If we were a first-century group of Christians—who called themselves “the Way”—and if we were gathering to “break bread” for our sacramental experience, imagine what our response would be if we saw Saul, the Pharisee, open the door and join us.  After all, we know this man because he’s been hunting us down and turning us over to our Roman oppressors.

In today’s gospel passage, John’s Jesus is quoted as saying his followers will be  persecuted just as he was persecuted.  He also says that they will not become the best version of themselves apart from him.  Scholars tell us that John reminded the early Christians of what Jesus said because they were being hounded by the Romans, and that they needed to know that their following of Jesus was not misguided.  He told them that this would happen—but if they stayed true to the message, they were living as they should.

Wouldn’t we be surprised when we hear visitor Saul speak of a powerful conversion experience he had when going to Damascus (still today a city in Syria).  He reported being knocked to the ground and hearing a voice ask “Why are you persecuting me?”  He was blinded but regained his sight after learning that the voice was that of Jesus.  He had new eyes, so to speak, with which he saw that he had been following the wrong path in life.  He now wanted to be a member of “the Way.”

As you know, Saul became the Paul of the New Testament who was largely responsible for spreading the message of Jesus throughout the Mediterranean—and ending in Rome (where he was beheaded).  He was also the one who spoke of “sin” as a behavior that “misses the mark” of good and virtuous living.  Sometimes we miss the mark of good behavior (as when shooting at bullseye) by just a little, and sometimes we are far from being a good marksman.  We can perform destructive behavior (mega-sin, often called “mortal”—as in “deadly”).

Thoughts like these brought to mind a theme I often mention.  Namely, we’re supposed to identify with each person we read about in scripture.  At different times, we are each of them.  For example, each of us is ALWAYS on the road to Damascus.  Each of us needs conversion—because we are not perfect and do not have all the answers.  We don’t know what decisions to make, how to relate to certain people, or how to conduct ourselves as we should.  Like Saul, we are often blind.  And it just might be that we need to be knocked down, so to speak, and made to confront where we need to change.

I’ve often expressed concern about young people who have no religious practice.  You who are parents and grandparents no doubt have loved ones who seldom, if ever, “go to church.”  You can address this with them by not berating them, but by simply and calmly stating your and my experience of practicing the faith.

Just tell them how we see the goal of having our religious practice.  Is it that we’ll please God by going to Mass (so God will like us and not send us to hell when we die)?  Or that God will like us if we receive communion?  Say the rosary?  Baptize our young? Or receive the other sacraments?  NO!!

Remember this: God doesn’t get any godlier because you or I go to Mass, or pray, or receive the sacraments, or hear homilies, or read scripture.  God has nothing to gain because God is fully complete.  HOWEVER, you and I can sure benefit from behaviors we lump into the category of “religion.”  And yes, you and I have relatives and friends who have no religious practice or who are even atheists—and we know them to be good people.  But here’s the point: just as you and I become better versions of ourselves through our religious practice, so too do our non-church-going relatives benefit and become more the person God intended them to be.

I was thinking about my lack of knowledge in many areas.  I seemed to be always walking toward Damascus—living my life okay but not accomplishing much.  I got by, but I felt my limitations.  For example, I had a nice garden in West Virginia—within which were many different vegetables (and box turtles who lived in the garden). A married couple came by one day and gave me a tomato plant to add to my 90 other tomato plants.

I said that I was happy to accept their offer.  Come harvest time, I saw this vine produce a purplish-black cherry tomato.  They looked like the food of aliens.  After all, who ever heard of purplish-black tomatoes?  Thinking they were infected with some weird tomato disease, I uprooted the plant and disposed of its bounty.

Now you see how I learned once again that I lacked knowledge.  As with so many areas of life, I did not have all the answers.  I THOUGHT I knew quite a bit about tomatoes.

The people who gave me the plant later stopped by and asked how I liked the tomatoes.  Turns out that these were special tomatoes that came from some special greenhouse and that their color was SUPPOSED TO BE purplish-black.  In short, my lack of knowledge prevented me from having a treat of special tomatoes.  I was not as smart as I thought I was.

I was like a person who didn’t need to go to church because they knew the score.  They knew how to flourish.  They had all the answers.  My point here is that I and my black tomatoes were just like the person who didn’t have a religious practice.

I recalled arguments we had during the Vietnam War.  People would lose the debate when presented with cold, hard facts about why the U.S. should end the war.  Unable to defend their position, people would still patriotically assert: “My country, right or wrong.”  My “conversion” experience on this topic came when I realized that the gospel calls us to base our decisions on what is right—and not on what is patriotic.  How could so many Germans (Catholics, Lutherans, and other Christian groups) pledge allegiance to Hitler—and not the gospel of Jesus?  Millions of lives lost because people voted for “my country, Germany, right or wrong.”

Most of our youth no longer attend church and hear about ANYTHING related to the gospel or the values it teaches.  Today’s gospel speaks of us being like the branches of a vine—with the Vine being Jesus.  Connected to him, we’ll bear much “fruit” in our life (the “best version of ourselves”).

But what are our young people attached to, drawing life from, inspired by, motivated, or influenced by?  The everyday life of our secular society does not teach Gospel values but instead makes minds focus on “Numero Uno” (“number one”)—me, myself, I.  A “what’s in it for me” approach to all things.

I’m reminded of a recently published book that reports a study of cell phone usage since its popularity around 2012.  A group of researchers were trying to understand why test scores of elementary and middle school kids dropped nationally and did not recover.  Long story short of the study was that “smartphones” were “dumbing down” young people.  These hypnotic instruments misinformed or minimally informed or distracted young people to such an extent that their intellectual/emotional growth was being stunted.

I can’t recall each of the recommendations, but here are a couple of points the study made.  1) Do NOT give a smartphone to children under age 12.  Give them so-called “throw-away” phones to call home if needed, but do not allow them access to this addictive technology.  2) If you get your teen a “smart” (i.e., dumb) phone, don’t allow them unlimited access to it 24 hours a day.  And don’t allow adding “apps” of all kinds on it.

Does any family in the parish still say the prayer that was very common to Catholic households for many years?  It was this prayer: “Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, Amen.”  Do any of our families say any prayer before a family meal?

With parish communities having so few young people, it seems more parishes will close as time passes.  That’s why a “new evangelization” is needed, or is a ministry we now must adopt.  All of us are being called to evangelize our families and friends—inviting them to be part of our community of good people.

If you have no plan of action to evangelize anyone, let the quote below identify people from John the 23^rd Parish:

“Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear, and the blind can see.”

“Good Shepherd” Sunday conveniently falls next to “Earth Day” this year.  These events remind us that we have been called to be “good shepherds” of the environment. It was our current pope, Francis, who called world attention to our Christian/Catholic identity as caretakers of the land, sea, and sky.

Pope Francis wrote an encyclical on this topic, Laudato Si, and confronted us with what geologists (and others) know.  Namely, time on earth is divided into “epochs,” and the last 10,000 years are known as the “Holocene epoch.”  Each epoch is identified by some life form that became dominant or emerged at a certain time.  For example, dinosaurs preceded mammals, and then primates arose, humans, etc.  Epochs last a long time—the Holocene being in its infant stage.

HOWEVER, because humans have made such a gigantic mark on creation over the recent past, some are saying we are already in another epoch—the “Anthropocene” epoch.  This refers to the recent past wherein humans (“Anthropos”) have been the cause of massive changes—affecting 80% of the earth.  Changes include such things as the Amazon Jungle being chopped down by corporations that are taking its natural resources and making enormous profits for corporate owners.  Called “the lungs of the earth,” the Amazon is headed toward extinction—along with its vast vegetation and animal life.  All in the name of getting expensive cars, expensive homes, and short-term gratifications of all kinds.

Or the vast area in the Pacific which is an enormous garbage dump floating in the ocean.  The size of Texas, it is a massive waste area that not only destroys ocean life but also human life with its poisons fermenting in that body of water.

These sorts of things are the epoch we are creating.  We are not being “good shepherds” of the earth.

As you read this, you might be overwhelmed at the immensity of environmental care, and assume you have no role to play at all within this global threat to human life.  I used to have a “throw in the towel” attitude in trying to address this subject.  I had no expertise in any biological area, or environmental studies realm.  But then I was on St. Paul’s “road to Damascus” and was struck by God’s calling me out of my blindness.  Here’s my story—which is also your story (in the sense of how God operates in our lives).

A turtle was crossing the road and I stopped to save him from being hit.  I learned he was a “box turtle” and that his kind used to be seen everywhere in West Virginia.  Now they were seldom seen.  I put him in my garden on campus, and word spread that a turtle was there.  A few people brought me their box turtle since they thought these wonderful creatures would like to be among their own.  A light went on in my head (a “grace” from heaven?) and I set up a “box turtle sanctuary” wherein I would breed and release these creatures into the wild.

My challenge was that I knew absolutely nothing about breeding turtles.  This required studying material about them.  And so it came to pass that I was able to breed box turtles and care for them as best I could.  When I had to leave West Virginia, I saw to it that the box turtles could continue their colony at West Liberty University—which had started a zoo program.  Its director said they could use the turtles for their student programs.

While developing this turtle project, I noticed other areas of campus life that needed special care of its plant and animal residents.  I conceived a project that would enlist students and campus employees to be caretakers of the environment.  While trying to get this going, the University of Notre Dame sent out a “call for papers” on the topic of “The Catholic University and the environment.”  2 papers would be selected and presented by their authors at a national conference on the environment.

I—with no training in biology—put together a paper, submitted it, and was one of the two people invited to present our material.

My point is NOT that I am a great man with great ideas and great knowledge and vision.  Not at all.  My point is the exact opposite.  That is, by the happenstance of saving a box turtle, my interest in saving him and his people—moved me to expand my concern for campus life as a whole.  In short, God graced me with a stirring of interest, a sense of concern for creatures, and, bit by bit, many related environmental issues stirred me into action.

In having this experience, I was reminded of someone known as “The Star Thrower.”

There was a man who used to go to the ocean and walk on the beach.  One day along the shore, he saw a human figure moving like a dancer.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out “Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?”  The young man looked up, and replied “Throwing starfish into the ocean.”  The older man asked “Why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?”

The young man replied, “The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.”  The older man said: “But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can’t possibly make a difference!”  At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, the young man said, “It made a difference for that one.”

This “star thrower” was like me—doing what he could as one person—facing a massive issue that could see us become Adam and Eve all over again.  Unless we become star throwers and unless we befriend turtles, we will force ourselves out of Paradise once again.

Without any education in the field, I presented ideas to a national audience.  I was NOT an authority on the environment.  I was just a guy whose conscience was touched by God—and an interest was stirred within me to do SOMETHING.  So I saved a turtle—and the rest is history.

This is how grace works in your life, too.  God awakens you to some element of creation or some human drama or some concern—and SOMETHING stirs (if only a little).  You’re on the road to Damascus—like St. Paul—and God is reaching out to awaken within you a response.  You might be 10 years old, or 90 years old.  God reaches out to each of us.

God is trying to bring out the best in you by tapping you on the heart.

Communion reflection

A little girl walked to and from school daily.

Though the weather that morning was questionable and clouds were forming, she made her daily trek to the elementary school.

As the afternoon progressed, the winds whipped up, along with thunder

and lightning.

The mother of the little girl felt concerned that her daughter would

be frightened as she walked home from school and she feared that

the electrical storm might harm her child.

Full of concern, the mother quickly got into her car and drove along

the route to her child’s school.

As she did so, she saw her little girl walking along, but at each

flash of lightning, the child would stop, look up, and smile.

Another and another were to follow quickly, and with each flash, the little girl would look up at the streak of light and smile.

When the mother’s car drew up beside the child she lowered the window

and called to her, “What are you doing? Why do you keep stopping?”

The child answered, “I am trying to look pretty. God keeps taking my picture.”

May each of us see God’s presence in whatever storms come out way.

When speaking to you about scripture, I’ve often referred to consulting bible commentaries and articles written by biblical scholars.  I thought you might find it educational to read an example of this type of material I sort through when preparing a homily.  This week’s bulletin sets forth the thought of a contemporary bible scholar.  It shows what these researchers do when studying our faith tradition.  This work generates debate which other scholars join—all in the common enterprise of understanding what the Bible says.

Throughout the world of Catholicism, a “Eucharistic renewal” is taking place.  The content of this article takes a new look at what “Mass” might have looked like in its formation.  Recall, while some Christians say we base all things on the Bible, Catholicism also adds “tradition”—since living communities have had to adapt the written word over the centuries.  This scholar addresses “What did Jesus do during Holy Week?”  What did scripture report “theologically” (as opposed to historical fact) when it was written 25-50 years after the events described.

On Wednesday Jesus began to make plans for Passover. He sent two of his disciples into the city to prepare a large second-­story guest room where he could gather secretly and safely with his inner group. He knew someone with such a room available and he had prearranged for its use.

Jesus tells his two disciples to “follow a man carrying a jug of water,” who will enter the city, and then enter a certain house.  Later Christian tradition put Jesus’ last meal with his disciples on Thursday evening and his crucifixion on Friday. We now know that is one day off. Jesus’ last meal was Wednesday night, and he was crucified on Thursday. Jesus never ate that Passover meal. He had died at 3 p.m. on Thursday.

Confusion exists because the gospels say that they wanted to get his body before sundown. After all, the “Sabbath” was near. Everyone assumed the reference to the Sabbath had to be Saturday—so the crucifixion must have been on a Friday. However, the day of Passover itself is also a “Sabbath”—no matter what weekday it falls on. In the year a.d. 30, Friday was also a Sabbath—so two Sabbaths occurred back to back—Friday and Saturday. Matthew seems to know this as he says that the women who visited Jesus’ tomb came early Sunday morning “after the SabbathsS—the original Greek is plural.

John’s gospel preserves a more accurate chronology. He specifies that the Wednesday night “last supper” was “before the festival of Passover.” He also notes that when Jesus’ accusers delivered him to be crucified on Thursday morning they would not enter ­Pilate’s courtyard because they would be defiled and would not be able to eat the Passover that evening.   John knows that the Jews would be eating their traditional Passover, or Seder meal, Thursday evening.

Reading Mark, Matthew, and Luke one can get the impression that the “last supper” was the Passover meal. Some have even argued that Jesus might have eaten the Passover meal a day early—knowing ahead of time that he would be dead. But the fact is, Jesus ate no Passover meal in 30 CE. When the Passover meal began at sundown on Thursday, Jesus was dead. He had been put in a tomb until after the festival when a proper funeral could be arranged.

Hints of this exist outside John’s gospel. In Luke, Jesus tells his followers at that last meal: “I wanted to eat this Passover with you before I suffer but I ­won’t eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” A later copyist of the manuscript inserted the word “again” to make it say “I won’t eat it again,” since the tradition had developed that Jesus did observe Passover that night and changed its observance to the Christian Eucharist or Mass. Another indication that this is not a Passover meal is that all our records report that Jesus shared “a loaf of bread” with his disciples, using the Greek word (artos) that refers to an ordinary loaf—not to the unleavened flatbread or matzos that Jews eat with their Passover meals. Also, when Paul refers to the “last supper” he significantly does not say “on the night of Passover,” but rather “on the night Jesus was betrayed,” and he also mentions the “loaf of bread” (1 Corinthians 11:23). If this meal had been the Passover, Paul would have surely wanted to say that, but he does not.  N.B., historically, Christian communities have used both leavened and unleavened bread in different periods—Western Catholics using unleavened today while Easter use leavened.

Wednesday morning, Jesus still intended to eat Passover on Thursday. His two disciples had begun to make preparations. His enemies had determined not to try to arrest him during the feast “lest there be a riot of the people” (Mark 14:2). That meant he was likely “safe” for the next week, since the “feast” included the seven days of Unleavened Bread that followed the Passover meal. Passover is the most family-­oriented festival in Jewish tradition. As head of his household Jesus would have gathered with his mother, his sisters, the women who had come with him from Galilee, perhaps some of his close supporters in Jerusalem, and his Council of Twelve. It is inconceivable that a Jewish head of a household would eat the Passover segregated from his family with twelve male disciples. This was no Passover meal. Something had gone terribly wrong so that all his Passover plans were changed.

Jesus had planned a special meal Wednesday evening alone with his Council of Twelve in the upper room of the guesthouse. The events of the past few days had brought things to a crisis and he knew the confrontation with the authorities was unavoidable. In the coming days he expected to be arrested, delivered to the Romans, and possibly crucified. He had intentionally chosen the time and the place—Passover in Jerusalem—to confront the powers that be. There was much of a private nature to discuss with those upon whom he most depended in the critical days ahead. He firmly believed that if he and his followers offered themselves up, placing their fate in ­God’s hands, that the Kingdom of God would manifest itself. He had intentionally fulfilled two of Zechariah’s prophecies—riding into the city as King on the foal, and symbolically removing the “traders” from the “house of God.”

At some point that day Jesus had learned that Judas Iscariot, one of his trusted Council of Twelve, had struck a deal with his enemies to have Jesus arrested whenever there was an opportunity to get him alone, away from the crowds. How Jesus knew of the plot we are not told but during the meal he said openly, “One of you who is eating with me will betray me” (Mark 14:18). His life seemed to be unfolding according to some scriptural plan. Had not David written in the Psalms, “Even my bosom friend, in whom I trusted, who ate of my bread, has lifted the heel against me” (Psalm 41:9).

Our earliest account of that last meal on Wednesday night comes from Paul, not from any of our gospels. Writing to Corinth around a.d. 54, Paul said he “received” from Jesus: “Jesus on the night he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me’.” These words are repeated with only slight variations in Mark, Matthew, and Luke. What is the historical likelihood that this tradition, based on what Paul said he “received” from Jesus, represents what Jesus said at that last meal?

At every Jewish meal, bread is broken, wine is shared, and blessings are said over each—but the idea of eating human flesh and drinking blood, even symbolically, is completely alien to Judaism. Noah and his descendants were first given the prohibition against “eating blood. ” Moses likewise forbade it. James, the brother of Jesus, later mentions this as one of the “necessary requirements” for non-­Jews to join the Nazarene community—they are not to eat blood (Acts 15:20). These restrictions concern the blood of animals. Consuming human flesh and blood was not forbidden, it was simply inconceivable. This general sensitivity to the very idea of “drinking blood” precludes the likelihood that Jesus would have used such symbols.

So where does this body/blood language originate? If it first surfaces in Paul, and he did not in fact get it from Jesus, then what was its source? The closest parallels are certain Greco-­Roman magical rites. The symbolic eating of “flesh” and drinking of “blood” was a magical rite of union in Greco-­Roman culture.  And we have to consider that Paul grew up in the Greco-­Roman culture of the city of Tarsus outside of Israel. He never met or talked to Jesus, but was a “visionary” connection (not Jesus as a flesh-and-blood being). When the Twelve met to replace Judas, after Jesus had been killed, they insisted that to be part of their group one had to have been with Jesus from the time of John the Baptizer through his crucifixion.  Seeing visions and hearing voices were not accepted as qualifications for an apostle.

Even more telling, John recounts the events of that last Wednesday night meal but there is absolutely no reference to these words of Jesus instituting this new ceremony of the Eucharist. If Jesus in fact had inaugurated the practice of eating bread as his body, and drinking wine as his blood at this “last supper” how could John possibly have left it out? What John writes is that Jesus sat down to the supper, by all indications an ordinary Jewish meal. After supper he got up, took a basin of water and a cloth, and began to wash his disciples’ feet as an example of how a Teacher and Master should act as a servant—even to his disciples. Jesus then began to talk about how he was to be betrayed and John tells us that Judas abruptly left the meal.

Mark’s gospel is very close in its theological ideas to those of Paul. It seems likely that Mark, writing a decade after ­Paul’s account of the last supper, inserts this “eat my body” and “drink my blood” tradition into his gospel, influenced by what Paul has claimed to have received. Matthew and Luke both base their narratives wholly upon Mark, and Luke is an unabashed advocate of Paul as well. Everything seems to trace back to Paul. As we will see, there is no evidence that the original Jewish followers of Jesus, led by Jesus’ brother James ever practiced any rite of this type. Like all Jews they did sanctify wine and bread as part of a sacred meal, and they likely looked back to the “night he was betrayed,” remembering that last meal with Jesus.

Is there anything that might shed light on the original practice of Jesus’ followers. Yes.  The Didache was found–dates to the early 2nd century, and its full title meaning: “The Teaching of the Twelve Apostles”–an early Christian “instruction manual.” It has a section on the Eucharist—the sacred meal of bread and wine. It offers the following blessings over wine and bread:

“With respect to the Eucharist you shall give thanks as follows. First with respect to the cup: “We give you thanks our Father for the holy vine of David, your child which you made known to us through Jesus your child. To you be the glory forever.” And with respect to the bread: “We give you thanks our Father for the life and knowledge that you made known to us through Jesus your child. To you be the glory forever.”

Notice there is no mention of the wine representing blood or the bread representing flesh. And yet this is a record of the early Christian Eucharist meal! Evidently this community of Jesus’ followers knew nothing about the ceremony that Paul advocates. If ­Paul’s practice had truly come from Jesus surely this text would have included it.  N.B., unless assumed to be known.

In Jewish tradition it is the cup of wine that is blessed first, then the bread. That is the order we find here in the Didache. But in ­Paul’s account of the ­“Lord’s Supper” he has Jesus bless the bread first, then the cup of wine—just the reverse. It might seem an unimportant detail until one examines ­Luke’s account of the words of Jesus at the meal. Although he basically follows the tradition from Paul, unlike Paul Luke reports first a cup of wine, then the bread, and then another cup of wine! The bread and the second cup of wine he interprets as the “body” and “blood” of Jesus. But with respect to the first cup—in the order one would expect from Jewish tradition—there is nothing said about it representing “blood.” Rather Jesus says, “I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom comes.” This tradition of the first cup, found now only in Luke, is a leftover clue of what must have been the original tradition before the Pauline version was inserted, now confirmed by the Didache.

Understood in this light, this last meal makes historical sense. Jesus told his closest followers, gathered in secret in the Upper Room, that he will not share another meal with them until the Kingdom of God comes. He knows that Judas will initiate events that very night, leading to his arrest. His hope and prayer is that the next time they sit down together to eat, giving the traditional Jewish blessing over wine and bread—the Kingdom of God will have come.

In the gospel of John, a “beloved” disciple is mentioned half a dozen times, and was seated next to Jesus, leaned back and put his head on Jesus’ breast during the meal. Even though tradition holds that this is John the fisherman, it makes much better sense that such intimacy was shared between Jesus and his younger brother James. No matter how ingrained the image might be in Christian imagination, it makes no sense to imagine John son of Zebedee seated next to Jesus, and leaning on his breast.

Before Jesus’ death, the gospel of John tells us that Jesus put the care of his mother into the hands of this “disciple whom he loved.” How could this possibly be anyone other than James his brother, who was now to take charge of the family as head of the household?

Jesus led his band to Gethsemane. Judas got the authorities who could now grab him when no crowds were near. Jesus’ disciples were tired. Sleep was the last thing on Jesus’ mind, and he was never to sleep again. His all-­night ordeal was about to begin. He began to feel very distressed, fearful, and deeply grieved. He wanted to pray for strength for the trials that he knew would soon begin. Mark tells us that he prayed that if possible the “cup would be removed from him.” Jesus urged his disciples to pray with him but the meal, the wine, and the late hour took their toll. They all fell asleep.

I was able to be with you on 2 of the 4 Holy Days.  Saturday & Sunday I joined other parishioners who were laid low with some kind of bug.

While the early liturgies were meals that included food and drink, Paul chastised a community for some people drinking and eating too much, and not letting some people (the poor) even join in the meal.  In the first two centuries, this dinner setting would occur at someone’s home in the evening–characterized by inclusivity, care for one another, and unity.  By the 3^rd century, it had ceased to be a banquet and had become a ritualized small meal instead.

Being human, we Christians make mistakes—and so it came to pass that Rome had to reprimand churches for allowing the consecrated (Eucharistic) bread to get stale and be eaten by mice.  Western Christians even changed the bread from leavened (with yeast) to unleavened (without yeast).  However, our Orthodox cousins retained leavened bread.

The Middle Ages brought into the liturgy such things as silver and gold altar-ware and tabernacles (a mouse-proof bread box?).  Jesus was referred to as Christ “the King” and Mary as “Queen” of heaven.  Being within Europe’s hierarchical societies of the time, all sorts of “offices” became part of the institutional church—with a communion rail keeping laypeople out of the sanctuary (lay commoners remaining in their place while ordained clergy could be present near the altar).  The church embellished liturgies with kneeling before King Christ (as that’s what people did when in the presence of a King).  Forgotten was the early Christian commentator who described early liturgies this way: “We don’t kneel at our services like the pagans do, but stand like the resurrected Christ Jesus.”  Not until the 20^th century was standing restored to the mass.

Remember that a sacrament is the visible sign of an invisible reality—the Mass having the risen Christ present to us in scripture’s “word of God,” the people of God, and the celebrant presiding.  For this special sacrament of Christ’s presence, the Church will probably always walk the tightrope of formality and informality—trying to keep the sacrament a sacred gathering not like any other.  Also, however, it must reflect the humanity of a Jesus who was at feasts like Cana’s wedding—always being watchful of being too rigid or too lax.

Meanwhile, we can reflect on what St. John Chrysostom said around the year 400 AD.

“Do you wish to honor the Body of Christ?  Do not ignore him when he is naked. Do not pay him homage in the temple clad in silk, only then to neglect him outside where he is cold and ill-clad. He who said: “This is my Body” is the same who said: “You saw me hungry and you gave me no food,” and “Whatever you did to the least of my brothers you did also for me.” What good is it if the Eucharistic table is overloaded with gold chalices when your brother or sister is dying of hunger? Start satisfying their hunger and then with what is left you may adorn the altar as well.”

Similarly, St. Augustine’s observations are still apropos of our era:

“The bread is Christ’s body.  The cup is Christ’s blood. If you, therefore, are Christ’s body and members, it is your own mystery that is placed on the Lord’s table! It is your own mystery that you are receiving! Be a member of Christ’s body, then, so that your Amen may ring true! Be what you see; receive what you are. All who fail to keep the bond of peace after entering this mystery receive not a sacrament that benefits them, but an indictment that condemns them.”     

Good Friday tries to have us get a sense of what the apostles felt when Jesus was executed.  Generations have also wondered what Jesus felt as he made his way to Calvary, and what the experience meant to his followers who had placed all their hope in him.  In the 15^th and 16^th centuries, Franciscans popularized what became known to us as the “Stations of the Cross” or “Way of Sorrows.  There have been as many as 30 “stations” (scenes), but they started with 7 and now appear in most Catholic churches as 12 to 14 imaginings of what Jesus experienced that Friday in Jerusalem.  I’ll edit our service and make it shorter than this year’s—although this year’s wasn’t half as long as our 12-3 worship of years past.

You can picture someone in the Jerusalem crowd on Good Friday saying “Well, yes, they’re kind of going overboard with the torture—but the guy did tend to make people angry—especially the powerbrokers.  Maybe they made a good decision in getting rid of him.  We can return to peace and just accept the way things are.  There’s nothing we can do to change the way things are.”

Or we see stations dedicated to people named Veronica and Simon—who are, of course, symbols of who we should be—helping others carry their cross and tending their wounds as best we can.

We’d do well to reflect on what St. Theresa of Avila said in the 1500s.

Yours are the eyes through which he looks with compassion on the world; yours are the feet with which he walks to do good; yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

Holy Saturday is supposed to include a homily—despite the length of the readings and ritual additions.  A priest I know felt a long homily (or short one) was not necessary.  His solution was to draw upon the old and quote a Latin scriptural lesson: Resurrexit sicut dixit! Which translates as “He has risen as he said.”

Easter weekend’s scripture reminds us that “God looked at creation and saw that it was good.”  Unfortunately, too many people do not feel good about themselves—and this unfortunate emotional/mental state gets compounded in thinking of the passage that refers to Adam and Eve getting fooled by the snake.  That incident gave rise to the notion of “original sin” and conceiving of ourselves solely as sinful or inherently “bad” beings.  While we humans certainly create hell for ourselves or others in small or large ways, we can’t let this “sinful condition” make us forget what Genesis says about God creating us good.

Always remember that creation is not complete without you.  And THAT is a fact of faith that Easter Sunday affirms.  It slams home the reality that God loves you (as a loving parent loves their child).  God had you in mind when designing the masterpiece of creation.

As I and other parishioners spent our Easter Sunday trying to recover from some kind of “virus,” I sought Easter uplift by looking for the day’s news stories relating to religion.  Lo and behold, I could not escape the latest buzz-saw of misinformation being spread within the socio-political realm of American life.  Not only that but a Catholic parish was cited as a source that bolstered the lying that people tried to pass off as truth.

The day after Easter, a cable newscaster (who I’ve watched for several years and assumed she was Jewish) said that when she left MASS on Easter, some of her fellow parishioners were agreeing with Mr. Trump’s critique of Mr. Biden for replacing Easter and starting what’s called “Transgender Day of Visibility”—an event held each year on March 31.  By coincidence, Easter is a “movable feast” and happened to fall on March 31^st (next year it’ll be on a different date).  TG day simply coincided with Easter this year—AND WAS BEGUN IN 2009. Mr. Biden had nothing to do with the founding of TG day this year (or ever).

The parishioners did not have to fear Mr. Biden’s going over to the “dark side” and abandoning our holy day of Easter—because Mr. Biden is a devout Catholic—who attends mass each week.  I think I’ve told you that I have a friend who worked in his office and has flown in his private plane.  So that you know more than the newscaster’s fellow parishioners about the man’s faith life, here’s what he said on Easter:

“As we gather with loved ones, we remember Jesus’ sacrifice. We pray for one another and cherish the blessing of the dawn of new possibilities. And with wars and conflict taking a toll on innocent lives around the world, we renew our commitment to work for peace, security, and dignity for all people. 

“From our family to yours, happy Easter and may God bless you.” (quoted in Newsweek).

Another religious event that came out of nowhere was a non-Church-going presidential candidate begin to sell Bibles to support his candidacy.  Asserting he was a church-going Presbyterian, he was asked to quote a favorite Bible line.  Becoming agitated, he was quick on his feet to say “I like all of them” (and I wondered if that statement included “Crucify him, crucify him!”  A little later, he quoted “an eye for an eye.”

Back by popular request, here’s the Good Friday/Easter Sunday blended poem that we might take to heart.

Two Mothers

A long time ago, so I have been told, Two angels once met on streets paved with gold. “By the stars in your crown,” said the one to the other “I see that on earth, you too, were a mother.

And by the blue-tinted halo you humbly wear

“You, too, have known sorrow and deepest despair…” “Ah yes,” she replied, “I once had a son, A sweet little lad, full of laughter and fun.”

“But tell of your child, and how you were blest. From the moment you held him close to your breast.” “Well, my heart almost burst with the joy of that day.” “Ah, yes,” said the other, “I felt the same way.”

The former continued: “The first steps he took- So eager and breathless; the sweet startled look Which came over his face – he trusted me so.” “Ah, yes,” said the other, “How well do I know.”

“But soon he had grown to a tall handsome boy, So stalwart and kind – and it gave me such joy

To have him just walk down the street by my side” “Ah yes,“ said the other, “ I felt the same pride.”

“How often I shielded and spared him from pain And when he for others was so cruelly slain. When they crucified him – and they spat in his face How gladly would I have hung there in his place!”

A moment of silence – “Oh then you are she – The mother of Christ”; and she fell on one knee.

But the Blessed one lifted her– drawing her near, And kissed from the cheek of the woman, a tear.

“Tell me the name of the son you love so, That I may share your grief and feel for your woe.” She lifted her eyes, looking straight at the other, “He was Judas Iscariot: I am his mother.”

I was able to be with you on 2 of the 4 Holy Days.  Saturday & Sunday I joined other parishioners who were laid low with some kind of bug.

While the early liturgies were meals that included food and drink, Paul chastised a community for some people drinking and eating too much, and not letting some people (the poor) even join in the meal.  In the first two centuries, this dinner setting would occur at someone’s home in the evening–characterized by inclusivity, care for one another, and unity.  By the 3^rd century, it had ceased to be a banquet and had become a ritualized small meal instead.

Being human, we Christians make mistakes—and so it came to pass that Rome had to reprimand churches for allowing the consecrated (Eucharistic) bread to get stale and be eaten by mice.  Western Christians even changed the bread from leavened (with yeast) to unleavened (without yeast).  However, our Orthodox cousins retained leavened bread.

The Middle Ages brought into the liturgy such things as silver and gold altar-ware and tabernacles (a mouse-proof bread box?).  Jesus was referred to as Christ “the King” and Mary as “Queen” of heaven.  Being within Europe’s hierarchical societies of the time, all sorts of “offices” became part of the institutional church—with a communion rail keeping laypeople out of the sanctuary (lay commoners remaining in their place while ordained clergy could be present near the altar).  The church embellished liturgies with kneeling before King Christ (as that’s what people did when in the presence of a King).  Forgotten was the early Christian commentator who described early liturgies this way: “We don’t kneel at our services like the pagans do, but stand like the resurrected Christ Jesus.”  Not until the 20^th century was standing restored to the mass.

Remember that a sacrament is the visible sign of an invisible reality—the Mass having the risen Christ present to us in scripture’s “word of God,” the people of God, and the celebrant presiding.  For this special sacrament of Christ’s presence, the Church will probably always walk the tightrope of formality and informality—trying to keep the sacrament a sacred gathering not like any other.  Also, however, it must reflect the humanity of a Jesus who was at feasts like Cana’s wedding—always being watchful of being too rigid or too lax.

Meanwhile, we can reflect on what St. John Chrysostom said around the year 400 AD.

“Do you wish to honor the Body of Christ?  Do not ignore him when he is naked. Do not pay him homage in the temple clad in silk, only then to neglect him outside where he is cold and ill-clad. He who said: “This is my Body” is the same who said: “You saw me hungry and you gave me no food,” and “Whatever you did to the least of my brothers you did also for me.” What good is it if the Eucharistic table is overloaded with gold chalices when your brother or sister is dying of hunger? Start satisfying their hunger and then with what is left you may adorn the altar as well.”

Similarly, St. Augustine’s observations are still apropos of our era:

“The bread is Christ’s body.  The cup is Christ’s blood. If you, therefore, are Christ’s body and members, it is your own mystery that is placed on the Lord’s table! It is your own mystery that you are receiving! Be a member of Christ’s body, then, so that your Amen may ring true! Be what you see; receive what you are. All who fail to keep the bond of peace after entering this mystery receive not a sacrament that benefits them, but an indictment that condemns them.”     

Good Friday tries to have us get a sense of what the apostles felt when Jesus was executed.  Generations have also wondered what Jesus felt as he made his way to Calvary, and what the experience meant to his followers who had placed all their hope in him.  In the 15^th and 16^th centuries, Franciscans popularized what became known to us as the “Stations of the Cross” or “Way of Sorrows.  There have been as many as 30 “stations” (scenes), but they started with 7 and now appear in most Catholic churches as 12 to 14 imaginings of what Jesus experienced that Friday in Jerusalem.  I’ll edit our service and make it shorter than this year’s—although this year’s wasn’t half as long as our 12-3 worship of years past.

You can picture someone in the Jerusalem crowd on Good Friday saying “Well, yes, they’re kind of going overboard with the torture—but the guy did tend to make people angry—especially the powerbrokers.  Maybe they made a good decision in getting rid of him.  We can return to peace and just accept the way things are.  There’s nothing we can do to change the way things are.”

Or we see stations dedicated to people named Veronica and Simon—who are, of course, symbols of who we should be—helping others carry their cross and tending their wounds as best we can.

We’d do well to reflect on what St. Theresa of Avila said in the 1500s.

Yours are the eyes through which he looks with compassion on the world; yours are the feet with which he walks to do good; yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world. Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

Holy Saturday is supposed to include a homily—despite the length of the readings and ritual additions.  A priest I know felt a long homily (or short one) was not necessary.  His solution was to draw upon the old and quote a Latin scriptural lesson: Resurrexit sicut dixit! Which translates as “He has risen as he said.”

Easter weekend’s scripture reminds us that “God looked at creation and saw that it was good.”  Unfortunately, too many people do not feel good about themselves—and this unfortunate emotional/mental state gets compounded in thinking of the passage that refers to Adam and Eve getting fooled by the snake.  That incident gave rise to the notion of “original sin” and conceiving of ourselves solely as sinful or inherently “bad” beings.  While we humans certainly create hell for ourselves or others in small or large ways, we can’t let this “sinful condition” make us forget what Genesis says about God creating us good.

Always remember that creation is not complete without you.  And THAT is a fact of faith that Easter Sunday affirms.  It slams home the reality that God loves you (as a loving parent loves their child).  God had you in mind when designing the masterpiece of creation.

As I and other parishioners spent our Easter Sunday trying to recover from some kind of “virus,” I sought Easter uplift by looking for the day’s news stories relating to religion.  Lo and behold, I could not escape the latest buzz-saw of misinformation being spread within the socio-political realm of American life.  Not only that but a Catholic parish was cited as a source that bolstered the lying that people tried to pass off as truth.

The day after Easter, a cable newscaster (who I’ve watched for several years and assumed she was Jewish) said that when she left MASS on Easter, some of her fellow parishioners were agreeing with Mr. Trump’s critique of Mr. Biden for replacing Easter and starting what’s called “Transgender Day of Visibility”—an event held each year on March 31.  By coincidence, Easter is a “movable feast” and happened to fall on March 31^st (next year it’ll be on a different date).  TG day simply coincided with Easter this year—AND WAS BEGUN IN 2009. Mr. Biden had nothing to do with the founding of TG day this year (or ever).

The parishioners did not have to fear Mr. Biden’s going over to the “dark side” and abandoning our holy day of Easter—because Mr. Biden is a devout Catholic—who attends mass each week.  I think I’ve told you that I have a friend who worked in his office and has flown in his private plane.  So that you know more than the newscaster’s fellow parishioners about the man’s faith life, here’s what he said on Easter:

“As we gather with loved ones, we remember Jesus’ sacrifice. We pray for one another and cherish the blessing of the dawn of new possibilities. And with wars and conflict taking a toll on innocent lives around the world, we renew our commitment to work for peace, security, and dignity for all people. 

“From our family to yours, happy Easter and may God bless you.” (quoted in Newsweek).

Another religious event that came out of nowhere was a non-Church-going presidential candidate begin to sell Bibles to support his candidacy.  Asserting he was a church-going Presbyterian, he was asked to quote a favorite Bible line.  Becoming agitated, he was quick on his feet to say “I like all of them” (and I wondered if that statement included “Crucify him, crucify him!”  A little later, he quoted “an eye for an eye.”

Back by popular request, here’s the Good Friday/Easter Sunday blended poem that we might take to heart.

Two Mothers

A long time ago, so I have been told, Two angels once met on streets paved with gold. “By the stars in your crown,” said the one to the other “I see that on earth, you too, were a mother.

And by the blue-tinted halo you humbly wear

“You, too, have known sorrow and deepest despair…” “Ah yes,” she replied, “I once had a son, A sweet little lad, full of laughter and fun.”

“But tell of your child, and how you were blest. From the moment you held him close to your breast.” “Well, my heart almost burst with the joy of that day.” “Ah, yes,” said the other, “I felt the same way.”

The former continued: “The first steps he took- So eager and breathless; the sweet startled look Which came over his face – he trusted me so.” “Ah, yes,” said the other, “How well do I know.”

“But soon he had grown to a tall handsome boy, So stalwart and kind – and it gave me such joy

To have him just walk down the street by my side” “Ah yes,“ said the other, “ I felt the same pride.”

“How often I shielded and spared him from pain And when he for others was so cruelly slain. When they crucified him – and they spat in his face How gladly would I have hung there in his place!”

A moment of silence – “Oh then you are she – The mother of Christ”; and she fell on one knee.

But the Blessed one lifted her– drawing her near, And kissed from the cheek of the woman, a tear.

“Tell me the name of the son you love so, That I may share your grief and feel for your woe.” She lifted her eyes, looking straight at the other, “He was Judas Iscariot: I am his mother.”

Palm Sunday was always a mystery to me.  We received palm branches at church because people once threw palms on the ground for Jesus to ride or walk on.  People celebrated joyously his arrival, but what did this have to do with me?

What eventually came to mind was that the celebration was the first century way of being joyous and excited and fulfilled all at once.  The experience would be like God coming to my door, knocking, and revealing to me in some way that he was God.  He’d greet me saying he was really happy to have this visit and that he was here to assure me that I’d be okay—no matter what would happen in my life—because He’d be there to help.

Having such an experience of God coming to me—is what the Palm Sunday celebration is all about.  Jesus coming to Jerusalem was a celebration of “Emmanuel”—God with us.  Now THAT’S something to celebrate, no?

We take home palm branches and hang them somewhere in the house or our room—to remind us of that great visit.  A great visit when God knocked at my door, gave me a hug, and assured me of His help forever.

As a young kid, I’d go to Palm Sunday mass and groan that we’d have to listen to the long Passion narrative.  I didn’t realize at the time that this story of Holy Week’s origin—NEEDED to be told repeatedly throughout our lives—lest we forget its many messages.  With so few young people reading scripture or attending church services, they are becoming biblically illiterate.  The many characters that appear in the Passion story become unknown to those who don’t hear the story.  But to those who DO hear the story, and reflect upon it, they benefit.  How?  Because each character reveals something about each of us.

As with scripture as a whole, each person in the story is like a mirror being held up for us to see some aspect of ourselves—the way we should be, or the way we are.  It’s like each person in the Passion story is a gene that we have inherited—and that gene is sometimes expressed in our behavior.  We’d do well during Holy Week to prayerfully reflect on our role within the Passion story.  If one person in the narrative jumps out at you, it might be that God is suggesting you ponder that person’s identity—for the good that your reflection might bring to you.

Barabbas, for instance, was the thug/murderer released from prison because the enemies of Jesus influenced the crowd to vote against their own well-being.  We have a “crowd-gene” that makes us cast our vote for people who enact laws that don’t benefit us at all.  However, because we didn’t bother to learn what the politician really stood for—we cast our vote based on flimsy information.

And Barabbas himself—he benefits at the expense of Jesus—just as others benefit from the suffering of others.  The asbestos, tobacco, and fossil fuel industries are examples of corporations that long knew their products killed people—but these corporations paid lobbyists to convince lawmakers that there was no evidence that their products brought death to millions globally.  Vast wealth was accumulated by executives within these corporations.  Lies were at the root of their success and everyone else’s detriment.

What about our Simon of Cyrene-gene?  The man who helped Jesus carry his cross.  Do you, or have you ever, helped someone carry their cross? Or do you look the other way?  The parish has many Simon of Cyrene genes within its population.

Sometimes we betray the values we normally cultivate.  We behave in a way that does not reflect well on your best traits.  In this way, you are Judas, and you have the Judas gene.   Or you are insightful when seeing the shortcomings of people, and so you find it easy to criticize them—just like the Scribes and Pharisees could find reasons to condemn Jesus.  They sent him to Calvary, the hill of crucifixion to get nails pounded into his wrists by Roman soldiers.  Do you have Roman soldier genes?  Do you in some way nail Jesus to the cross when you harbor prejudices against people?  Did you see him thirsty and give him no drink, or see him naked and not clothe him?  Remember—if you did something good or bad to the least among us, you did it to Him.

The apostle John and the faithful Magdalene, Mary, and the woman who washed the feet of Jesus—you have those genes within you, too. And having a faith practice such as attending mass, gives us prayerful opportunities to foster the effect of the strengths we possess.

As we continue with Holy Week observances, our attention is focused on how Jesus is still being crucified today, how we can learn to face crosses, and how to find life now and in eternity.

Holy Week reveals our roots in the Hebrew scriptures.  These ancestors of our faith passed on to us what they profess is their task—Tikkun Olam—repair of the world.  In reading both their “first testament” and our “new testament,” we additionally learn that God chooses unlikely people to accomplish great things.  WE are those unlikely people called by our baptism to repair the world.

Matthew, Mark, and Luke are gospels that share many traits.  Scholars tell us that Matthew and Luke used Mark’s gospel when writing theirs. That is, they told Mark’s stories and added new material of their own. However, John’s gospel is different from these three accounts.  John gives us long quotes—as if he had tape-recorded Jesus.  Moreover, the Jesus of John’s gospel speaks as a theologian and philosopher, and not as a good old boy carpenter from Nazareth.

This weekend’s reading begins with what sounds like a simple enough statement.  Namely, some Greeks wanted “to see” Jesus.  This uncomplicated phrasing illustrates how rich scripture can be and how it can make our brain cells fire in different directions.  For example, any one of us might be described just as the Greeks were.  That is, you and I want “to see” Jesus come alive in our hearts.  “To see” isn’t referring literally to getting Jesus in your line of vision.  Use of the verb “to see” is akin to the well-known line from the motion picture Avatar.

In that science fiction film, when someone says “I SEE you,” the person  is formally greeting someone, or saying “I love you” in a profound way, or something like the jargon used today when someone says “I feel you.”   Now, Greek Gentiles come to “see” Jesus–a word in John’s gospel that has the meaning “to believe in.”  In short, the Greeks want to encounter or tap the wisdom Jesus offers. They want to see, feel, understand, and draw life from this new teacher.

But the passage as a whole goes beyond our simple desire to see or know or draw life from this Teacher,  Note the flow of this account: Greeks ask Philip if they can see Jesus; Philip goes to Andrew to tell him about the men’s request (Why didn’t he just go to Jesus and tell him about the Greeks?).  Then the two of them speak to Jesus.  And what does Jesus do?  Launches into a long speech that has nothing to do, it seems, with their request.  And when he’s done speaking, we’re never told if the men got to speak to him or not.

This is the sort of account that should make you stop and realize that something really important is being said.  You’re not just reading about some guys wanting to speak to Jesus.  Rather, what’s at play is an example of John the Evangelist crafting a theological statement.

Keep in mind that this gospel was written perhaps 70 years after Jesus died.  It represents what the faith community understood to be the teaching of the Master—a teaching that became clearer to them over many years of “breaking bread” at the Eucharistic gathering (“table fellowship” or sacrament of the Mass).  John’s Jesus is stating what the community’s prayerful reflection understood to be His revelation.  John offers a context for Jesus to utter this revelation.

As stated, scripture can convey a number of messages.  That’s why you can read a passage 100 times and on the 101^st reading you say: “I never thought of this previously”—as a new insight strikes you.  And so it is with this gospel scene.  Again, instead of telling Philip and Andrew that he did or did not want to meet the Gentiles, he says: “Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.”

Hmm.  What does THAT mean?  Answer: LOTS.

On one level, it refers to his death being the source of life for many, actually for all (Israelites and non-Israelites). Moreover, those who follow Jesus will gain entry to eternal life through death.  But also, it alludes to the grain (the Old Law) becoming the source of the New Law—the New Testament eclipsing the Old as an abundance of “fruit” whose see was planted in the Hebrew scriptures.

Within this latter meaning is the origin of the word “Catholic”—in the sense of meaning “universal” (and not referring to a group within Christianity different from Presbyterians or Methodists or others).  Recall that the Israelites were a tribal people—just as each of us came from some tribal group in the past.  Like our tribal ancestors, the Israelites were what we’d today call “ethnocentric” or “clannish” or “parochial.”  All humans were like the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s always at war with one another and feeling superior to those outside their group.  Vestiges of this tendency are seen in “friendly” rivalries between sports teams from different towns or cities.  Us against them!!!  Our group against THAT group!!

The dark side of this Adam/Eve tendency we have toward “sin” and bad decisions—is our own prejudices and bigotry.  In the 4 gospels, Jesus interacts with only a handful of Gentiles—being the good tribal Jewish boy that he was.  But his teaching about our kinship with one another is the point of today’s passage about new fruit (Gentiles within a pan-tribal, universal community) spawned by the grain that dies (the Old Law).  Today’s first reading from the Prophet Jeremiah forecasts this.

Along comes Jesus, and He reveals that we are all brothers and sisters on one God who is our “Father” or “Mother” or “Parent” (however you want to describe our Creator).  The “grain of wheat” has become the seed that gave way to the wheat field of God’s people.  The reading from Jeremiah attests to this revelation.  It is the only reference to a “new covenant” or new law that will come to the people—and as Jeremiah says, it will be written not on stone, but on their hearts.

The thought here can be remembered by recalling this one line: YOU, ME, TOGETHER, WE.

St. Patrick’s Prayer followed by a Navaho Indian Prayer (the word “beauty” is used to translate a concept in Navajo that is more than just something aesthetically pleasing; it refers to balance, symmetry, fulfillment, all that is good, and notions of that sort which, in fact, reflect what Jesus embodies).Christ with me,        Christ before me,Christ behind me,    Christ within me,Christ beneath me,  Christ above me,Christ at my right,   Christ at my left

With beauty before me, I walk.With beauty behind me, I walkWith beauty below me, I walk.With beauty above me, I walk.With beauty all around me, I walk.