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Giving Thanks in a Small World

I went to a funeral last week in Philadelphia. Sr. Mary had battled cancer for 18 years – throughout the entire time I knew her. We met while studying for our doctorate at La Salle and of all the people I met, she was the one who had been the most compassionate, the most supportive, the most kind, and the most generous with her time and words.

She was a friend you could email or text and, even though she was carrying an immense burden herself, her words would lift your spirits, quicken your step, and make you smile.

When Aunt Barbara lived in Philly, she happened to meet Mary one night in the parking lot of the university. They shared Little Flower in common, Mary having taught there and Barbara having attended high school there. Soon, they were singing the school song. That happened every year I was there and when I defended my dissertation, Mary had a party for us and Barbara attended. Turns out Mary had a cousin who was Barbara’s pastor, so Barbara wrote letters to Mary, sent some money to her religious order, and kept in touch until she moved to Connecticut. To this day, Barbara asks about Mary and the priest-cousin-pastor.

It was no wonder Mary’s funeral was packed. Students she had taught, cousins from far and wide, women religious in her Franciscan community – all gathered to send her off, plead for the angels to bring her to paradise, and to celebrate her faith.

After we left Mary at her grave, we made our way back to the cafeteria for the luncheon. A young priest sat with us and we started chatting. Soon another cousin of Mary’s sat down and I heard her mention the parish of Christ the King, so I leaned over and asked, “Which Christ the King?” (Given our feast day yesterday, it seems a odd phrasing of the question.)

“In Haddonfield (NJ), do you know it?”

“I was baptized there and my godparents were active there for years – and my godmother still is.”

“Who?”

I tell her the name and she nearly comes over the table.

“I KNOW HER….. she’s my mother’s BEST FRIEND.”

Naturally, I went in search of the mom and made the connection. Turns out the mom is Mary’s first cousin and the “new” best friend of my godmother.

When I explained why she was the “new” best friend – the previous one having been my mother who died in December 2021 – the mom couldn’t believe it.

We chatted briefly about family, Mary, my connection to the lot, and mostly about my godmother, with whom she meets with every month for a prayer group from the parish.

What a small world.

One connection led to another and I spent nearly an hour catching up the following day with said godmother. It was like talking to my own mother when she was less forgetful, less ill, and less aged by the years and maladies she bore. In short, it was like going home to place I had forgotten I missed so much.

So Mary continues to take care of me. She continues to shower me with blessings even if her earthly battle is over. What a gift.

We will need these connections in the coming weeks as Aunt Barbara begins the next chapter, having had her own cancer diagnoses confirmed last week. We will need the support of those we love. We will need reminders of conversations and photos and stories from a happier time, and we will need the intercession of Sr. Mary, my new patron of chance encounters.

Rest in peace, my friend. As we sit at the table this week, surrounded by those we love, know that I will give thanks for your life, your presence, and your selfless example of joy.

Happy Thanksgiving.

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Wanting to See

In Sunday’s Gospel, we hear the story of the man born blind. He finds Jesus and is healed. Seems easy enough.

It would be easy to think of this man in light of all those we know who are also blind: those who only see color when they look at others, those who only see religious practices that differ from their own, those who fail to see others in need, in pain, in darkness.

When our oldest was about two years old, we were driving along the road and came to a stop light. As we approached the light, I caught sight of a homeless man at the corner with a sign asking for money.

I am embarrassed to say that what came next was something that shames me to this day. In a moment, I taught my child to ignore the needs of others.

I switched lanes.

“Are you serious?” came the voice from the back seat. “You have nothing to give him?”

Caught.

She saw me ignore the needs of someone else and called me out on it. Even at a young age, she was smarter than me.

Sunday’s Gospel reminded me of that moment and made me think of all the things I still do not see. Though these things are ever present, I am blind. Though there are those around me who are light, I still somehow remain in darkness.

This week, I will wash my eyes and pray for sight.

To see the child whose needs are greater than my own.

To see and hear the coworker who just wants to talk.

To see the friend who has advice to share.

To see the spouse who is tired.

To see the person in need at the corner.

To see the woman at the home who wants a visitor.

To see the reflection of Christ in the mirror.

To see the leader who knows more than I do.

To see the opportunities for new life around me.

Master, I want to see.

O God of Light, wash away the darkness.

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Change of Plans

So as I look at the week ahead and review my to do lists, what we will cook for dinner, what still needs to be done around the house, what appointments do I really not what to do, and what will occupy my time at work and at home, I look to this morning’s Gospel for direction.

And, as usual, Luke interrupts my thoughts with a challenge. We have all been the man in the story from this morning’s Gospel reading. He has a wonderful harvest and makes plans to build bigger barns. After all, he has more than he needs. But then something comes along and ruins those plans – or in his case, his own death gets in the way of the new barns he wanted to build.

In the story, the man is chastised not because he plans but because his plans do not include God. “Here is what I will do…I shall tear down…I shall build… I shall store…then I shall say to myself…” The I gets in the way of the WE.

He keeps his wealth instead of sharing it. He plans to take care of himself and forgets those in need around him. He looks out for number one and avoids eye contact with the man or woman standing next to him, those standing on the corner, those sitting across from him or suffering across the world. While the man or woman in need stands on a corner with a sign, this man changes lanes.

It’s a story to which we can all relate.

But, as the poet reminds us, “No man is an island…”

Put another way, Mother Teresa diagnosed the ills of the world correctly when she said, “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”

So I go back over my schedule for the week. When is time for prayer? When will I make sure I am present to others? When will I go out of my way to share the harvest, limited though it may be at times, with others?

Planning is good.

Plans that include God are better.

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Time to Prune

I spent the better part of Saturday working in the yard. The house looks great. New siding. New patio. New plants.

The yard is another story. I hate mowing dirt and I really hate when child #3 mows the yard because he never moves a stick, rocks, or anything that has blown into the yard. He just sits atop the mower, headphones on, riding around running over everything, blowing dust everywhere. Really must invest in better grass.

When we were finished mowing – him riding and me pushing, I started pruning. First the roses, then the bush that brushes the car when I pull into the garage. Then the Japanese Maple in the front yard. Prune. Prune. Prune. No sense of whether its the right time or season, just time to get rid of the dead branches.

Then I heard the Gospel Sunday at Mass and realized I probably need some pruning too. Cut away the anger or impatience. Prune that which I should forgive and forget. Take away the habits I should break. So much work to do.

This week, maybe we can all commit to prune away that which no longer belongs: the hatred or anger or frustration or intolerance. Let the fruit of compassion and patience and understanding grow in its place.

Pruning hurts. But new life is full of wonderful opportunities.

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Telling Stories

The early Church has no books – at least not initially. What they had was an experience. An encounter with the risen Christ. Peter told Andrew. Andrew told James. James told Stephen. The women told their children.

You get the picture.

The early Church spread quickly in those early days because people had an encounter that moved them, inspired them, changed them. Then they told the Jesus-story to others. They couldn’t help themselves. What are the encounters that move us? What inspires us? What stories do we tell?

My wife was at a restaurant with friends years ago and someone at the table asked who would lead the grace before the meal.

Crickets.

Someone jumped up from a nearby table, grabbed the hands of those near, and said with great enthusiasm, “I am never afraid to praise our Lord.”

Now that is a witness. That’s an encounter. Twenty-five years later, we are still telling the story.

What story will you tell this week? How will your life inspire others?

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Listening for God

When I was teaching in Knoxville, we had a diocesan in-service for teachers reflecting on the three times that God breaks the silence in the New Testament.

During his presentation, the retreat master, Archabbot Lambert Reilly, OSB (who served as the leader of St. Meinrad Seminary from 1994-2004) said that God broke the silence in the New Testament three times. But he arrived late for his presentation and never got to the third occasion in Scripture where the voice of God is heard. Intrigued, I called the seminary, tracked down the Archabbot, and asked him to tell me about the third time. It was the start of a long friendship and I still have my notes from that conversation. For years, I have used that presentation as the jumping off point for a quiz I gave students – challenging them to find the three times in Scripture when God breaks the silence.

To find that elusive third time, we need to look no further than yesterday’s Gospel.

The first time it happens is easy – it is the baptism of our Lord (Matthew 3:13-17) in which not only the Trinity is revealed but also Jesus begins his public ministry to proclaim and make present the reign of God on earth. The Father’s voice in this passage speaks in terms that reflect Is 42:1, Ps 2:7 and Gn 22:2. This God-in-the-flesh is giving us first hand an example of submission to the saving activity of God. “To fulfill all righteousness” is to submit to the plan of God for the salvation of the human race. This involves Jesus’ identification with sinners; hence the propriety of his accepting John’s baptism.

The second time God breaks the silence comes at the Transfiguration (Mk 9:2-8, Lk 9:28-36, Mt 17:1-8) which confirms that Jesus is the Son of God (Mt 17:5) and points to fulfillment of the prediction that he will come “in his Father’s glory” (Mt. 16:27) at the end of the age. The voice that speaks repeats the baptismal proclamation about Jesus, with the addition of the command “listen to him.” The latter is a reference to Dt 18:15 in which the Israelites are commanded to “listen to” the prophets like Moses whom God will raise up for them. The command to “listen to” Jesus is general, but we know that just as Jesus shined white as light in this event, it is only by the light of his resurrection can we truly come to understand the meaning of his life and mission. His own instruction to the apostles to not reveal the details of this extraordinary event to anyone indicates that Jesus knows that until the resurrection, no testimony of this vision will lead people to faith.

The elusive third time that God breaks the silence is in John 12:20-36 as Jesus discusses his own death. He says that “whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be” (Jn 12:26). He continues and after admitting that he is troubled about the future and what he knows it holds for him, asks “what should I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? But it was for this purpose that I came to this hour. Father, glorify your name” (Jn 12:27). In other words, Jesus is saying that even though he is afraid, he also knows that it was for this purpose – to die for each of us – that he was born. In response to his request for his Father to glorify his name, a voice speaks: “I have glorified it and I will glorify it again” (28). The crowds who hear the voice say it was thunder, others say it was an angel. Jesus says the voice is heard so that we may believe that he himself is the light by which we all must live so as to become children of the light (36). We know that Jesus will have – after his suffering – all that he had before and that those who follow him will have what he has promised, namely, eternal life with the Father in heaven.

God becomes man so that we might follow Jesus’ example in our love for each other. Jesus dined with sinners and made the lame walk. He was crucified for our sakes and is made whole again through his resurrection. Those who follow will rise above all darkness that comes from doubt and sin and live only in the light. A light that is God.

It is easy to forget the God still breaks the silence. We struggle to find both God’s voice and the silence. This week, take some time in the stillness of the morning or just before the lights go out to sit in the silence and listen for the voice of God.

Sometime, we must be still to truly hear.

Have a good week.

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Trust

Before we decide to trust someone, we often look for credentials or tangible proof that will in turn dictate the extent of our confidence in that person. We want our trust to rest on the foundation of experience. Sunday’s readings look to concrete historical events that provide reasons to trust.

Seven of the Ten Commandments are forms of tribal wisdom aimed at the good of the community (see Jeremiah 35:6-9). As such, they predate Moses. They stem from the recognition that some actions promote community while others are hurtful.

In the commandments, the older regulations are ratified as accepted legislation. The stamp of divine approval makes them matters of loyalty to God. God intervened in history to bring the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt; therefore, God has a right to impose laws worthy of trust.

In dealing with the Corinthian community, Paul has to face the issues of credibility and trust. The Greeks desire some form of revelation that they can debate as worthy of rational acceptance. The Jews seek some sign or miracle that will provide a basis for confidence. Paul offers the cross, which for him is so central to faith that the gospel message is unintelligible without it.

In the cleansing of the Temple, Jesus appears as a latter-day Jeremiah who addresses the abuses of God’s dwelling place (see Jeremiah 7:1-15;26:1-19). The author of the gospel has adapted the original event to speak about the foundation of trust. Jesus’ zeal for the Temple is the reason for his death, and his resurrected body becomes the new Temple. The demand for a sign is answered by Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection experience.

Do we choose to imitate Jesus’ self-giving and thereby offer concrete proof of our trustworthiness?

We win loyalty by reaching out to others and meeting their needs, not by demanding unconditional confidence.

Just something to think about.

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Judge Not

This morning’s Gospel reading is a tough one. At least for me.

“Stop judging and you will not be judged.
Stop condemning and you will not be condemned.
Forgive and you will be forgiven.
Give and gifts will be given to you;
a good measure, packed together, shaken down, and overflowing,
will be poured into your lap.
For the measure with which you measure
will in return be measured out to you.”

Essentially, it’s a Gospel warning that what goes around comes around and we would be well advised to follow the writer’s advice.

But judging others is easy. It’s fun to deflect the attention from ourselves and our own inadequacies and point out the foibles of others. It’s nice to get people to focus on the looks, sounds, and smells around us, so no one notices the rot coming from within. Most of us, including me, would rather people not notice how far behind I am, how spiritually starved I am, how disconnected I sometimes feel – and instead point out the ills around us, the dumb things other people say, the inarticulate nature of those we do not agree with, and the crazy things that people who do not agree with us proclaim.

Stop judging.

God give us the strength to try.

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How Do You Not Understand?

We celebrate a few great feasts this week. Today is the day for prayer for the legal protection of the unborn. Wednesday is the feast of St. Francis de Sales, Bishop and Doctor of the Church. Thursday is the Conversion of St. Paul and Friday is the Memorial of Saints Timothy and Titus, who were bishops in the early Church. Lots of great teachable moments.

Plus, we have some great readings this week. I especially love when Jesus takes the time to explain the parables he’s just taught the crowds. Like any good teacher, he wants to make sure the lesson does not fall on deaf ears and, like anyone who has ever stood in front a classroom, my hunch is he began to see people’s eyes glazing over, people looking off in the distance, and a general disconnect starting to form.

So he paused, rearranged the narrative, and made sure everyone understood.

If you have teenagers, you have lots of practice with this. You ask your teen to do something, retrieve something, go somewhere and complete a task – and you are confident you are speaking in a language he or she understands. But as soon as the instructions are delivered, your teen looks at you and says, with a completely straight face: “What?”

They heard it all but they comprehended nothing.

So you repeat it. You tell them to put the phone away and really listen this time.

“Okay,” says the teen.

Then they walk away and do absolutely nothing.

The more I reflect on Mark 4 from Wednesday’s Gospel, the more I am thinking this was Jesus’ turn with the teens in Jerusalem.

“What?” they said after he taught them.

Jesus said to them, “Do you not understand this parable? Then how will you understand any of the parables?”

Great question.

It turns out in two thousand years, the content hasn’t changed, only the context.

This week, I will practice the patience of Jesus and avoid gritting my teeth as I explain to my four teenagers the same thing over and over and over.

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Share the Light

Believers are first and foremost recipients of the light who are challenged to penetrate darkness. Sunday’s readings understand community members as the bearers of gifts to others. To share one’s gift is to overcome the darkness and usher in the light.

During the gloomy days after the exile, the prophet we call Third Isaiah sought to energize his Judean community. In this world of despair the one point of light is Jerusalem because God’s presence illuminates it. The intensity of this light attracts foreign nations. They not only see God’s glory but become Yahweh’s missionaries carrying the message to distant peoples, opening up the treasures of Israel’s faith to others.

The author of Ephesians speaks of Paul as a steward who was entrusted with God’s great plan for all of humanity. The Gentiles have received the Spirit and are partners with Israel in the covenant responses. As a steward, Paul is compelled to share this divine insight with others.

Matthew writes at a critical moment in the life of the community. Many Gentiles were entering the community, but many Jews were leaving (see Matthew 21:42-43). Matthew tells the story of the astrologers in order to show that the admission of the Gentiles is part of God’s plan. The pagan astrologers are the first to come and pay homage to the newborn King of the Jews. The Jewish leadership rejects this king. The story eases community tensions.

The celebration of Epiphany demands that the Christian raise the question: Who experiences darkness and needs light? Instead of formulating a grandiose scheme to evangelize the atheists, the modern believer is well advised to search closer to home. If there are members of the family who suffer economic hardship, light takes the form of financial and emotional support. If there are people at work who suffer from chemical dependency, light takes the shape of encouragement to seek professional help. If there are persons in our faith community who have doubts, light takes the appearance of sharing their pain and attempting to aid them through the crisis. In these and similar situations the message of Epiphany is clear: Share the light.