Mary in Luke

Since we celebrate the feast of St. Luke this week and since October is often one of those months (like May) where there is a strong focus on Our Lady, I thought I might combine the two.

Luke gives the fullest account of Mary both as the mother of Jesus and a symbol of humanity. She is a real mother and completely human. She is a Jewish girl who grows to womanhood in the company of a son who is as much a mystery to her as a child can be. Yet she is a woman of extraordinary faith, which is what sets her apart and makes her a model for the rest of us.

Although Luke does not give us a glorified and unrealistic portrait of Mary, neither does he give us an undoctored photograph. What we read in the first three chapters of his gospel, therefore, is not so much a historical account as a theological account. He is speaking not only about individuals but also about exemplary individuals. He is not so much describing particular events as much as he is portraying the universal meaning of those events.

We need to see Mary not just as a person, but also as an example for us all. She is a particular woman, but she is also a model of faith for all women and men. And the events which Luke describes are not simply events in one woman’s life; they portray the eternal meaning of every life of faith.

A few of my favorite Mary stories in Luke:

1:28-29

Rejoice because it is always good news when the Lord speaks to us. Since we’re never sure who is speaking, the angel goes on…

1:30

God is calling her to the way of faith, which is not a way of fear. When the Lord is present, there is no need to fear. When the Lord calls, the only need is to trust. The woman is not to doubt God’s ‘favor’ – in Greek charis or grace. So then this is an experience of grace.

Each of us has a calling. The call comes personally and individually. It speaks to where we are and to what we are capable of. And yet, God doesn’t call the equipped. He equips the called.

1:35-37

Through Mary, Luke is opening up a new realm of possibility for us. He is saying to his readers that the way of faith is the way of unheard-of possibilities. The power of the Spirit is such that even the impossible is possible. Yet it does not happen to everyone. It does not happen automatically. It happens only to those who put their whole trust in the Lord.

1:42-45

Visitation – When Mary receives this word of the Lord, therefore, the woman does not turn in upon herself. Rather she goes out toward others.

1:46-49

In Mary’s hymn of praise, Luke sums us the combined wisdom of the Old Testament and the New Testament alike. Some call it the most succinct and perfect summary of biblical spirituality. The moral development of Israel leads up to this, and the spiritual growth of the Church takes off from this.

But this way of the Lord, this total surrender to the Spirit is a way of suffering. Jesus knew this and he lived it to the utmost. Here at the beginning of Luke’s gospel, the evangelist speaks the same word to every disciple by having it spoken to Mary, the perfect disciple.

8:19-21

Now she waits. Except for one further glimpse of Mary, we don’t see her again until Acts. She does not understand the meaning of this son of hers. Yet she never doubts. She has given over control. She makes no claims on reality or God or others.

For the next 18 years, Mary’s life is uneventful. She waited for the hour to come. She did not force it. She trusted that what God wanted to happen would happen. She needed only to be faithful, for she knew that God is faithful.

Discipleship is often like that. We do everything we think the Lord is calling us to do, but nothing happens. We pray, we read Scripture, but we do not feel any holier or smarter.

Luke’s reminder to all disciples, spoken through his silence about Mary, is this: Waiting in the silence is sometimes exactly what God is asking of us. God needs to do God’s work, but in the end, the work is God’s. God will bring it to fruition, not us.

‘Jesus growing into manhood…’ – while we wait, the Spirit moves and works.

Finally, the time arrives. When Jesus is about 30, he is baptized by John in the Jordan, and he receives the anointing by the Spirit which launches him into his public ministry.

Sometimes Jesus even draws large crowds. Luke’s last mention of Mary happens here.

In Matthew and Mark’s gospel, Jesus contrasts his family with the hearers of the word. In Luke’s interpretation, however, Jesus affirms that his mother and brothers are disciples, that is, they hear God’s word and practice it.

Of all these disciples in the early Church, Mary is the first and foremost. For 30 years she has said her yes to the word of the Lord, long before the others even heard it.

She is also foremost among the disciples because she has endured everything that any disciple could be called by God to endure for the sake of the kingdom. Day after day she said yes to her Lord, even though she did not know where she was being led. She was led to the meaningless of her son’s crucifixion, the absurdity of seeing him murdered by the very people she respected. Yet her faith did not falter and so, three days later, she witnessed the resurrection as well.

Mary has seen it all, from before the beginning until after the end. She is the unique witness to the whole life of Christ in the world, from before its conception in her until its transformation and continuation in the Church. She is the ultimate disciple, giving birth not only to Christ but also to the Church by being at the center of the earliest community.

Mary, Our Queen and Our Mother, Pray for us.

Our Lady of the Rosary

These thoughts were published a few years ago, but the sentiment is still true today. 

My father was the one who introduced me to Mary. Every day on the way to school, we would pray the Rosary. It is a tradition I came to cherish and have sought to maintain as a parent. Even though the children now take a bus to school, the daily prayers are a practice I try to maintain – in part as a nod to my father and in part because of the power prayer has to focus me on the things that matter most.

But praying can be a challenge. It can be hard to hear above the din. The drive to the office is only a few minutes and I get busy at home or work. The noise around me – or in my own head – distract.

A few years ago, after Maureen was diagnosed with Colon Cancer, we were at a meeting for diocesan leaders that was taking place as part of the National Catholic Youth Conference, which Maureen organizes. In a moment of unscripted sharing, she told those in attendance about her diagnosis and impending surgery.

All of a sudden a woman in the middle of the room interrupted her. “Take it to Our Lady,” she called out and immediately invited all of us to pray the Hail Mary together for Maureen – and each other.

It was a powerful moment. It was a powerful experience. Even today, though the cancer is gone and Maureen’s at full power, it gives me chills. I can still hear that clarion call, “Take it to Our Lady” echoing as though they are instructions for the rest of my life.

This week, I will focus more on prayer. I will go back to the ritual my father taught me and try to stand still before moving forward.

This week, I will take it all – the pain, the ignorance, the cynicism, the joy, the work, the play, the family, the driving, the shopping, and the conversations – all of it – to Our Lady.

And, like my father, I know I will find peace.

A Good Man

I attended a funeral on Saturday morning for a man I had never met. He was the husband of a friend, a Methodist minister, and by all accounts, a remarkable man.

Because he had recently been ordained as a minister, after years of preparation and study, there was an added bitterness to the celebration – a life so full of meaning and purpose had been cut short by an infection no one saw coming. He had kissed his wife and son goodbye, gotten on an airplane, and flown around the world to take part in missionary work. Shortly upon arrival, he fell ill, quickly lapsed into a coma, and, once his wife and son arrived, he passed away.

As I sat at the funeral, set it a typical New England protestant church, filled with ministers and mourners, family and friends, I found myself wondering what people would say if this a celebration of my life. John had been, by all accounts, a hard worker, a writer, a wonderful husband and father, and certainly more open about his faith than many.

We were reminded, more than once, of John’s lifetime adaptation of the words of John Wesley: “Do all the good you can, by all the means you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.”

What a great challenge to us all.

When one of the members of John’s congregation spoke about Pastor John’s work, she spoke of his humility, his willingness to reach out to the margins, and his response to every compliment, every mention of goodness, every recognition of light in the world. “Do you remember what he would say?’ she asked the assembly. They responded without hesitation:

“To God be the glory.”

You see, John knew that the ministry in which he was called to participate, the people to whom he was called to go, the words of wisdom he was moved to share – all of these things – had nothing to do with him. He felt a call that disturbed his soul until he answered it and at the very core of his being, he knew that the glory was not his. He was simply the vessel, the conduit, the means to an end.

To God be the glory.

I listened intently to the others who spoke, to the poem his son read aloud, and to the beautiful and emotional tribute his wife delivered. I was moved when one of the ministers reminded those gathered that John always introduced himself because John never felt worthy of being remembered. It’s not an issue with self-esteem, the minister remarked. It’s humility.

I left the celebration two hours after it started, having greeted my friend and shared in her tears. I left wondering if I would ever be brave enough to give God the credit that God is due. I left wishing I had known John and had participated in his remarkable journey.

Most of all, I left remembering that if we are truly in touch with our call, our faith, our ministry, and the Truth we profess each Sunday, we cannot help but react to all that we encounter – good and bad – with John’s refrain.

To God be the glory.

Dinner Out

We decided to take the family out to dinner last night. We had roast beef, mashed potatoes, green beans, and rolls. There was coleslaw and apple sauce and beets (though I noticed no one at our table ate the beets). It only took three and a half hours to get there, but the food was great.

It was the annual roast beef dinner at our children’s former school in Maryland and at some point on Saturday, child number two missed the Oblate Sisters who founded the school and who continue to live on the campus and serve the students faithfully. Armed with access to the Internet, she looked online to find out when the dinner was being held. As luck would have it, we had very little planned on Sunday, so into to car we piled and off we went. When we arrived, the children could not wait to get inside. It was as if they just needed to touch base with a place they once called home.

Inside, we were immediately greeted with looks of surprise (“Who drives three hours for dinner?”) and the children, in time, found their friends and listened patiently as adults talked to them and about them. The eldest sister gently chastised child number three for failing to write (which he really should do), everyone commented on how tall the children had gotten (which they have), how must they are missed (not as much as we miss that school), and how much children can change in four years (Amen!).

The food, of course, was delicious but the night was really about reconnecting with the holiness and calm the good sisters bring to any occasion. Their charism is simple: “Live Jesus.” And they do this so well, so kindly, so gently, so effectively. There is a peacefulness about the place we have yet to duplicate. The sisters invite you into their home, share what little they have, pray with you and for you, and challenge you to be better than you were when you arrived.

There is not enough of those challenges in our daily lives these days. There are not enough people who Live Jesuson our networks and in our halls of government. There is not enough authenticity on our airwaves and online. We need more people living Jesus – and, as the sisters would remind us, we need to start with ourselves.

After dinner, we headed home – another three and a half hours up the Jersey Turnpike and across the George Washington Bridge, which in and of itself is a near occasion of sin. Then down the Merritt Parkway, over to 95 and on to exit 25.

The children were tired this morning, but no one complained about going to school. Their stomachs are still satisfied by the full of good food we enjoyed, and their hearts are filled with the joy that only comes from touching base with home.

My Friend Next Door

There is an empty office next to mine. It’s where my friend used to work. Friday was his last day and I missed it. I was out of town and, though I knew it was coming, today’s quiet brings a reminder that he has moved on.

His generosity of spirit was the first thing I noticed when he picked me up at the train station when I first came to meet with the Bishop about this new adventure. He took me to lunch at a great little bistro – long since closed – and showed me around the small town, making sure I saw only the good. Trying to “sell” me on the move were his instructions and, apparently, it worked.

Over the next three and three-quarter years, we forged a friendship built on mutual respect and trust. Though age separates us by ten years and experiences separate us even farther, we shared our office suite like a couple of brothers, listening to one another when it was necessary and picking on each other when the tension needed breaking.

He’s off on another adventure, shifting gears, recalibrating. So he is in my prayers today. As I pray, I am reminded of the wise advice I received just about four years ago: “If you don’t want to change, don’t pray.”

Prayer teaches us to dream, to imagine the impossible. Prayer works against time, noise, language, pragmatism, and inability. It begins with an appraisal of what we are and where we find ourselves, and then moves on to changing the situation and ourselves.

We pray and change is inevitable.  It is the start of a motion, a continuing transformation, and upheaval. Things are never quite the same as before and there is no going back.

Change means letting go, dying and rising.  It is the continual paradox of death and resurrection, which is experienced in prayer. It is a longing for change.  It is asking that we become what God dreams us to be. 

If you don’t want to change then don’t pray. To live is to change.  To be holy is to have changed often.

My friend prayed for guidance and knew a change was necessary, that life outside these walls was not only possible but essential.

Still, I will miss my friend in the office next door to mine.

~pjd

A Prayer for the First Week of School

Master and Teacher,

Bless the students who will have trouble settling down this week, whose minds are still at the beach or at grandma’s swimming pool, or the amusement park or soccer camp.

Bless those who sit nervously in class: those who are new in school and those who never read anything over the summer and know a test is coming anyway.

Bless those who will struggle, those who will succeed, and those who get lost in the crowd.

Bless the new friendships that will begin on day one and bless those cherished friendships that will be renewed.

Bless them all with compassion, that they may root for the underdog, celebrate those who accomplish much, and pray fervently for each other.

Bless them with an environment free from bullying, needless competition, and petty jealousy.

Help them, Lord, to fall in love with learning.

Bless the parents of these students, their first teachers in the ways of faith. Give them patience when the homework takes too long, give them the courage to understand that their children are not perfect and give them the courage to discipline with love. May they abdicate less and partner more.

And we beg you, Lord, to bring these children safely home at the end of the day, the week, or the semester. Keep them free from violence – at home and at school – on the bus and on the streets – and guide them home to the waiting arms of those who loved them first.

Finally, Lord, we pray in the thanksgiving for the men and women who have already been hard at work straightening desks, taping names to cubbies, painting lockers, planning classes cleaning rooms, decorating bulletin boards, hanging posters, and studying test scores. Bless these servants with peace, patience, persistence, and your Spirit, that they may be Your presence to our young people, Your hands, and Your voice.

We make this prayer through Christ our Lord: teacher, servant, and source of all hope.

Amen.

Martha, Martha

This morning’s readings for the Memorial of Saint Martha offer two choices when it comes to the Gospel reading. They both include a story about a Martha and both include powerful lessons applicable to our daily lives.

In the first option, John 11:19-27, we hear the beginning of the story of the resurrection of Lazarus, the brother of Martha. I love that Martha tells Jesus, “Lord if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” How many of us wonder in the time of great loss if God is really present? And yet, she confesses her confidence that Jesus can still make things right, almost challenging him: “But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.”

The conversation leads to that great line that conveys so much for you and I and for all faithful. Jesus tells her, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live, and anyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

To this, Martha confesses, on behalf of all of us: “Yes, Lord. I have come to believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.”

Martha speaks for all of us. Her confession must become our own. But how?

This takes us to the second optional reading, Luke 10:38-42, Jesus enters a village where Martha and her sister Mary greet him. Mary listens while Martha works. Then Martha complains that she’s doing all the work and Mary isn’t helping. “Tell her to help me,” Martha requests.

But Jesus chastises Martha, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.

There is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.”

Martha works. That is important. She serves our Lord. That is essential.

Mary spends time with Jesus. Equally important. Equally essential.

Two readings. Two lessons. There is no escaping the Good News: in one reading, we hear that believing in Jesus gets us life eternal. How do we get to this confession? Serving and spending time.

These are the two roles we can choose when it comes to Jesus – serving him by loving others in word and deed – or spending time with him in prayer, in listening, and in just being present. Or both?

Both are essential and both will lead to that moment of clarity: “Yes, Lord, I believe…”

Saint Martha, pray for us.

Ace Number One

The eldest child graduated eighth grade yesterday, so it is time for some nostalgia.

She is the first born, my Ace Number One – nickname her maternal grandfather used for her mother that I adopted. She is an enigma – fourteen going on cynical. With humor like her father and a voice like an angel. She has her mother’s wisdom and the depth of character more often found in someone twice her age.

Struggling with “undifferentiated fear,” she, along with thousands of other young people, suffer from some anxiety her parents yearn to understand. Moved by her parents so her dad could take a job he loves, working for (as a change), someone he admires, we uprooted her after fifth grade and left behind the only school, home, and friends she had known. As she struggled to fit into the “land of entitlement” (her words), it was hard for her father not to feel guilty for moving her at such a tenuous age.

Then came seventh grade and a situation in school that still haunts us. An offhanded comment brought her world crashing down as a young teacher dropped the ball and a principal took overreacting to a new level. There are moments in a child’s life when parents look back and wonder if they could have done more to protect their child, and this is one of those moments. As an educator, I am often prone to side with other educators. I expect them to react as I believe I would act. I expect them to be prudent, caring, and honest. I expect them to put the child first. As long as I live, I will regret thinking these people capable of such maturity.

Still, we talk about the moment not defining us. We challenge the now-rising freshman to dream big. She is over the moon about her high school decision – the only child from her school set to attend Sacred Heart down the road in Hamden. She tried out for the fall play on Saturday – before graduating from one school and buying books for another. She is excited about meeting new people, making new friends, and starting over.

Finally, we see light.

When she was six years old, we were at Mass for Easter Sunday and, since not saying “Alleluia” in our house during Lent is a big deal, the children were anxious to sing it out loud for the first time in forty days. Mass began with the required, “Jesus Christ is Risen Today,” and even the “Gloria” was a welcomed delight.

Then came the Gospel Acclamation. For reasons passing understanding, the cantor and choir chose the worst version they could find – the dirgiest of dirges to sing. It was painful. It was lifeless. And the six-year-old knew it.

Closing her book and chucking it on the pew, she leaned over and whispered, “I wouldn’t get out of the tomb for that.”

So, yes, her standards are high. Her patience is low. But her faith is deep. Somewhere in the midst of all that unnecessary worry, all that cynicism she gets from me, the questions she struggles with about her own place in the world, there is a depth that amazes me. She does not suffer fools lightly, but she delights in the joy she finds on her own.

And now, she is off to high school. So, today, we look back on simpler times and are reminded that she has always brought a song into our lives.

If the clip does not load, you can visit it here.

Hope for a Reimagined Future

One of the hardest working groups of people in the Catholic Church today are the men and women who serve as directors or coordinators of religious education. Some of my closest friends serve in these roles, so the conversation I had with a DRE unnerved me. Usually, I am quick to defend, but somewhere deep inside, her story irritated me.

I was at a meeting, listening to complaints, suggestions, and the like. One person expressed concern that the idea of reimagining faith formation was overwhelming because she was, after all, the only one doing anything in her parish. I did not have time to point out the absurdity of that statement, so the conversation continued. At the end of the meeting, the DRE came up to me and said, “You are not going to believe this,” she said, as she relayed a story of a mother bringing her son in for an interview for confirmation. The DRE asked the child to name the seven sacraments. The young man could not. The DRE was flummoxed. The mom demanded the Sacrament. The DRE wondered aloud to me about her predicament. “How can I say that this child is ready when he cannot answer the simplest question?”

I do not think she liked my answer. If a child gets to the ninth grade and cannot name the seven sacraments – especially after nine years of religious education – he or she is the victim of institutional failure. His parents have failed him. His religious education program has failed him. His catechists have failed him. And yes, this holy woman standing before me telling her story has failed him. Every person responsible for his faith formation – including himself – has fallen short.

The reality is this: we have to rethink the way we prepare parents when their infants are baptized so they understand their role as first teachers. Then we need to give them the tools to accomplish this. Moving backward, we have to rethink how we prepare couples for marriage, so they know the responsibility that lies ahead. We have to rethink early childhood education so something actually happens between baptism, first reconciliation and first Communion. We need to accompany families as they raise faith-filled children. We need to rethink comprehensive ministry to, with, and for young people. We need to rethink confirmation preparation and stop thinking of confirmation as graduation. Even when we use the correct language, many parishes still treat confirmation as graduation, evident by the lack of ways young people can be involved and are formed in the years that follow the sacrament. If we want young people to stay involved in the parish, why not provide an environment for them from a very early age so the parish community is an extension of the family, not a sacramental marketplace where we check in once in a while? This will require a profound cultural shift, but if we reimagine the sacraments of baptism, confirmation, and marriage, I believe we might have a shot at changing the future of faith formation.

Directors and coordinators of religious education have a really, really tough job. Parents often abdicate young people’s faith formation to these men and women, some of whom are prepared for the challenge while others are not. This happens, in part, because mom and dad do not have the skills to articulate their faith. But it also happens because we have become a society of letting someone else take care of the hard stuff.

My request of parents is this: If you have children, take responsibility for your children’s faith formation. Talk to them. Read with them. Study with them. Ask them about the presence of God in their lives. If you are a catechist or coordinator, or director of religious education, do two things: first, ask yourself if you are prepared for the role you play. If not, enroll in formation for yourself. Second, put the textbook down and have a conversation with your students. Find out what they know and what they believe. See if God is real to them or if they are just going through the motions.

In a recent conversation with a close friend, who serves a large, suburban parish as a director of religious education, she relayed her concern with the way parents transmit the faith:

The main thing that I am noticing with this group [of parents] is the fact that they seem to forget the role that families play in formation, not to mention the role families play in the parish. The children were asked to draw in their book a picture of who was present at their baptism. All but 3 pictures depicted parents, usually their mom holding them, and a priest or deacon. Very few, however, drew pictures that included Godparents, grandparents, or any other family or friends present.

The story is anecdotal, but I believe it is also emblematic of how children see their families in relation to the rest of the community. Younger families are struggling to find their place in the parish. Parents lack the language to articulate the faith at home. We must help parents find the right words to tell the stories of faith, to share their own experience of encounters with the person of Jesus Christ. It takes a village to raise a child but only if the villagers work together.

Shortly after being elected, Pope Francis said, essentially, that the Church is a love story, not an institution. That gives me hope.

Because love never fails.

First Teachers

Today is graduation day, so my studies are on my mind.

As a parent who is also a practicing Catholic, hoping to raise his child to be faithful, there were, perhaps, no more daunting words that those the priest prayed at the end of the Rite of Baptism for my children. In concluding this ritual of initiation, the celebrant prayed first over my wife, the mother of the child, reminding her to give thanks for the gift of this child now and in the future. Then the celebrant blessed me, the father of the child, reminding me that, together with my wife, we “will be the first teachers of (our) child in the ways of faith.” The celebrant continued, “May they be the best of teachers, bearing witness to the faith by what they say and do, in Christ Jesus our Lord.”This is a tough challenge for any parent, but it was a challenge that unfolded for me more and more as I journeyed through my coursework at LaSalle.

In those early years, when the children were quite young, the primary role of my wife and I was to feed and care for our helpless children. As parents, we taught our children to walk, talk, count, identify colors, and be kind to others. Parents like us, who wish their children to grow up in the faith – any faith – also tell stories of Jesus. Catholic parents help their children make the Sign of the Cross correctly and we teach them their prayers. As first teachers in the ways of faith, we are storytellers and witnesses to a loving God on whom our children can depend. As Saint John Paul II stated in 2003, “people today put more trust in witnesses than in teachers, in experience than in teaching, and in life and action than in theories. Therefore, a loving witness of Christian life will always remain the first and irreplaceable form of mission.”This charge to be witnesses certainly extends to parents. The obstacles to raising faith-filled children today do not involve public games of chance with a lion at the center of the ring, but the rise of anxiety, shootings in our schools, and the onslaught of technological devices certainly do their part to make it harder for parents to be strong witnesses to the faith.

As a theologian in the Roman Catholic tradition, these questions are paramount to the future of our faith communities. As a parent, the answers might save my children’s souls.