Posted on

Good Dirt

This week, we hear a great reading from St. Mark’s Gospel about the farmer who spread seeds. You know the story: some seeds fall on rocky ground, some on thorns, some on the path, and some in good dirt. This is the version where Jesus explains what he meant later. The story always makes me smile because I imagine Jesus telling the story – about farming to a group of people who make their living off the land – and I cannot help but wonder if they aren’t all giving Jesus the side-eye as he talks about this farmer dude who is just scattering seeds anywhere.

“What an imbecile,” they must be thinking. “What kind of farmer wastes seeds like that?”

Of course, we know the rest of the story. We know that the point is that God’s Word is open to all, God is for all, God is with all, and God loves all. His mercy is everlasting, and it, too, is open to everyone. You can get in trouble for suggesting that these days.

We also know thorny people. They poke us, prod us, and press our buttons—and sometimes not in good ways or in ways that are enjoyable. And we know rocky ground, too. We know trouble and strife, and we all experience moments that are not smooth. The pathway has a place here, too: sometimes, we walk over people or let people walk over us.

And then there is the good dirt—those people around us who take God seriously when he says, “Love one another,” and those people who are kind, generous, helpful, and lovely. We need more of those people. We need to surround ourselves with those people if we are to grow.

This week, make an effort to cut out the thorns from your life. Avoid rocky ground if you can, and be careful where you walk.

Most of all, be open to the Word when it gets chucked in your direction.

Posted on

The List

There is a card in my wallet that tells a story. Many of you have heard the story and some may even have lists of your own. The list, the card, battered and torn, started, as all good stories do, with a teacher who made a difference.

It was my junior year in high school and Sr. Judy Eby, RSM asked us to reflect on the reading from Mark’s Gospel that we will proclaim at Mass on Friday morning this week. You’ve heard the story before: there are crowds gathered around Jesus and so some guys carry a paralytic, drop him through the roof, and in front of Jesus.

After we read the story in Sr. Judy’s class, she wheeled in that big glorious television that promised a break from the text and we all move our seats so we could see it. It was a scene of Franco Zeffirelli’s 1977 masterpiece, Jesus of Nazareth. The story unfolds sort of like like it does in Mark’s (and Luke’s) Gospel: the crowds have gathered and there is no room for the men to bring their friend to Jesus. He cannot walk so they carry him over the wall, through the thatched roof, and place him before the Teacher.

You know what happens next. The man is told his sins are forgiven. The crowd goes nuts. “Only God can forgive sins,” they reproach Jesus. Putting yourself on the same plane as God is only going to cause trouble. To this, we get a classic Jesus response: “Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk’?”

Think about it. Surely forgiving sins is easier. But how can someone who is not harmed be the one to forgive sins? To show the crowd what he’s really capable of, he tells the man to get up, pick up his mat, and go home. The man obliges. The crowd goes nuts for a new reason and everyone learns an important lesson.

But back to the card in my wallet.

We wrap up the reading, the watching, and the discussion about the friends who carried the stretcher, and Sr. Judy hands us all an index card. “Now,” she tells us, “write down the names of those who carry you to Christ.”

I have repeated that exercise with youth and adults alike for years. Like Sr. Judy, I challenge people to think of those who, when we are paralyzed with fear, sinfulness, guilt, and selfishness, carry us to Christ. When you cannot move, who lifts you up? When you are sick or alone or unhappy or in serious need of a friend, who do you call?

I have edited my list throughout the years. Friends come and go. People die. But my list has been there since that spring day in 1987. I have moved it from wallet to wallet. It’s a thirty-year-old ratty piece of paper that I carry with me everywhere.  On more than one occasion, the list has saved my life, my soul, my sanity.

Go ahead, take out a piece of paper.

Who is on your list?

Posted on

The Other Side

In this morning‘s gospel reading from Mark, we read another story of the son of God conquering evil. A man who has been “dwelling among the tombs“ and was filled with an unclean spirit approached Jesus and begged for mercy.

Jesus communicates with the legion of evil spirits, takes them from the man, and puts them into the nearby swine. The swine, numbering around 2,000, rush down a steep hill and throw themselves into the sea to be drowned.

The author of the Gospel of Mark tells us that the swineherds, those caring for the swine, ran away and reported the incident in town and throughout the countryside. 

I wonder what they said.

If these people were in charge of the pigs and the pigs are now dead, I can’t imagine they were happy about that. If this is how they made their living, were they overwhelmed by Jesus’ power over evil, over nature, over animals, over their livelihood? Or were they just really mad? It must’ve been quite a sight for 2,000 pigs to throw themselves into the water, but I imagine the cost of this endeavor complicates life for the swineherds. 

I’ve often wondered when we read about these great signs of wonder what the other side reports. Everyone was thrilled when Jesus took two loaves and five fish and fed thousands. But if you were in the marketplace that day and didn’t get to sell food to anyone because Jesus had fed all the people, you didn’t make any money that day. Was that upsetting? 

When Jesus healed the centurion’s slave, did the slave have to continue to be a slave or was he set free?

People often say that there are two sides to every story. My father used to say there were three side. My side, your side, and the truth that lies somewhere in between our own interpretations. But now we cannot even agree on what truth really is…. and that should concern all of us.

Anyway, I thought about this reading this morning as we look around and see how divided we are as a country and as a church.

There is always a cost to fighting evil. For the swineherds, the cost was their livelihood. I wonder if they really were thrilled that the man was freed from his evil spirits at the cost of all those pigs. Maybe. Maybe not. 

People were fed, literally and figuratively, but shopkeepers made no money that day.

A slave is healed. But he is still a slave. 

If we are the people of faith, there really should only be one side to every story. That side includes goodness, holiness, joy. You know the list.  

Resentment has no place in the kingdom of God. Neither does nationalism. 

In Christ there is no right or left. There is no black or white. There is no we or they. Saint Paul made that clear. 

The faithful are never called to warfare or violence or insurrection. Only peace. 

Religion, if you study it, can be tied to some of the worst of human behaviors.

Faith, if you live it, is only tied to love. 

This week, let us strive to be people of faith. 

Posted on

Reality Check

Last week I mentioned the admonition to “love your neighbor.” This Sunday, we heard the same from Mark’s account of the Good News. It was ironic that my family heard the Gospel proclaimed in our old parish in Delaware, especially with one of our old neighbors sitting behind us.

We love those neighbors. Our children grew up together and it was nice to see them again and reconnect. But my thoughts during the Gospel were not on the people behind us.

When we first moved into our home back in 2005, we met our next door neighbors. On one side was a state trooper, his wife the teacher, and their two children. Before we moved, we had been to their parties, watched their children grow up, and stood on the sidewalk in front of our houses talking for hours.

Then there was the other side.

A few months after moving in, we arrived home one day to find that those neighbors had installed sod in their yard. How nice.

Then I noticed the hose they were using to water their new lawn. It looked a lot like ours. Upon further study, I realized it was our hose…and it was still connected to our house.

We never really talked much to those neighbors after that. They had a dog that never shut up, hosted parties until all hours, parked anywhere they wished, and let their yard grow and grow and grow. And did I mention the dog?

It was to those neighbors that my mind wandered as I was sitting at Mass yesterday.

When I think of that reading – or the command in general – I also hear the voice of a priest friend, who, when reflecting on that reading at Mass years ago, said what I was thinking: “Like many of you…when I hear that instruction, I think, ‘Nice advice, God, but have you met my neighbors?’”

Loving our neighbors is tough. People are annoying. They don’t listen to our great advice. They overlook our gifts. They ignore us.

Still, I swear there are days that I think I can actually hear God telling me, “You know that ‘love your neighbor’ thing?”

“I meant that.”

So this week, I will remember that things are different. It’s a new day, a new beginning. It’s a day like no other in a week like no other in a place like no other. Sure, it all looks and sounds familiar, but this hasn’t happened before. This time. This place.

This week, I will love my neighbor. I will not take things so personally. I will remember that not everything is about me. I will forgive more easily. People will still be annoying, but I will remember that I am people too. So this week, I will remind myself that if God loves everyone, everyone is lovable.

As the great Dorothy Day said, “We only love God as much as the person we love the least.”

So, this week, love like God…and get yourself out of the way.

~pjd

Posted on

Evil Around Us

In this morning’s Gospel reading (Mark 5:1-20), we see that great scene in which Jesus is confronted by a man “with an unclean spirit” and, after a brief conversation (“Legion is my name. There are many of us.”), Jesus commands the unclean spirit to enter the swineherd, which then run off the cliff and drown themselves.

I would imagine it was quite a dramatic scene, especially with all the dead pigs now in the water, but if we stop and think about it, there is – as always – more to the story.

What do we do with the evil around us? The gossip? The secrets we cannot seem to keep? The opportunities to talk badly about those around us? The countless chances to be mean or ignore a chance for mercy in favor of our own idea of justice?

Do we command the evil spirits to be gone or do we join in? Do we give the evil spirits a place to live or do we send them packing?

There is never a swineherd around when you need one, but maybe this week, we can make a conscious effort to send the evil away and choose to live the Jesus way.

Give me strength, O Lord.

Posted on

Unbelief

In today’s Gospel we see a man who hurts for his suffering child. “Help my unbelief,” he calls out to Jesus. I have been thinking about that line these past few days.

I can’t believe the things that pass for news. I can’t believe the people that pass for leaders. I can’t believe the same people who proclaim that life begins at conception also say that guns belong in schools.

I can’t believe that people really think the world is flat or that all undocumented workers are criminals, or that refugees arrive without years of vetting. I can’t believe Twitter is a thing.

I can’t believe how big my children are getting and how much fun they are when they play together. I can’t believe how often we say we are people of justice and mercy but behave quite differently. And yet, I can’t believe the recreational outrage to which so many people subscribe is quickly become the norm for our news and our politics and our communities. I can’t believe it’s almost Lent.

I can’t believe there are people who look at the wonder of creation and doubt the existence of God. I can’t believe that there are people who love God but don’t love their neighbor. And I can’t believe that there isn’t a scientist in this world who can’t come up with a rational reason that convinces us all that ice cream is, in fact, good for us.

As people of faith, there will always be things we struggle to believe. That God is love and that we, in turn, are called to share that love with others, shouldn’t be a struggle.

Help our unbelief, O Lord.