Roman world.

How about preaching social equality? That’s probably the most laughable of the suggestions offered. The empire was a social world where slaves were common, where there were the elite and the scum, where authority rested with the rich and powerful, where there was among the populace a “top” and a “bottom” with practically nothing in between.

Do I get points for telling you something new? Probably not.

We have a good idea of what these early Christians preached, what message they brought to others. We know this from the preaching of both Peter and Paul, as recorded in the Scriptures.

“Since all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, they are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus… “ (Romans 3:23-24)

“He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed.” (1 Peter 2:24)

“For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive.” (1 Corinthians 15:21-22)

It is this message, of course, that these migrating Jews brought with them and proclaimed in their new communities. Nothing new here! Why the fuss?

The issue before us is the result of two thousand years of cultural evolution, and it is pernicious if overlooked. Pernicious because it subtly undermines the foundational truth of our faith.

It is well and good to exhort people to peace. A just society is one we should all strive for. The pursuit of social justice is an endeavor all should work for. The elimination of world hunger is also a goal within reach, yet it seems evermore elusive.

But why do I say these things as if they are self-evident norms? They are not universally accepted truths, and some Western philosophers suggest better alternatives.

Nietzsche proposed that the will to power should be in control. Darwin would suggest the survival of the fittest. Jean Paul Sartre told us that the self should guide all. Among these and other philosophers, Marx would offer complete, absolute, total, and comprehensive equality.

It is interesting to note that all of these have their beginning and their end in our humanity. So too is it possible for the pursuit of justice, peace, social equality, and the like. These, too, can have their beginning and their end in our humanity, and that’s a matter of some concern. For if our humanity is the foundation, then the ‘good’ can quickly change. And that pernicious issue previously referred to is already unfolding. It is this: Christianity may well survive even if there are no Christians.

In a subtle way, the consequences of the Christian Faith have themselves become their own reason for being. When those early Christians left Jerusalem for other towns and cities, they preached the gospel of God becoming man, of His love for mankind, His proclamation of the forgiveness of sin, and His willingness to die so we could have eternal life. All else followed from this foundational truth. God loves us; therefore, we should love one another. We do so, not because it is the human thing to do, but because it is the God-like thing to do.

If we forget that, then Christianity may well survive even if there are no Christians. Then mankind will discover that, in its distortion, it is not Christianity after all.

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The very fact that I am a self-conscious individual necessitates that I have choices. This way or that? Up or down? Right or left? A “yes” always implies a “no.” Simple? Sure! And the persistent presence of that “no” is implied by the facts of consciousness and individuality. The inheritance of these characteristics plays a significant role in understanding the Gospel reading of the day.

Tuesday of the Second Week of Easter
Acts 4:32-37
John 3:7-15

Generally speaking, a child’s first words are considered a momentous occasion, and “Mama” and “Dada” in some form or another usually head the list of first words. But sooner or later, the child recognizes his long-standing inheritance from Adam and Eve, and the word “No” comes into play. It has to. The very fact that I am a self-conscious individual necessitates that I have choices.

This way or that? Up or down? Right or left? A “yes” always implies a “no.” Simple? Sure! And the persistent presence of that “no” is implied by the facts of consciousness and individuality. The inheritance of these characteristics plays a significant role in understanding the Gospel reading of the day.

‘You must be born from above.’

The details of this assertion are spelled out in the preceding verses.

“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of God.”

“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh, and that which is born of the Spirit is spirit.” (John 3:3, 5-6)

From birth or before, we are aware that every child is one-of-a-kind. The individual is celebrated. Like The Little Prince, we glory in being unique in all the world. But along with the possibility of choosing — a product of individuality, consciousness, and self-awareness — comes the possibility of choosing poorly. We all know it because we have all done it —i.e., chosen poorly. Furthermore, we consistently associate those poor choices with youth or the persistence of youthful characteristics. We identify young adults (or even older adults) who manifest these juvenile traits as “unrealistic,” “not having enough real-life experience,” or even as “never having grown up.” Conversely, we also see the young person making wise choices, described as “old for his age.” Maturation is understood as the development of the ability to make wise choices.

While this is true, there is also something missing. Something we instinctively know, but also something which misses our conscious attention. What is it? It is the fact that both the “yes” and the “no” that we so casually use comprise the essence of our human nature. In order to choose, we must be conscious of the world, conscious of ourselves, and conscious of our “place” in the world. That is, we must be aware that we are distinct beings within the world.

Why is this important? It is through the choices that we decide how we will interact with our surroundings. Animal choices are based on the essentials for survival, but little more. That is true for birds finding a place to build a nest. That is true for the horse that jumps a barrier to eat the greener grass on the other side. That is true for the bear seeking a safe place to hibernate. Man builds his nest where he chooses; he raises his own “greener grass” in the place where he lives; he assesses the dangers in his surroundings and creates his own obstacles to danger. And … In a creative way, he goes beyond those basics to design the world he wants.

That’s why Jesus would say: “Unless one is born anew, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Having been “born of the flesh,” we are endowed with the power to deal with the physical world, but that power is limited. It is limited even in the physical world, but even more so in the spiritual. There is, for example, a natural moral law, but we know it imperfectly. And even in the physical world, there is a “best,” “correct,” or “most productive” way to do things, but we often choose poorly.

That limitation is overcome by the one who is born anew, the one who has been “born of water and the Spirit.” At birth, we are transformed from inert matter into a being with physical life. In being born anew of water and the Spirit, we are transformed from a being with physical life to a being with divine life. It is in this state of having divine life — and only in this state — that it is possible to consistently align our “yes” and our “no” with the eternal “yes” and “no” of the Father.

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People with a message to share will repeat it over and over again as their audience changes. And Peter’s message was both clear and concise. “Let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.”

Tuesday in the Octave of Easter
Acts 2:36-41
John 20:11-18

Peter’s speech to the people on the day of Pentecost may well have been missed by Luke; so you might wonder how he could have recorded it in the book we call The Acts of the Apostles. The most probable answer is simple. People with a message to share will repeat it over and over again as their audience changes. And Peter’s message was both clear and concise:

“Let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.”

Obviously, that’s not the totality of what Peter had to say. A bit of explanation, elaboration, and detail would have been included, but the core of his message would remain the same.

“Let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.”

So I have to ask: is that the heart of our message today?

When you read or hear of the Church being active in the present day, the account presented will most likely center on ritual practice, doctrinal teaching, moral issues, social practices, and the like. As a consequence, I am led to wonder if we are being distracted by the teachings of our own faith. The problem is that none of these issues is an important religious matter in and of itself. Why? Because they are consequences of one singular truth:

“Let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.”

Discussions (or arguments) on religious matters are varied. Non-believers will often indicate by their statements that they are troubled by such things as the “contradictions” in Scripture, the similarity across religions of certain moral elements, the behavior of believers, the “archaic” nature of ritual, the dissonance between moral teaching and “reality.” These are secondary.

Peter had it right. Ritual practice, doctrinal teaching, moral issues, and social practices — none of these were the heart of the matter. All else would flow from that one truth which Peter so boldly proclaimed. Sure! But in fact, there is only one place to start, only one reality that can change hearts, only one truth that can stand alone as an anchor for all that logically follows from it.

“Let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.”

We know this is true, so why does the world associate us with consequences that only make sense in its light?

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John tells us that there was a man “there who had been ill for thirty-eight years.” John also makes it clear that “Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been ill for a long time.” So, Jesus walks over to the man and asks, “Do you want to be well?”

Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent
Jeremiah 11:18-20
John 7:40-53

How do you respond when someone asks a weird question? How do you react when the weird question is part of a story you’re reading? Do you just go on reading? Do you stop and reread, wondering if you got something wrong? Do you even notice? We find one of those seemingly weird questions in today’s gospel reading from John.

“Now there is in Jerusalem at the Sheep Gate a pool called in Hebrew Bethesda, with five porticoes. In these lay a large number of ill, blind, lame, and crippled.”

OK! Now the stage is set, and Jesus enters the scene. John tells us that there was a man “there who had been ill for thirty-eight years.” John also makes it clear that “Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been ill for a long time.” So, Jesus walks over to the man and asks, “Do you want to be well?”

DUH?

You might just as well ask someone: “Do you want to get out of the cage with the lion?” Or ask the starving man: “Would you like something to eat?” Or ask someone screaming for help: “Would you like me to give you a hand?” But then you remember that Jesus isn’t prone to asking dumb questions. And a bit of reflection suggests that maybe, just maybe, there’s something more going on here.

John was certainly not averse to including details, but in this case, he could have said that the man had been ill for decades, since his youth, or even for a long time. Why the specificity of thirty-eight years? The Jews in John’s day would have known.

When the Israelites initially escaped slavery in Egypt under the leadership of Moses, they made their way relatively quickly to the Southern edge of the Promised Land. Arriving at that point, Moses sent scouts into the land.

“At the end of forty days they returned from spying out the land. And they came to Moses and Aaron and to all the congregation of the sons of Israel in the wilderness of Paran, at Ka′desh; they brought back word to them and to all the congregation, and showed them the fruit of the land.

And they told him, ‘We came to the land to which you sent us; it flows with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. Yet the people who dwell in the land are strong, and the cities are fortified and very large; and besides, we saw the descendants of Anak there. The Amal′ekites dwell in the land of the Neg′eb; the Hittites, the Jeb′usites, and the Am′orites dwell in the hill country; and the Canaanites dwell by the sea, and along the Jordan.’

But Caleb quieted the people before Moses, and said, ‘Let us go up at once, and occupy it; for we are well able to overcome it.’

Then the men who had gone up with him said, ‘We are not able to go up against the people; for they are stronger than we.’

So they brought to the sons of Israel an evil report of the land which they had spied out, saying, ‘The land, through which we have gone to spy it out, is a land that devours its inhabitants; and all the people that we saw in it are men of great stature.’” (Numbers 13:25-32))

So the Israelites, the very people who had witnessed the plagues, the Passover, the pillar of cloud, the pillar of fire, the parting of the sea, and the destruction of Pharaoh’s army, decided it was too dangerous. They turned away and wandered through the desert for thirty-eight more years. Why? Because at that initial encounter with the Promised Land, they were not yet ready to be ‘healed’.

And so Jesus question of the man at Bethesda’s pool: “Do you want to be well?” “Do you want to be made whole?” “Do you want to finally enter the Promised Land?” You wouldn’t expect the question to be so difficult to honestly answer. But . . .

It is said that towards the end of St Augustine’s youth, following years of debauchery, St Augustine prayed (apparently with a straight face), “Lord, make me pure — but not yet.” Is that our own position as we contemplate a full and total commitment to our Savior? Sooner or later, we will have to decide.

Do I want to be made whole and enter the Promised Land?

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Our readings for today tell two stories, stories of cups being full and stories of cups being empty. Actually, we hear of both full and empty in each story. Throughout life, we all share in highs and lows — the cup that overflows and the cup that seems bottomless in its emptiness.

Tuesday of the Third Week of Lent
Daniel 3:25, 34-43
Matthew 18:21-35

This morning’s reading from the Old Testament is part of a story most are familiar with. However, a brief refresher will help put this text in the broader context of events. A summary of the preceding events will be drawn from verses from the Sacred text.

“In the third year of the reign of Jehoi′akim king of Judah, Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came to Jerusalem and besieged it.” (Daniel 1:1) He conquered Jerusalem and exiled many to Babylon.

“Then the king commanded Ash′penaz, his chief eunuch, to bring some of the people of Israel, both of the royal family and of the nobility, youths without blemish, handsome and skilful in all wisdom, endowed with knowledge, understanding, learning, and competent to serve in the king’s palace, and to teach them the letters and language of the Chalde’ans.” (Daniel 1:3-4)

“Among these were Daniel, Hanani’ah, Mish’a-el, and Azari’ah of the tribe of Judah. And the chief of the eunuchs gave them names: Daniel he called Belteshaz’zar, Hananiah he called Shad’rach, Misha-el he called Me’shach, and Azariah he called Abed’nego.” (Daniel 1:6-7)

“As for these four youths, God gave them learning and skill in all letters and wisdom; and Daniel had understanding in all visions and dreams. At the end of the time, when the king had commanded that they should be brought in, the chief of the eunuchs brought them in before Nebuchadnezzar. And the king spoke with them, and among them all none was found like Daniel, Hanani’ah, Mish’a-el, and Azari’ah; therefore they stood before the king.” (Daniel 1:17-19”

“Then the king gave Daniel high honors and many great gifts, and made him ruler over the whole province of Babylon, and chief prefect over all the wise men of Babylon. Daniel made request of the king, and he appointed Shad’rach, Me’shach, and Abed’nego over the affairs of the province of Babylon; but Daniel remained at the king’s court.” (Daniel 2:48-49)

“King Nebuchadnez’zar made an image of gold, whose height was sixty cubits and its breadth six cubits. He set it up on the plain of Dura, in the province of Babylon.” (Daniel 3:1) But the exiled people of Israel had enemies; some went to the king.

“You, O king, have made a decree, that every man who hears the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, bagpipe, and every kind of music, shall fall down and worship the golden image; and whoever does not fall down and worship shall be cast into a burning fiery furnace.” (Daniel 3:10-11)

You can see where this is going. The king has given an order that Hanani’ah, Mish’a-el, and Azari’ah can not obey. Nebuchadnezzar is PO’d. So the furnace is prepared. The three are thrown into the fire. From within Azari’ah (now called Abed’nego) offers his prayer. We hear a portion of that prayer today.

Most of us, if not all of us, live a life with a cup that is somewhere between full and empty.

Occasionally, we are blessed and our cup overflows. We remember those times with joy. Some probably happened when we were very young. I occasionally recall a time when I was somewhere around three to five years old. We were at my grandparents’ house. It was spring. The sun was warm — not hot, but warm. The sky was blue. And I sat beneath a cherry tree in full bloom and fragrance, playing in a pile of sand. As I built sand castles, a gentle breeze would shower me with the flowers’ pink petals. What more could anyone ask?

Other such memories can also be recalled from the unfolding of years along my way. My cup in those spring hours was full to overflowing. But, from time to time, the cup would abruptly be empty.

When I was a little older than the cherry tree incident, I became fascinated with building model airplanes. You know the type: balsa wood pieces, smelly glue, detailed instructions. I had proudly accumulated about fifteen of these models when my parents invited some friends to visit. They had a couple of kids close to my age. Now, not everyone sees a model as something to be admired. To these new kids, the models were just another toy. What exciting things happen to airplanes? Runway accidents, mid-air collisions, and crashes in the wilderness. Such was the fate of all my models. I had no idea the bottom of my cup was so far down.

Our readings for today tell two stories, stories of cups being full and stories of cups being empty. Actually, we hear of both full and empty in each story. The tale from Nebuchadnezzar’s court begins with an empty cup. Jerusalem has fallen. Israel is defeated. The leadership is sent into exile. (That’s a pretty empty cup.) But then four young men of Israel are called to the king’s court to be properly trained and educated. Azariah is one of them. And the four are found to be superior to all other candidates, so they are promoted to high positions; Daniel remains directly in the king’s service while the other three take on government jobs. (Looks like the cup is being filled.)

The gospel tale follows that of Azari’ah in that the debtor’s cup was pretty much empty. But suddenly …his cup was full. “Moved with compassion, the master of that servant let him go and forgave him the loan.”

But then, the forgiven servant fails to act with compassion toward a fellow servant who also has a debt problem. He had him thrown into debtors’ prison “until he paid back the debt.” But the master finds out and retracts the forgiveness previously offered. The original debtor then found his cup empty.

Now we could examine the faith of Hanani’ah, Mish’a-el, and Azari’ah. It’s really quite an amazing story. Likewise, we could examine the required seventy-seven times of forgiveness. Throughout life, we all share in highs and lows — the cup that overflows and the cup that seems bottomless in its emptiness. But what caught my attention was the behavior of the two men when their personal account was settled. After the rollercoaster of ups and downs, the king decides that the furnace will be Azari’ah’s fate. In response, Azari’ah sings the praises of God and asks for deliverance. After the debtor's downs and ups, the debtor responds by deciding that misery will be his fellow man’s fate.

The cherry tree blooms on a warm spring day. It was not through my power that such a thing happened. Similarly, others my age naturally saw models as toys and played with them accordingly. Neither was Azari’ah responsible for the king’s golden statue or the corresponding rule of worship. So too, the servant in debt to the master could not claim responsibility for the master’s compassion. Things happen. Many things. Some are filling. But not all.

So much of life is beyond me. What’s within my grasp is how I respond.

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For those who originated the word, ‘logos’ can have the meanings “I put in order, I arrange, I gather, I choose, I count, I reckon, I discern, I say, I speak.” And behind all these connotations is the presumption of power — power to effect what I choose, order, and arrange.

Tuesday of the First Week of Lent
Isaiah 55:10-11
Matthew 6:7-15

At this point in time, the song “It's Only Words,” by the Bee Gees, is more than fifty years old. Introduced by the BeeGees and since covered by multiple artists. It retains a notable level of popularity. It might be considered a lamentation regarding the limitations of interpersonal connection. But, more than any other pop music lyrics, it addresses something we all struggle with in our efforts to share with others.

“It’s only words, and words are all I have to take your heart away.”

The term ‘word’ as used today fails to capture the richness of the term from which it evolved. The dictionary says that ‘word’ means “a speech sound or series of speech sounds that symbolizes and communicates a meaning.” Sounds more than just a bit academic. Nevertheless, it is an accurate description of modern usage. A couple of thousand years ago, its meaning wasn’t so sterile.

It would be cumbersome to go into a philological study about origins and developments. A brief summary will have to do.

St John, in his Gospel, uses the Greek word ‘logos.’ St Jerome would later translate this as ‘verbum.’ ‘Verbum’ would in time be translated as ‘word.’ Some would recognize the limitations of ‘word’ used alone and opt for ‘living word.’ But what was the original meaning? And what was John using the term to express?

As previously noted, the original term, the one John used, was borrowed from the Greek. That term was ‘logos,’ and it embodied notions of reason, logic, order, or understanding. Among its connotations is that of a rational form of discourse. So for those who originated the word, ‘logos’ can have the meanings “I put in order, I arrange, I gather, I choose, I count, I reckon, I discern, I say, I speak”. And behind all these connotations is the presumption of power — power to effect what I choose, order, and arrange.

With that understanding, we can more deeply appreciate the message Isaiah presents as God's.

The Isaiah text, Isaiah 55:10, opens with the common experience of rain. Whether it comes as snow or rain, moisture does not fall from the sky and immediately return whence it came. Rather, it first makes the earth fertile and fruitful by watering the soil and plants, giving life. I’m not sure how Isaiah knew this, but rain does make the soil more fertile. It does so because lightning converts atmospheric nitrogen into a form plants can use. That nitrogen falls with the rain; thus, plants are more productive. The consequences are extraordinary. There is grain for the one who has planted. That leads to flour for the one who makes the bread. And that leads to the building up of life.

“So too, says the Lord, is my word.
It has a purpose and it will accomplish that purpose.
It will not return to me having done nothing.
And God said; “Let there be light.”

John would go on to describe that power as found in Jesus himself.

“All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made.” (John 1:3)

However, it’s easy to overlook the connection that Jesus would make between the power of our own logos, our own words. We hear him teach it in Matthew:

“What comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a man. For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a man; but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile a man.” (Matthew 15:18-20)

Our words also have power, and that is not necessarily for the good. Words not only have the power to “take your heart away,” but they also have the power to minimize, diminish, and degrade. And what’s more, they reveal us for what we truly are.

Every creative word that God spoke was both a revelation of and an expression of himself. So, when he created the universe, the sun, the moon, and the stars, the earth and its plants and its creatures, and even man himself, he found it good. What else could it be? “All things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made.” So we can know something of God through his creation. The same is true for us. Our creations are also revelatory, and it is important that we ourselves be mindful of the person they reveal.

The word has power. Even our words will not return to us empty.

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“What eye has not seen? And what ear has not heard? And what divine marvels have not entered the human heart? So as to give us the power to recognize, when that time comes, what God has prepared for those who love him.”

Tuesday of the Sixth Week in Ordinary Time
James 1:12-18
Mark 8:14-21

As we read this Gospel incident recorded by Mark, The Leaven of the Pharisees, we encounter one of several situations in which the disciples’ misunderstanding is revealed. As the story begins, you can almost see the finger-pointing as the source of the bread problem is being sought out. Whether the suggestion of a dispute is a true interpretation or not, the discussion certainly registered with Jesus, and he questions where they have directed their attention. As Mark makes clear, the disciples were focused on their own earthly problems and forgetful of how Jesus himself had resolved such human matters in the past.

Before this Tuesday's Gospel reading, my own attention had been directed to the second reading from last Sunday’s liturgy. There we heard a well-known verse from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians: “What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard, and what has not entered the human heart, what God has prepared for those who love him.” The wording has always seemed a bit awkward to me, but a re-phrase might go something like this: “No man’s eye has ever seen, no man’s ear has ever heard, and no man’s heart has ever experienced what God has prepared for those who love him.”

I offer this paraphrase because last Sunday I initially heard something different. What I heard suggested an understanding that went like this: “What eye has not seen? And what ear has not heard? And what divine marvels have not entered the human heart? So as to give us the power to recognize, when that time comes, what God has prepared for those who love him.”

The common interpretation of Paul’s teaching looks to the inadequacy of either human experience or imagination as foundations for grasping what comes in the next life. When that same teaching is posed as a series of questions, everything changes.

Novels that explore the experience of mankind as it moves into an unknown future seem, by and large, to lean toward warning and potential destruction. It’s easier to find novels like Brave New World (Aldous Huxley), Animal Farm (George Orwell), A Canticle for Leibowitz (Walter M. Miller, Jr), or The Road (Cormac McCarthy) than to find those of celebration.

But poetry and song tend toward a different perspective. William Wordsworth titled his poem well when he wrote Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood. In it, he suggests that the way the world appears to children is a hint that every human soul comes from heaven and will return there one day. Here’s a small portion.

In a thousand valleys far and wide,
                      Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,
And the Babe leaps up on his Mother’s arm:—
                      I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!
                      —But there’s a Tree, of many, one,
A single field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone;
                      The Pansy at my feet
                      Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
What eye has not seen? And what ear has not heard?
We all know it — that sensation of Flying Without Wings 
(song by Westlife)

At least once in life, most would say, “I’m trying to hold my breath, let it stay this way.” (Opening words to Never Enough from The Greatest Showman)

Our desire is for the complete fulfillment of promise — the “Blind will see, the lame will walk, the dead will live again.” (from the song “Mary Did You Know?” But also from Isaiah 35:5)

We struggle, and we Dream the Impossible Dream (title and opening words from a song in The Man From LaMancha).

And the dream is common, even among pop musicians. This particular hope-in-song was introduced in 1968 by a young Elvis Presley.

There must be lights burning brighter, somewhere
Got to be birds flying higher in a sky more blue
If I can dream of a better land
Where all my brothers walk hand in hand
Tell me why, oh why, oh why can’t my dream come true?
Oh, why?
There must be peace and understanding sometime
Strong winds of promise that will blow away the doubt and fear
If I can dream of a warmer sun
Where hope keeps shining on everyone
Tell me why, oh why, oh why won’t that sun appear?

“Why,” he asks. Because the Son has appeared, and we are disciples in a boat, giving Him our superficial attention. We still ask, as did the students in the musical Les Miz: in Beyond the barricade:

Is there a world you long to see?
And just like those students we still live with our own intimations of immortality.
From the table in the corner
They could see a world reborn
And they rose, with voices ringing
And I can hear them now!
The very words that they had sung
Became their last communion
We desire. We hope. We pray for:
A world where pain and sorrow will be ended
And every heart that’s broken will be mended
And we’ll remember we’re all God’s children
Reaching out to touch him
Reaching to the sky 
(The Prayer song)

These contemporary expressions are evidence that we have seen, we have heard, we have inherent intimations that there is something more, and we sense what it will be like. But surprisingly, if we examine these same texts closely, we might think they are written or sung by an Old Testament people. These hopes, desires, longings are found time after time in the Scriptures — but exclusively in the Books written before Christ.

And while the desires of those days — the desire for justice, beauty, truth, peace, love, and the conquest of suffering, sorrow, and want — were nailed to an anticipated Messiah, that nailed Messiah has now come. One might, for example, think that one of those in the boat was named Malthus or Sanger, distracted by a concern about overpopulation that would eventually overwhelm the food supply and natural resources.

“What eye has not seen? And what ear has not heard? And what divine marvels have not entered the human heart? So as to recognize, when that time comes, what God has prepared for those who love him.” We’ve been given a glimpse of what is to come, but like the disciples, we sit in the boat and dispute mundane matters which God himself has shown a readiness to resolve.

A verse or incident from the Scriptures grabs our attention, and we run with it — ignoring the whole from which it was taken. We hear “feed the hungry,” and we are moved. We hear “if a man doesn’t work, he should not eat,” and we find it offensive. Is one verse the Word of God but not the other? Do parts of Scripture have only second-class inspiration? Obviously, NO!

G. K. Chesterton, the great British apologist of the last century, spoke more than once about how only Christianity had successfully addressed apparent conflicts simultaneously: suffering vs. salvation, life vs. death, suffering servant vs. conquering warrior, riches vs. wealth, and so on. Only in the whole of Scripture is truth to be found. Select lines and verses, and stories can be misappropriated and misleading. Yet, how often is a single line considered an adequate guide?

Our desires, our dreams, our hopes find their origin in the fact that we have been infused with that glimpse of a reality that can be ours. But we have to look beyond to find it realized. We sit in the boat. We argue about peace when we have not found our own internal peace. We argue for enough bread as the source of bread stands before us. We dream of a better land, one with peace and understanding, as division (created by the ‘other,’ of course) sits ever more firmly in our psyche.

Meanwhile … meanwhile … we’re poker players; and we’re at the table with a small pile of chips while simultaneously holding a royal flush. Yet we’re afraid to say “All In.” Are we so in doubt of what we have seen and what we have heard?

Do we still not understand?

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The Gospel reading follows a different line. It pits the Law given to Moses by God against the laws given by the Pharisees to the People of God. According to the practice of the day, sanctity was to be achieved by following what men had decided on. In that legal opposition, we see the crux of the problem.

Memorial of Saint Scholastica, Virgin
1 Kings 8:22-23, 27-30
Mark 7:1-13

Sometimes we get things backward, or upside down, or inside out.

In previous readings, we heard of King David moving the Ark of the Covenant and desiring to build a house for the Lord. In today’s Old Testament reading we find that David’s son, King Solomon, has completed just such a ‘house’ in the capital city of Jerusalem. Further, ina great ceremony and celebration, that completion was commemorated. Finally, God has been brought to where man is.

The Gospel reading follows a different line. It pits the Law given to Moses by God against the laws given by the Pharisees to the People of God. According to the practice of the day, sanctity was to be achieved by following what men had decided on.

In that legal opposition, we see the crux of the problem, for the Pharisees attempted to put into practice what Solomon had symbolized physically: We will bring God to where we are. Sometimes we get things backward, or upside down, or inside out.

Maybe we should try something new and go to where God is rather than trying to bring God to us.

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Michal was embarrassed that the King, her husband, had made a spectacle of himself by dancing in public. You can almost hear her disgust as she exclaims: “We hire people for that!” But David’s response is unequivocal: “I will make merry before the Lord.”

Tuesday of the Third Week in Ordinary Time
2 Samuel 6:12b-15, 17-19
Mark 3:31-35

The Ark of the Covenant, along with Solomon’s Temple, is probably the two most widely known creations from Old Testament times. With the exception of a foundational wall, the Temple no longer exists. The current status of the Ark remains a mystery. In David’s time, however, it was a celebrated physical testament to the events of the Exodus. In many ways, it was concrete evidence of God’s presence among his people.

Today’s reading from the second book of Samuel tells of the young King David’s procession in which the Ark is brought to Jerusalem. Jerusalem was conquered by David early in his reign and later became the country's capital. It was appropriate that the Ark should reside there as well. David celebrates the event by dancing before the Ark as the procession advances to Jerusalem. That portion of the book assigned as the day's reading ends a tad too soon, however.

Some years earlier, David had married King Saul’s daughter, Michal. She had her own opinions on how state affairs should be conducted. Just two more verses from Samuel tell us what transpired after the procession arrived at its destination.

“And David returned to bless his household. But Michal, the daughter of Saul, came out to meet David, and said, ‘How the king of Israel honored himself today, uncovering himself today before the eyes of his servants’ maids, as one of the vulgar fellows shamelessly uncovers himself!’ And David said to Michal, ‘It was before the Lord, who chose me above your father, and above all his house, to appoint me as prince over Israel, the people of the Lord—and I will make merry before the Lord.’” (2 Samuel 6:20-21)

Michal was embarrassed that the King, her husband, had made a spectacle of himself by dancing in public. You can almost hear her disgust as she exclaims: “We hire people for that!” But David’s response is unequivocal: “I will make merry before the Lord.”

The brief passage we are given from Mark’s Gospel suggests a connection between the Old and New readings. This account of Jesus’ mother and brethren has occasionally been interpreted as presenting a situation of some concern for Jesus’ family. With no proper training, Jesus is teaching. Although this interpretation seems a stretch given the information provided, it does suggest a connection between the two texts. Micah was embarrassed that her husband should give such a public performance in dancing before the Ark. Were Jesus’s mother and brothers embarrassed as well? After all, Jesus wasn’t trained as a Rabbi. But even more important: Are we ourselves embarrassed to mention or give honor to Jesus in the public square?

“We preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles…” (1 Corinthians 1:23)

“The word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” (1 Corinthians 1:18)

So let us not be embarrassed to make known the source of our life.

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Do we really believe that “a person who is generally good, or does enough good things for others, will earn a place in Heaven?” Rather, “Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him” (Colossians 3:17).

Tuesday of the First Week in Ordinary Time
1 Samuel 1:9-20
Mark 1:21-28

“In their synagogue was a man with an unclean spirit; he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?”

Keep that question in mind. We will come back to it later

Here we are at that winter interlude. Christmas is over. Lent hasn’t begun. The Gospel readings tell of Jesus Baptism and early ministry. But before we turn to the Scripture readings, I need to tell a couple of stories.

The first is about an incident at an airport ticket counter. A man with a small child was talking to an airline agent. She was explaining that his very young child could not fly for free because she was older than the airlines allowed for free passage. The man was clearly distraught. He didn’t have the $700 to pay for that extra ticket. A young businesswoman overheard the exchange. She approached the ticket agent and quietly paid for the child’s ticket. When she was later asked what motivated her to do such a thing, she said she just tried to make a difference.

The second story is shorter. A young unchurched man decided to connect to a Christian religion. Knowing little about any of them, he examined several and ultimately made a decision. What prompted his final choice? Their social positions were closest to his own.

What’s going on here in these two stories?

As noted earlier, we’ve just celebrated Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany. During that time, we’ve watched as the secular world continues its attempts to make the season a ‘winter holiday.’ Not satisfied with removing Christ from Christmas, some even work diligently to eliminate Christmas from Christmas. Thus, the Christmas tree becomes a ‘holiday’ tree. But removing Christ from Christmas doesn’t really change anything for those of us who celebrate the Incarnation. But during this Christmas season, something far more insidious has come to my attention. It can be seen in the two stories.

It has to do with our rationale, our motivation for what we say and do. The woman at the airport, the young man in search of ‘religion’ — both prompt the question: why do we do the good that we do?

The world’s motivation is simple. We do it in the name of our fellow man, in the name of humanity or humanism. We do it because it makes us feel good, because of our pride, or we’re just trying to make a difference.

Phrases like pass it forward, be kind to someone today, being a good neighbor, and can’t we all just get along support this philosophical position. Consider the results of some recent studies.

A study, part of the American Worldview Inventory 2025, surveyed 2,000 American adults to explore their views on eternity and salvation. While most Christians still believe that everyone will one day be judged personally by God, the majority no longer see faith in Christ as the only path to eternal life.

According to the report, 53% of self-identified Christians said that “a person who is generally good, or does enough good things for others, will earn a place in Heaven.” That number jumps to 73% among Catholics. Less than half of Evangelicals, Pentecostals, Protestants, and non-denominational believers agreed with the statement — but even within those groups, researchers say the trend reflects growing confusion about the gospel message.

“There remains a shocking degree of misunderstanding among Christians regarding sin, repentance, forgiveness, and salvation,” said George Barna, the study’s lead researcher and director of the Cultural Research Center. “Millions of people who regularly attend Christian churches believe that eternal salvation does not depend on the sacrifice of Christ because of our sins. They don’t understand this fundamental tenet of Christian belief.”

Barna, one of the nation’s foremost faith researchers, warned that this shift reveals a deeper spiritual problem. “Instead,” he said, “we have a majority of self-described Christians hedging their eternal bets by integrating multiple means of salvation into their personal security plan.”

The study also found that many Christians have adopted a pluralistic view of salvation, with 54% of Catholics and 41% of self-identified Christians agreeing that “there are many paths to eternal salvation.” Even among Evangelicals and Pentecostals, over one-third believe people can “choose whichever one you prefer.”

This is contrary to our faith. Do we really believe that “a person who is generally good, or does enough good things for others, will earn a place in Heaven?” No! It is not the good but the holy — those living in Christ Jesus — that our God desires.

Consider what we know of the apostles and healing. “But Peter said, ‘I have no silver and gold, but I give you what I have; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise and walk’” (Acts 3:6).

When questioned by authorities a bit later, Peter had this to say.

“Rulers of the people and elders, if we are being examined today concerning a good deed done to a cripple, by what means this man has been healed, be it known to you all, and to all the people of Israel, that by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead, by him this man is standing before you well’” (Acts 4:8-10).

In another place in Acts we hear the same teaching again.

“Now as Peter went here and there among them all, he came down also to the saints that lived at Lydda. There he found a man named Aene’as, who had been bedridden for eight years and was paralyzed. And Peter said to him, ‘Aeneas, Jesus Christ heals you; rise and make your bed.’ And immediately he rose” (Acts 9:32-34).

It’s always in the name of Jesus.

“For there is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus” (1 Timothy 2:5.

“None of us lives to himself, and none of us dies to himself. If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s” (Romans 14:7-8).

“For, every one who calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved” (Romans 10:13).

At the core of our faith is this:

“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them” (Ephesians 2:10).

Doing good in the name of our fellow man, in the name of humanity, or humanism is a betrayal of faith. Doing good because it makes us feel good, because of our pride, or because we’re just trying to make a difference isn’t enough. If we do not recognize Jesus as the source of all good, the source of all life, we will find it elsewhere: In our fellow man, in humanity or humanism, in feeling good, in pride, or in just trying to make a difference.

So, we return to the question of evil — “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?”

And we find that it all comes down to this: How do we cast out the evil in this world except through the name of Jesus?

“Whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him” (Colossians 3:17).

It’s important that we say it to ourselves.

It’s important that we say it to others.

It’s critical that we say it to a world wallowing in humanism.

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A bountiful meal of rich wines and juicy meats became a commonly recalled image of the coming of the messiah, the establishment of the Kingdom, and the final act in which slavery would be abolished. It comes as no surprise, then, that the multiplication of the loaves and fish would recall that image.

Tuesday after Epiphany
I John 4:7-10
Mark 6:34-44

The multiplication of the loaves and fish is one of the few miracles recorded in all four Gospels. Its significance was first intimated several hundred years earlier in the land of Egypt. It was from there that the Lord rescued his people from slavery, and within that context, we learn of a meal that would, in time, be called the Passover. As directed by the Lord himself, a lamb was slaughtered, and its blood was sprinkled on the doorposts of the people’s homes. In recalling the account, it is not uncommon for emphasis to be placed on the blood of the lamb being spread at a home’s entrance, for that was the sign to the “Angel of death” that this home’s occupants should be spared the death that was coming to the Egyptians. But inside each home, a meal was being eaten, and that, too, was integral to the salvation that was to come.

In time, a bountiful meal of rich wines and juicy meats became a commonly recalled image of the coming of the messiah, the establishment of the Kingdom, and the final act in which slavery would be abolished. It comes as no surprise, then, that the multiplication of the loaves and fish would recall that image. John’s account tells us that, upon seeing this miracle, the people recognized Jesus as the Messiah and sought to make him King. But their kingly expectations were too human, and it was not yet the right time.

The connection between the Kingdom and the Eucharist is firmly established in John’s chapter 6. It is there that Jesus points out that the people’s royal expectations are tied to their full bellies, and that life can only be found in the eating of the flesh of the Son of Man and drinking his blood. In that teaching, the elements of man’s salvation are all brought to the fore. The sacrificial lamb of the first Passover. The blood of the lamb by which life was affirmed. The multiplication of loaves, anticipating the coming Kingdom. The sacrifice of the Lamb of God made possible the fullness of freedom. The necessity of again eating the Lamb of sacrifice. The surrender of blood/life to the Father.

From the earliest days of Christianity, Jesus has been recognized as the focal point of all creation and the epicenter of time. We read this in Paul's proclamation.

“He is the image of the invisible God, the first-born of all creation; for in him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or authorities-all things were created through him and for him.

He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. He is the head of the body, the Church; he is the beginning, the first-born from the dead, that in everything he might be pre-eminent.

For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.” (Colossians 1:15-20)

In the totality of creation, at the core and heart of all, we find Jesus. And in the teaching throughout his public life, we find this event and subsequent interchange (John 6) to be the focal point of all he would say. It is he past, the present, and the future given to us in the “now.”

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Anna was one of many who recognized the need to stand and wait. Not waiting with emptiness, but with growth. Not waiting with inactivity, but with preparation. Waiting for the now when they would know what to do.

The Sixth Day in the Octave of Christmas
1 John 2:12-17
Luke 2:36-40

When I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one Talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.”
(John Milton, A sonnet reflecting on his blindness)

What God has done lies in our storied past. It exists that we might know him better and recognize his presence in the ‘now’ where we live our lives.

What God will do remains in the unknown future. It remains hidden that we might grow in confidence and trust as we move on with our lives.

What God is doing in the ‘now’ is where we meet and engage with him.

Luke’s record of the prophetess Anna brought Milton’s poem to mind, particularly his closing line: “They also serve who only stand and wait.” We must guess, but it seems reasonable to assume that Anna’s husband died when she was about twenty. So for several decades she could have been found at prayer in the Temple.

She was not physically blind like Milton. She did not wonder how a physically limited person could serve the Lord. But she probably pondered the significance of her husband’s early death. She probably sought to understand what drew her to a life in the Temple. She probably questioned her purpose as year after year she found herself among those who seem to simply stand and wait.

Luke says she worshiped night and day with fasting and prayer. Anna was one of many who, like Milton, found themselves among those who stand and wait. Not waiting with emptiness, but with growth. Not waiting with inactivity, but with preparation. Waiting for the ‘now’ when they would know what to do.

John the Baptist was insufficient for so great an event as the Incarnation of the Messiah. Jesus himself would acknowledge that “Among those born of women there has arisen no one greater than John the Baptist.” (Matthew 11:11) But still greater preparation was needed for the wondrous work God was doing. And so there was Anna. Preparing herself with fasting and prayer. Growing in the awareness of the presence and activity of God. Standing and Waiting until Knowing the truth that needed telling in the now, even before the proper time for the Baptist’s message to be proclaimed: “Behold the Lamb of God.”

Not all are called to stand and wait. Not all are called to decades in Temple or Church for fasting and prayer. But each and every one is called to growth and preparation for the “now” when we are to proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ. And since the necessity of that proclamation comes in the ever-present now, so too must our growth and preparation be.

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The Father didn’t want his Son to be overlooked or missed. So we were given the clues and ultimately the messenger. The coming of the Anointed of the Father was not to be a surprise. An announcement would precede him.

Tuesday of the Fourth Week of Advent
Malachi 3:1-4, 23-24
Luke 1:57-66

Though we understand ‘Malachi’ to be correctly translated as ‘my messenger,’ and we know nothing about the historical person, his prophetic words are still important. He spoke at a time when the Israelites had returned from exile in Babylon and had rebuilt the Temple, but were still a subject nation. The initial enthusiasm of the return had begun to fade. Malachi defended what God had done and insisted that the divine promises would be kept.

The opening lines of chapter three, the words read today, have been understood by the Church from the beginning as a reference to John the Baptist. John was the messenger sent to prepare the way. That much is clear. What draws my attention, however, is the attention to detail that we find in God’s dealings with his people. A savior, an anointed one, a messiah had been promised multiple times throughout the Scriptures. Each time, a bit more detail was given. He would be a descendant of David. He would bring justice. He would bring peace. He would bring forgiveness of sin. He would triumph over his enemies. All creation would be different because of his coming.

The details were not for the messiah except that the Father didn’t want him to be missed when he came. The details were for humanity so that mankind might recognize him. The Father didn’t want his Son to be overlooked or missed. So we were given the clues and ultimately the messenger. The coming of the Anointed of the Father was not to be a surprise. An announcement would precede him.

The same attention to detail persists throughout Jesus’ life. That’s why the regular contact in prayer. That’s why Jesus’ frequent prayers of thanksgiving.

But, as usual — at least with me — one thought leads to another. Questions arise. Attention is required.

An incredible amount of detail is found in God’s Scriptural words about the coming of his Son. But no less attention to detail has been paid to me in the formation of my life. They say that hindsight is 20/20. That truth has even greater significance as the years go by. A push here. A shove there. A wrong path then. A worthwhile road now. Twists, turns, advances, retreats — it has certainly not been a smooth one. But it is looking back over the path traversed that the hand of God, the gentle whisper, the guiding footsteps become most evident.

All this leads to an inescapable conclusion: Love is not restricted, contained, or limited. It is as boundless as the universe. There is no other choice but to recognize that the Father loves me as much as he loves his Son.

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It doesn’t take great imagination to hear the joy, the enthusiasm, the wonder of Isaiah in this turn of events. Many did return. But . . . But not all.

Tuesday of the Second Week of Advent
Isaiah 40:1-11
Matthew 18:12-14

This is a beautiful passage from Isaiah. It addresses the long-awaited hope of the Jewish exiles in Babylon that they will at last be returning to their homeland and the city of Jerusalem. The tone is such that we might assume it was written, said, or shouted in response to the new King Cyrus’ decision that these exiles could, indeed, return.

It doesn’t take great imagination to hear the joy, the enthusiasm, the wonder of Isaiah in this turn of events. Indeed, his words can be overwhelming even for the reader today.

Listen! LISTEN! Hear the good news!
The Lord has cleared a path. Alleluia!
Our hope has been realized. Alleluia!

WE’re going home. Alleluia!
We’re going home.

Many did return. They went back to Israel and Jerusalem. In time, they would rebuild the temple. They were going home.

But . . . But not all. Some chose to stay, to live their lives in the land of exile.

There is no surprise that many made the long and arduous journey. But what about the others, the ones who chose to stay? I wonder if they had lost that inner hunger for home.

Home is that place we all long for, even if it is not the place of our youth. I’ll be home.

I’ll be home. I’ll be home for Christmas . . . If only in my dreams. Because at Christmas we are so vividly reminded of the celebration that begins our journey home.

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A movie scene comes to mind, one from about sixty years ago. A farmer sat at a bountiful table with his large family. He began with a prayer that went something like this. “We thank you Lord for the abundance of our harvest. We plowed the fields. We sowed the seed. We watered the plants. We pulled the weeds. We collected the produce. But we thank you anyway.”

Tuesday of the Thirty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time
Daniel 2:31-45
Luke 21:5-11

This is the week when our country celebrates Thanksgiving. Historians generally agree that the holiday began with the early European settlers in America giving thanks for a successful Atlantic crossing, a sufficient harvest, or some similar blessing.

A movie scene comes to mind, one from about sixty years ago. A farmer sat at a bountiful table with his large family. He began with a prayer that went something like this. “We thank you, Lord, for the abundance of our harvest. We plowed the fields. We sowed the seed. We watered the plants. We pulled the weeds. We collected the produce. But we thank you anyway.”

The scene suggests a question: Why bother?

Why, indeed?

Keeping in mind the spirit, the distinction between God and man is a challenge. Our common discussion of God generally reverts to what we know and what we can imagine. But what we can imagine also reverts to what we know. We say God is a Trinity of Persons, yet ‘person’ is an experiential term. So too with every other description of the divine. St John comes the closest when he says, “God is love.” Not that God is a person or being that loves, but rather God is love.

God is the love who loved that farmer into existence. God is the love whose love gave the farmer the wisdom to plow, the strength to water, the vision to weed. God is the love that guided the gathering of the produce. And then, to take a step back, God is the love that made the earth and the water, the seed with life, and the weather for growing.

There is a holiday song tied to the movie version of The Polar Express. In the song, we hear the line: “You have everything you need if you just believe.” I beg to differ. Believing is not enough. We also need a thankful heart. Listen to the Psalm of David. “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his mercy endures for ever!” (Psalms 107:1) Other translations would read “His loving kindness” or “His loving devotion endure forever.” It’s hard to express the constancy and intensity of God’s love. We struggle with the limits of words, so God sent his own Word to help us grasp what is beyond understanding.

Yet, it would seem that gratitude is the first to be forgotten in the busyness of life. There is so much to do. Why bother with giving thanks? Besides, our ‘thanks’ is inadequate anyway.

But we do have a way, a fully adequate way. ‘Eucharist’ means ‘Thanks.’

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It is not hard to imagine that the Jews would have found Greek gods to be somewhere between laughable and blasphemous. Neither is it difficult to imagine that the pagan authority would have proceeded to try to eliminate the various expressions of Jewish faith. So, too, do we live today with others who proclaim tolerance, fearlessness, and even violence, in purposely offending God.

Tuesday of the Thirty-third Week in Ordinary Time
II Maccabees 6:18-31
Luke 19:1-10

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

This common saying is from a mid-1800s Frenchman, but the truth expressed is as old as humanity.

Alexander the Great began his conquest of Eastern Asia around 335 BC, and in just thirteen years, his empire was greater than any previously established. All of Greece, Asia Minor, Persia, Egypt, the Levant, and more came under his rule. He died young, but his legacy would continue to shape the four kingdoms subsequently established by his generals.

What had once been the Kingdom of David, the Kingdom of Israel, was now part of the Seleucid Empire, and various kings of that empire ruled it for more than two hundred years. One king in particular received special attention in the Scriptures. His name was Antiochus IV, and he was notable because he sought to impose Hellenistic culture throughout his kingdom more forcefully than others.

Hellenistic Culture was a marvel in the Mediterranean world. From the Greeks came the best sculpture, the best philosophers, the best architecture, the best literature, the best theater, and the best sports. Some would claim that Hellenistic Culture was the foundation of Rome’s subsequent greatness. Various aspects of these Greek achievements were introduced to the conquered territories. Alexander had been enthusiastic about the dissemination of Greek culture; his generals followed suit, for they saw that such a culture could be a unifying force for the disparate peoples of their newly established kingdoms. Among these Greek elements was the worship of the Greek gods.

It is not hard to imagine that the Jews would have found these Greek gods to be somewhere between laughable and blasphemous. Neither is it difficult to imagine that the pagan authority would have proceeded to try to eliminate the various expressions of Jewish faith. Nevertheless, for a time, the Seleucid rulers tolerated local religious practices. The situation became critical in Israel after a false rumor of the king’s death. That rumor sparked a revolt aimed at gaining independence from the Empire. The still-alive king Antiochus was enraged. He outlawed Jewish rites and traditions. The Temple was converted to the worship of Zeus. He forced the high priest and other Jews to eat swine flesh. So much for tolerance. So much for those who would place the Truth of God before the ‘truth’ of man.

History would suggest that Antiochus IV Epiphanes (the manifestation of god) was one of the earliest known leaders of the Cancel Culture movement. Greek culture, the pinnacle of what men in the Western Hemisphere believed at the time, was to have supremacy over everything else. It didn’t matter that it was just a human creation. It didn’t matter that it would be supplanted later. It didn’t matter that, in some aspects, it was contrary to the Law of God.

This is the background for Eleazar, a man of advanced age and noble appearance. What is most inspiring in his story, however, is his encounter with his ‘friends.’

“Those in charge of that unlawful ritual meal took the man aside privately, because of their long acquaintance with him, and urged him to bring meat of his own providing, such as he could legitimately eat, and to pretend to be eating some of the meat of the sacrifice prescribed by the king; in this way he would escape the death penalty. . . . “

Eleazar recognized that such a pretense would support the king's blasphemous position. Such a deception would be a scandal to others and a betrayal of God. Eleazar knew that by accepting the deception, the King's cancel culture would win.

How true it is!

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

And so we live today with others who would proclaim tolerance. And so we live today among those who would place the so-called ‘truth’ of man before the Truth of God.

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The Gospel story is complementary.

Luke presents the story as a simple incident in Jesus’ life; it could have easily been one of Jesus’ many parables. If a parable, the story might have been told like this.

A certain man named Zacchaeus came upon an enormous tree of many branches. It was an amazing tree and the man decided to investigate. He climbed the tree and discovered that each branch possessed the best of human achievement in all the different fields of learning. There was a branch for the arts, which itself split into branches of sculpture, painting, literature, poetry, and plays. Similarly, for the other branches — there were those of science, metaphysics, engineering, and so forth. Each held the epitome of mankind’s achievements in a different field of learning. The man was overwhelmed. He climbed to the top and proclaimed: “I’m king of the world!” For he felt as if all the kingdoms of the world had been given to him.

Unfortunately, the man also found himself trapped, encumbered by human wisdom. His world was the tree with all its great branches, but nothing more.

But Lo! The real king soon appeared. Looking up, he saw Zacchaeus sitting at the top of the tree. The king chuckled. Smiling, he called out, “Zacchaeus! Come down!”

Fortunately, Zacchaeus was a sensible man. He did come down — though he struggled to disentangle himself from the tree’s grasping branches. But when he finally reached the bottom, he looked around and saw so much more, and then Zacchaeus recognized how limited his world had been. He saw in the person of the king things which struggled for a place in the tree and which found a place in the tree’s branches only with confusion and difficulty. He saw justice, mercy, and love.

Immediately, Zacchaeus became aware of how his life, as guided by the knowledge in the tree, had been antithetical to the very person of the king. He set about immediately to balance the truths of human learning with the truths of justice, mercy, and love. Meanwhile, others, still in the tree, looked down and said, “What is that foolish man doing?”

But an answer was not possible. Unless truth — humanly acquired truth— is understood in the context of Sacred History and THE TRUTH, it will not be understood.

Then the king said, “Let’s get some lunch.”

Now I don’t know why the story ends so abruptly. Maybe those from the Cancel Culture were seen coming from down the street to protest. Maybe those listening to the parable needed time for reflection. Maybe it was time for lunch.

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The relationship between the story told by Jesus and this prayer from the Mass is undeniable. As a people of faith, as a people acknowledging the preeminence of God, we have done and we do what we were obliged to do: We give honor and glory and praise to God and do what we can to follow his precepts. He is the Master; we are the servants.

Memorial of Saint Martin of Tours, Bishop
Wisdom 2:23-3:9
Luke 17:7-10

The situation described in today’s Gospel reading might suggest to some that Jesus approves of the manner in which this particular master conducts his household affairs. Probably not true. Instead, Jesus describes the circumstances of life at the time without passing judgment on the behavior of the individuals involved. Six words tell me that understanding is correct. “So should it be with you.”

Luke has placed this brief story with a collection of sayings by Jesus, and it is clear that he is speaking to all about their relationship to their spiritual master. In that context, it is evident that the servant has no grounds to object since his status is clear. What is true of the master-servant relationship on a strictly human level should be even more readily observed when speaking of the spiritual master (God)-human relationship.

Although it’s easy to slide over our prayer responses at Mass, we acknowledge this truth every time we participate. The exchange occurs between the priest and the congregation and takes place at the transition from the Liturgy of the Word to the Liturgy of the Eucharist. The priest says: “Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.” And the congregation responds, “It is right and just.” Giving ‘Thanks’ is an expression of gratitude; it is a fundamental response to God’s love and blessings and an acknowledgement of the goodness and providence of God in one’s life. It is right and just that we always and everywhere give thanks.

The relationship between the story told by Jesus and this prayer from the Mass is undeniable. As a people of faith, as a people acknowledging the preeminence of God, we have done and we do what we were obliged to do: We give honor and glory and praise to God and do what we can to follow his precepts. He is the Master; we are the servants.

“Is he (God) grateful to that servant because he did what was commanded?” No. What the servant did was right and just. His response was appropriate in the context of the relationship described. In giving Thanks, in living Thanks, all is as it should be. There is no need for God to be grateful.

And yet . . .

And yet . . .

There is the promise of reward.

“The souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them.”

“God tried them and found them worthy of himself.

As gold in the furnace, he proved them, and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself. In the time of their visitation they shall shine, and shall dart about as sparks through stubble.”

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From Cupid to Pan to Hades, from Zeus to Prometheus to Aphrodite, who could imagine what the gods would dream up next? This belief was largely true throughout the known Roman empire, except for one small segment of the population, most of whom lived in a small tributary state on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean. Their God was different.

Memorial of Saint Charles Borromeo, Bishop
Romans 12:5-16ab
Luke 14:15-24

It’s Us against Them! So, who’s the Us and who’s the Them?

Well, that depends on when you ask and who you ask. The answer to that question has never been constant. Throughout the Roman Empire in Paul’s day, the answer from most would have probably been that the Us is humanity and the Them is the gods. Sounds peculiar to us today, but there is little question that at the time, the gods were supposed to be individually in charge of all the apparently capricious elements affecting mankind. From Cupid to Pan to Hades, from Zeus to Prometheus to Aphrodite, who could imagine what the gods would dream up next? This belief was largely true throughout the Empire, except for one small segment of the population, most of whom lived in a small tributary state on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean. Their God was different.

Whereas the rest of the Empire diligently tried to keep the mercurial gods contained by their worship, the Israelite belief was that God was beyond restraint. Whereas the rest of the Empire attempted to placate the gods and thus keep them happy, those Israelites chose a directed life to keep their status as the Chosen of God. Whereas the rest of the Empire saw themselves as the ‘toys’ of the gods, the Israelites saw themselves as the Children of God. Whereas the rest of the Empire believed that it was Us against Them, the Israelites thought that it was God with Us.

Moreover, the very essence of Us was different for the two.

While being a citizen of Rome was a distinct character and honor for a few, all were citizens of the Empire. People may have been distinguished by the region, culture, or city from which they originated. However, they were still individuals living at odds with one another, and collective identity revealed itself primarily in their relationship with the Empire and to the gods. On the other hand, we have the Jewish people. While personal and tribal disputes were not unknown, the very fact that they retained their ancestral identity when others blended in is evidence of the personal and tribal identity that existed so strongly among them.

Given their relationship to God, we should expect nothing less. They were a people. They were a chosen people. They were the Chosen People of God. This was their inheritance, and they clung tightly to it.

And why not? It was promised long before that all the nations of the earth should be blessed by them.

The Jews/Hebrews/Israelites had their reasons for clinging to their communal character, but apparently God had his reasons too. We see it today in Paul’s letter to the Romans. What more can be said than Paul’s few words here?

“We, though many, are one Body in Christ and individually parts of one another.”

This is the very lesson the former slaves of Egypt had been taught time and again after they left the sands of Egypt. It was forcefully expressed at Mt Sinai with the very word of God: “You will be my people and I will be your God.” It was reinforced in incidents and miracles as they wandered through the desert, as they crossed the Jordan and defeated Jericho, as they struggled through the ambivalent years of the Judges, and so on. All was in preparation for greater things to come. All was a strengthening of the understanding and the forged bonds of unity which we hear described by Paul today.

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The promise was made to Abraham, and the actualization of that promise began with the divine choice of a people in whom to interpose himself in his physical creation. He made a choice, and these were the Chosen — twelve tribes now traveling through the desert.

Feast of Saints Simon and Jude, Apostles
Ephesians 2:19-22
Luke 6:12-16

Reads today’s Gospel selection, and the series The Chosen immediately comes to mind. Well, it immediately comes to my mind, anyway. Rumors had already circulated even before the first episode was filmed. I remember being skeptical when they first came to my attention. Why would anyone develop a program that focused on the disciples rather than on Jesus? My skepticism was ill-founded.

Witnessing the developing relationship between Jesus and each of the Apostles provides a dimension of Jesus’ life that I could never have imagined on my own, and the presentation embodies a relationship first seen long before. The Israelites had left Egypt under the guidance of Moses, and in the course of their travels, Moses offered these prophetic words.

“For you are a people holy to the Lord your God; the Lord your God has chosen you to be a people for his own possession, out of all the peoples that are on the face of the earth. It was not because you were more in number than any other people that the Lord set his love upon you and chose you, for you were the fewest of all peoples; but it is because the Lord loves you, and is keeping the oath which he swore to your fathers, that the Lord has brought you out with a mighty hand, and redeemed you from the house of bondage, from the hand of Pharaoh king of Egypt. (Deuteronomy 7:6-8)

The promise was made to Abraham, and the actualization of that promise began with the divine choice of a people in whom to interpose himself in his physical creation. He made a choice, and these were the Chosen — twelve tribes now traveling through the desert. They were the ones through whom all the nations of the world would be blessed.

Jesus chose twelve. We call them Apostles. But what was their role? The original Chosen were called “... a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” (Exodus 19:6)

That mantel is not passed on. Peter would declare it plainly: “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, that you may declare the wonderful deeds of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.” (1 Peter 2:9)

Paul would explain what must follow: “Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassion, kindness, lowliness, meekness, and patience …” (Colossians 3:12)

Those chosen were not limited to the twelve. Being chosen extends to all of the Twelve’s spiritual brothers and sisters. Like our spiritual ancestors, we too are the Chosen just as Paul clearly states in writing to the Colossians. It is now through us that God chooses to make himself known to our world. For that to happen, we must open ourselves to receive the gospel “not only in word, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction” (1 Thessalonians 1:4-5).

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