In these weeks after Easter, scripture readings include passages from Acts of the Apostles.  This book is Luke’s second work, and it takes up where his Gospel left off.  Namely, he’s now showing how the Holy Spirit moved the first Christians to spread the word of God—revealed in Jesus—to the ends of the earth (Rome—symbol of the world this empire ruled).  In a way, this second work could just as well be titled the “Activities of the Apostles,” and we could even say that this work is not as yet finished.  We’re simply in Chapter 2025—and WE are the apostles whose behavior will be handed down to posterity.

What would YOUR paragraph in this Chapter 2025 tell of YOUR activities as a child of God, a brother or sister in Christ?

What’s interesting about today’s reading from Acts is that it tells of the early followers encountering Gentiles.  This audience was not particularly familiar with the Hebrew scriptures—so the apostles were forced to SOMEHOW communicate who God was, and who Jesus was  in revealing “our Father who art in heaven.”  The interesting aspect of this is that we are in the same position as those apostles were. 

In America and the world at large, countless people are really uninformed about what Jesus means—thus making our role the very same one we read of today.  It’s WE who must preach to the Gentiles in our families, neighborhoods, country, and world (even those modern Gentiles who SAY they’re Christian—but who espouse beliefs and behaviors that are not at all what Jesus taught.

This past week’s readings reported the death of Christianity’s first martyr (i.e., first after Jesus was martyred).  This week we read of Stephen being stoned to death for preaching the Word of God.  What jumps out at us when reading his story—is a reference to who was present at the stoning.  Namely, we are told that Saul was present in his role of rounding up Christians in order to jail them.  He may even have picked up a stone and threw it at Stephen.

What hits us where we live, however, is what HAPPENS to Saul later on when he’s traveling to Damascus (Syria).  This Saul guy, the persecutor of Christians, had a “conversion experience.”  He realized what he had been doing and believed was all wrong.  Instead of persecuting Christians, the newly awakened “Paul” commits himself to up-building the faith community.  It is this part of his story that should speak to your experience.  How?  Read on.

If you ever have an experience of realizing you did something that you are not proud of, you are experiencing what Saul did.  He seems to have confronted the reality that he “committed the unforgivable sin.”  And so it is with us.  We realize that we’ve been traveling in the wrong direction. But we are somehow made aware of God’s forgiveness being the strong force that can motivate our becoming a great apostle (as occurred with Saul/Paul). 

As occurs throughout the Bible, ordinary or unlikely people are called to accomplish great things.  Who would have thought that this guy who watched Stephen die would one day be a martyr like him?  And so it is with OUR story.  God over-rides our past and leads us into a new beginning.   

As for Mother’s Day, it’s hard to believe that this national holiday was originally part of a protest movement.  In 1858, Anna Reeves Jarvis of West Virginia organized people in West Virginia and elsewhere in Appalachia to protest the poor water sanitation that was harming or killing people.  Come the Civil War, she got women to care for the Civil War wounded on both sides.  She was aided in her effort to stop wars by Julia Ward Howe (author of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic”).  Too many women were losing too many sons in war, so it was women who protested war—their effort then evolving into protests against working conditions for young and old who were being taken advantage of in the work place.

As the 19^th century was coming to an end, writers like Charles Dickens in England and Upton Sinclair in the U.S. exposed the abuse of workers, women, and children (think of Mr. Scrooge, Tiny Tim, and others).  Come the 20^th century, big business saw it could make a killing on Mother’s Day by selling flowers, candy, and other niceties for “mothers.”  Sure enough, in 1913, “Mother’s Day” came into being throughout Congress.

Industries supported the idea of a Mother’s Day that saw people spend their money, but the story deserves more than just a jaundiced view of economics favoring owners versus workers.  Mother’s Day symbolizes what people can do to change society—the right to vote for women being one more offshoot of what was originally a social issue.  Jesus himself would have “marched” with Anna Reeves Jarvis and Julia Ward Howe.

When I think of mothers, I’m always reminded of my experience of “mothering.”  In my case, it took place with my raising a boxer puppy.  He was with me 24 hours a day for the most part—in my office at Nouvel Catholic Central for 5 years, and in my presence many hours each day of 8 years and 2 months in total.  I taught him what a good dog did and what bad dogs do—teaching him like mothers teach so many things to their little ones.

When he died, I cried my eyes out.  But I also thanked God for giving me a glimpse of what mothers feel when raising their children.  We honor mothers, or anyone, who embodies the great virtues of motherhood.  Caring for their young, they symbolize how we should regard others.  So thank you, moms.  Your contribution has been much appreciated.

In the weeks after Easter, we have readings from The Acts of the Apostles.  Written by the Gospel writer Luke, this work takes up where his Gospel ends.  We thus have a 2-part work that shows how Jesus was born and eventually went to Jerusalem where he met his death and where he rose FROM the dead.  Acts begins with what scholars refer to as “post-resurrection” narratives.  Today’s reading is one of them.

Notice how there appears to be a difference between Jesus and the bodily form in which he manifests his new life.  Be it Magdalene speaking with a gardener, apostles speaking with a traveler on the road to Emmaus, or fishermen not recognizing it was Jesus on the shore—there seems to be a challenge to recognizing Jesus as an alive person.  Then something happens such that they DO recognizes him at some point.  Even today’s reading has Peter HEAR John say that the man on the shore is Jesus.  Peter himself went after Jesus because John DID see him and TOLD him where Jesus was.  Sort of like today when some people are graced with seeing Christ alive in others?   And some DON’T.  Couldn’t Peter recognize him?  Did he have to be TOLD that the man on the shore was Jesus?  Sort of like how WE often enough need to be told by someone where, exactly, Jesus has “appeared” to us in our experience.

These stories often report a sighting of Jesus at a meal context (e.g., breakfast today with bread mentioned) nearby—with Jesus taking the bread and passing it to those gathered.  We are bludgeoned with what, exactly, the underlying point of these experiences is.  Namely, these post-resurrection narratives show how people experienced the risen Lord.  How did they?  Through the breaking of bread, the Eucharist.  These experiences of Jesus after his death tell readers that they, too, can experience Jesus by being part of the sacramental community that breaks bread and shares it.

Today’s gospel mentions the disciples netting 153 fish, and citing this marvelous haul is reminding listeners of the story that Jesus is “the Christ/Messiah” symbolized by the fish!  Why a fish should remind listeners?  Because the Greek word for fish is “icthus,” it became a symbol for the risen lord since its letters were an acronym standing for “Jesus Christ Son of God Savior.”

So Luke’s Gospel ends with Jesus risen and Acts goes on to report how the faith community did, in fact, spread to the ends of the earth (symbolized by this book ending with the Church established in Rome—where Peter and Paul, and many others, were martyred).  Remember, “Rome” symbolizes “the ends of the earth” because the Roman Empire governed all lands and people. This book’s basic theme is that through the Holy Spirit, the “Church” spread from Jerusalem to Hemlock and Merrill.  And this weekend’s first communicants are going to be witnesses, we hope, to seeing and BEING Jesus ALIVE in our everyday experience.

Today’s Gospel profoundly reports our responsibility as church-going, members of the “Body of Christ.”  How’s that?  Well, remember during Holy Week when Peter denied Jesus three times?  Traditionally, today’s passage is supposed to hammer home Jesus forgiving Peter for his cowardice to assert his identity as a follower of Jesus.  Three times Peter is asked if he loves the Lord, and three times Peter professes that he does.  Okay, you can see this passage reminding us that Jesus is asking Peter to assert his connection to him.  However, there’s MORE that we are being told.

When Jesus says “Feed my sheep,” he’s equivalently saying to Peter something to this effect: “If you really do ‘love’ me as you say you do, then show your love by taking care of the people of God, all my ‘children’ on earth—my ‘flock’ of ‘lambs and sheep’ who need your pastoral care.”  In short, this anecdote about Jesus questioning Peter is OUR call to discipleship.  If we truly DO “love” God, we are people who do it by ‘loving’ others in caring for their needs, the basic necessities that they need to live, the land on which they live, and the food and health care that they need to survive.  If this sounds like Christian identity entails political action that brings justice to all, it’s because Jesus himself was a community organizer, a political activist, and one who took care of the many needs of people who came to him.  Our identity is nothing less.

You and I might say we love God and show it by going to Church or praying, but that’s one-half of what makes us Catholic.  We come to church to do as the disciples did—SEE where Jesus exists in our lives (or does not), and receive communion and the other sacraments so that we be up to performing the role of discipleship. 

Our first communicants this week begin a life of wondering just what it is that sees their family members, and now them, received a round piece of what they’re told is “bread” and a sip of wine from a chalice.  They join centuries of tradition that has seen countless people do what they’re doing today. They will continue to hear about and perhaps experience what generations have reported.

For example they will see people who call themselves “Christian” drink wine, or grape juice, and have regular bread or unleavened bread.  Some will gather at a table or what they call an altar (or call it both).  They’ll hear reference to the experience being that of a “Mass” or memorial meal or communion service, the Eucharist, or a sacrament.  

For some it makes present Christ’s suffering and thus a place where we feel his empathy for us and our varied sufferings—while they will see others celebrate joy of being fed by God and given God’s love for them (to which they shout “alleluia.”  Some Christian gatherings will invite all to break bread and pass the cup (chalice) while others will restrict access to certain persons only.

For some it makes present the real, physical body of Christ, for others it is understood to make Christ present in a tangibly spiritual way.  Our first communicants hear that the bread and wine that they are given—are visible signs of an invisible reality.  That “invisible reality” is what they heard at Christmas sung as Emmanuel—God with us.  At communion, our young ones experience signs that remind them that God is with them (as they confront hurt or rejection or happiness or victories or defeats).

This “church-going” experience of “first communion” will present itself to them at every Catholic church around the world, and they are now able to “receive communion” at any of those churches.  Thus, this bread and wine is a special bond between every Catholic with every other Catholic.  Here at home or abroad, they will see people received once a year, or every day.  Some will receive rejoicing and some tearfully receiving.  Our first communicants will hear different understandings of “communion” and spend their lives experiencing it in different ways.

They may hear the ancient prayer that said something to the effect that “Many grains have gone into the making of this bread—grains crushed to feed us.  We, like the grains, are many who have been hurt but who, like the grains can become one bread able to feed many.  And like grapes crushed, so have we witnessed the crushing of lives—so we ask the God of crushed wheat and crushed grapes to nourish us so that we can be a source of life for others.

This week’s reading from John is rich with topics that stimulate reflection.  Before looking at some of those topics, let’s first look at the author himself.  Contrary to what you may have thought (as I did), this writer named John is NOT the apostle John.  Many fine thinkers throughout Christian history have concluded that we’re reading a Gospel written by “the disciple whom Jesus loved,” the apostle who was there at the crucifixion, the apostle who was next to Jesus at the Last Supper!  But contemporary scholars have drawn other conclusions.

“We may never know for certain who wrote the Gospel of John, any more than we can know who wrote the books of Matthew, Mark and Luke. We do know that John is a gospel apart, however. Matthew, Mark and Luke are so alike in their telling that they are called the Synoptic Gospels, meaning “seen together”—because the parallels are clear when they are looked at side by side. Matthew and Luke follow the version of events in Mark, which is thought by scholars to be the earliest and most historically accurate Gospel. John, however, does not include the same incidents or chronology found in the other three Gospels, and the fact that it is so different has spurred a debate over whether John’s Gospel is historical or not.”

While some argue that John’s book is good history, the author’s purpose in writing is NOT to provide a day-to-day, week-to-week, month, etc. account of what Jesus did  Rather, he writes in order to accomplish a goal.  Namely, “that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name.”  John’s account appears to show a good knowledge of Jerusalem, but accurate reporting is a “tool” he uses to offer LIFE to the reader, or his faith community.

He’s kind of a salesman—only he’s not Madison Avenue selling nice cars and fine fashions that TANTALIZE, TEASE, and SEDUCE us into THINKING we’ll find “life” in material creations.  He’s a salesman, yes, selling in his Gospel a strategy for finding a fulfilling life in living the vision Jesus offers.  The epistles of John and the Book of Revelation combine with this Gospel to become known as “Johannine” literature, and scholars think they were written by the Johannine community between the years 70-110.  Could an apostle at the cross in 30 A.D. be writing in the year 110??  Probably not, so the consensus opinion is that we’re dealing with works written by more than one individual.

This Gospel is the only one that refers to Jesus being “nailed” to the cross—an important detail since Romans TIED most people who were crucified. Another unique element of this gospel is that the most profound attestation of faith is proclaimed—by Thomas when he says “My Lord and my God!”  What a profound insight we’re given in this scene.  NOT that Thomas makes a pious statement of faith, but that someone who at one point in his life was paralyzed with doubt—could emerge from that tomb and do a 180-degree change.  Ever feel “doubt” about your faith in God?  Well, as today’s story reports, YOU are Thomas (since they call him “Didamus”—and that word means TWIN.  Who is his twin?  YOU.  But also like him we are called to assert our faith—and in doing so FIND LIFE TO THE FULLEST. 

And this “life” that we’re to find entails us being “sent” by Jesus as apostles to the people with whom we interact at home, work, play, parish, or ANYWHERE we go.  The passage says that Jesus “breathed” on the apostles—which could sound like some strange behavior—but instead, we’re reading about a profound theological point.  The word “breathe” in this passage is the same “breathe” word used in Genesis when God “breathed” over the waters of creation.  It is the Spirit of God that brought about all that exists, and it is that same Spirit that is given us at our commissioning as apostles.  We are baptized and confirmed with the Spirit upon us—to help us be people “sent” on mission (like the apostles).  So just as those 11 guys were in a room wondering “Where do we go from here?”  Try and hear God saying to you that you are sent on a mission uniquely yours—since, as stated last week, you are an ordinary person sent to accomplish extraordinary things (just like the apostles—and numerous other biblical characters).

As an author of biographies, I find today’s passage has a really strong “ring of authenticity.”  I say this because the author says exactly what I’ve experienced when writing.  Namely, my experience has been that “I could write many more things about BLACK ELK, but I had to stop at some point”—because if I wrote them all down—there would not be enough libraries in the world to hold all the books that would have to be written (more-or-less what John says about Jesus).  I’ve had the same experience as John, the writer.  The “literary device” he (and I) use when making this claim is “hyperbole.”  We’re exaggerating in order to slam our point home (in reality, there would of course be enough libraries to hold books that reported the activities of these 2 men.  When I see this resemblance of my writing experience to that of John’s, his Gospel becomes more immediate to me. 

John does not list the Twelve Disciples and names at least one disciple, Nathanael, whose name is not found in the Synoptics.  Readers might realize this difference and wonder if the writer left out any other names of people who were close to the Lord.  Readers might personalize this textual difference by then musing to themselves “Yes, John left out MY name.”  And that is precisely what all of the Gospels are intended to do—draw the reader into them and find their identity and vocation.

With the Pope’s passing, many commentators are rendering an array of judgments.  Conservative media have been quick to criticize the man’s representation of the Gospel.  Others, however, have expressed gratitude for his efforts to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, protect the oppressed, and save the earth from our destruction of it.  From the New York Times, the Pew Research Group released the following:

90% of Catholic Democrats gave Pope Francis a favorable rating while 63% of Catholic Republicans echoed Fox programming (negative toward Francis).  Democrats supported Francis on issues such as climate change and the limits of capitalism.  Pew also said:

· 83% of U.S. Catholics want the Church to allow the use of contraception.

· 75% say the Church should allow Catholics to take Communion even if they are unmarried and living with a romantic partner.

· 69% say priests should be allowed to get married.

· 64% say women should be allowed to become priests.

54% say the Church should recognize the marriages of gay and lesbian couples.

Despite the above percentages regarded as “liberal,” the American church itself seems likely to continue moving rightward (conservative) into the next papacy. More than three out of four young priests describe themselves as theologically conservative.

Those who see themselves as traditionalists feel discomfort liturgically. In 2021, Pope Francis issued the equivalent of an executive order limiting where and when priests could administer the Traditional Latin Mass, the Mass celebrated worldwide for centuries until the reforms of Vatican II. Pope Francis seemed to see supporters of the older Mass as rejecting the church’s modernization more broadly, and dismissed the formal vestments preferred by many traditionalist priests as “Grandma’s lace.”

With Francis being a former Jesuit, the General (the “superior” of the Order) wrote the following letter to all members of the Society of Jesus.

Dear Brothers,

The Society of Jesus shares in the sorrow of all the people of God, in union with many other people of good will, at the end of the earthly life of Pope Francis. It does so with deep feeling and with the serenity born of the firm hope in the resurrection through which the Lord Jesus opened for us the door to full participation in the life of God.

We mourn the passing of one who was placed at the service of the Universal Church and exercised the Petrine ministry for more than 12 years. At the same time, we feel the departure of our dear brother Jesuit. We have shared the same spiritual charism and the same manner of following the Lord.  We are disquieted by his departure, and yet a deep sense of gratitude springs spontaneously from our hearts to God the Father for so much good received through the service of a whole lifetime and for the way in which Pope Francis knew how to guide the Church during his pontificate, in communion and continuity with his predecessors in the endeavor to put into practice the spirit and guidelines of the 2nd Vatican Council.

Pope Francis kept a watchful eye on what was happening in the world to offer a word of hope to all. His extraordinary encyclicals Laudato Si’ and Fratelli tutti reveal not only a lucid analysis of the state of humanity, but, in the light of the Gospel, they also offer ways to eliminate the causes of so much injustice and to promote reconciliation.

For Pope Francis, dialogue with one another, between political rivals or between religions and cultures, is the way to continue to propose peace and social stability, to create environments of mutual understanding, care for one another and support in solidarity. On many occasions, we listened to his words, his pastoral reflection and we admired his tireless activity, as he proposed initiatives or joined those of others, always convinced of the value of the word and of encounter.

How could we forget the extraordinary moment of prayer he himself called for in the face of the coronavirus emergency in March 2020, in an empty St Peter’s Square? Or the constant concern for peace in the face of intolerance and wars that threaten international coexistence and generate untold suffering among the most defenseless. Or the empathy of his heart with the immense flow of forcibly displaced persons throughout the world, especially those compelled to risk their lives crossing the Mediterranean.

In 2013, when greeting the faithful gathered in St. Peter’s Square to celebrate the newly elected Pope, we already find two key dimensions of his ministry: the importance of walking together, Bishop and people, on a path of fraternity, love, trust and hope; and the centrality of prayer and the importance given to the development of the Synod of Bishops.   In no way does it diminish the Primacy of Peter or episcopal responsibility; on the contrary, it allows it to be exercised with the conscious participation of all the baptized, of the people of God on the way, recognizing the presence and action of the Lord through his Holy Spirit in the life of the ecclesial community.

The invitation to prayer is impressed on our memory: Let us pray together, Bishop and people. I ask you to pray to the Lord to bless me.  Throughout his pontificate, he concluded his speeches, including the Sunday Angelus, with the same invitation: please do not forget to pray for me. He never tired of reminding us how prayer is born of trust in God and familiarity with Him. In prayer, we can discover the secret of the life of the saints.  He pointed out to us an essential element of our identity. Pope Francis affirmed our service of the poor, inculturated, focused on service, and free from all worldly ambition.

Easter Sunday Reflections

We started Holy Week with Palm Sunday.  Recall that when Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a colt, his gesture was not just a wonderful day that broadcast people recognizing him as a great leader.  Rather, the events of this day were a socio-religious PROTEST.  Each year, the Roman governor (Pontius Pilate at that time) rode into Jerusalem on a carriage bedecked with gold & silver symbols of the Roman Gods who gave witness to the emperor being a God—his representative being the governor.  The day was a show of Roman power to the oppressed Israelites and others over whom the Romans ruled.  Resistance to these supernatural and natural powers should be unthinkable to those who witnessed the spectacle.

The Sadducees and other religious authorities had become “sell outs” to the Roman occupiers and had overseen he great Temple turned into a kind of Wall Street.  Recall Jesus overthrowing the tables of the traders?  That was but one of his protests against the occupying Roman foreigners who were oppressing the people and not serving them.  Seeing the Temple become a “den of thieves” with the wealthy lording it over the poor, Jesus dramatically showed that he was in solidarity with the people—as a kind, caring, outreaching leader who had come to serve and not be served.  Behaving this way guaranteed a warrant for his death. They didn’t execute Jesus because “he was a nice guy.”  No, he stepped on the toes of society’s privileged classes.

Holy Week saw us celebrate Jesus giving us the Eucharistic meal that tells us of his continuing presence as Emmanuel—“God with us.”  And Good Friday, with our reflection on the 14 stations, reminded us of our lives being a “station of the cross.”  On different days or in different life experiences, we are denying association with Jesus, or nailing him with words we direct at people, or crying like the women in seeing wrongs committed, or we’re Veronica trying to wipe the face of those who suffer.  As with all of Scripture, Good Friday slams home to us that the crucifixion is not just one day in history that took place 2000 years ago.  It is something that we see on the nightly news, in political leaders, corporations, and neighborhood homes.

Thankfully, we conclude Holy Week with readings on Saturday that remind us that God created the universe because God is love and wanted us to experience that love in the vistas of life all around us.  Contrary to what some misguided souls have preached, God made everything “good” (as Genesis reported).  And that includes you!   Importantly, we need to remember that creation is incomplete without YOU, me, us–each of us in our unique identities.  Moreover, we are reminded throughout Scripture and especially when we see the empty tomb on Easter Sunday—that no matter what crosses come our way, God has created us ordinary individuals to do extraordinary things.  That is why we can shout Halleluia! 

Holy Week begins with Palm Sunday. We listen to the Passion narrative and a selection that tells of people waving palm branches as they joyously celebrate Jesus arriving in Jerusalem on a colt.  The week is itself a symbol of each life here—Palm Sunday seeing us celebrate (as when your parents and grandparents celebrated your arrival in the world).  Joyous feelings come to mind as we think of small and great moments of happiness we’ve had throughout life.

As we wend our way through life, we have pleasant memories of being at table on feast days, birthdays, weddings, candlelight dinners, and other special or ordinary occasions.  And these events are distilled in the Holy Thursday “dinner” or supper that Jesus gave as a special reminder of his presence to us down through the centuries.  But Palm Sunday’s salute to joyous occasions and Holy Thursday’s symbolizing togetherness at a dining table—give way to the tears of Good Friday.  This day represents the many moments we experience throughout life that send us into sadness or hurt of some kind. 

Holy Saturday sees us thinking about the world’s creation, the mistakes and victories of our ancestors-in-the-faith, and finally, the coming of Jesus.  This day sees us in darkness and pierces our dark spirit with a candle that lights our minds.  And so, we are led into Easter Sunday—where the graves that make life bleak are gone, and hope is born in our hearts.  In short, each day of this week broadcasts what we all experience. 

Ritually, we imagine our life and try to realize that the path we’ve walked CAN lead to a new life for our spirit.  Holy Week also makes us look at ourselves as the fair weather friend of Palm Sunday, the table companion of others on Thursday, absent when the going gets tough on Friday, and looking for hope on Saturday.  As with all of Scripture, but especially the Passion reading brings to life the many characters that played a role in the final days of Jesus.  Each one of these people is YOU at different times in your life.

Do yourself a favor and spend time reflecting on the men and women who were part of the original Passion story.  If one or another character stays in your mind more than others, that person’s role MIGHT be a grace you’re receiving at this time of year.  Maybe there’s something in that character’s experience that you need to reconsider.  Maybe there’s a wake-up call on something in your life.  Maybe there’s an inspiration you need take to heart.  Maybe there’s a behavior you need to abandon or adopt.  Let the story’s different characters speak to your spirit. 

I’ll seed your thought by calling to mind some of the people who lived the events of that first Holy Week.

Judas: Do you have a price and betray values you won’t uphold if challenged? You remain silent when you should speak up? 

Chief priests:  Do you criticize more than upbuild others?

Peter:  Can you play a leadership role but decline?  You have legs of straw?

Jesus afraid in Gethsemane:  You have legitimate fears—that’s okay to have them. 

Pontius Pilate:    Do you wash your hands of involvement?

Barabbas:  Do you benefit at other people’s expense (sweatshops)?

Simon of Cyrene: Do you help others carry their cross?

Soldiers whip Jesus: Are you racist? Are you cruel to people/animals?

Mary Magdalene & women at the cross: You’re presence to others in need?

Dismas the good thief: Do you admit you made a mistake and ask for forgiveness?

In each of the persons above, we see the Jesus-story play itself out today, e.g., how he is still being crucified, how we are washing our hands of involvement, how we are denying it’s our problem, and how we confront our fear of crosses.  This is a week in which we are confronted with our need for resurrection or new life somewhere in our daily behaviors.  We’re being called from ruts to renewal.

Important to keep in mind, as I regularly call to your attention, is this.  Namely, the Bible is filled with stories about people who are, in some way, you and I.  The theme that unites so many of these people in Scripture is that we see that “God calls ordinary people to accomplish extraordinary things.”  That’s YOU who God is calling.

Another Way To Look At Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday celebrations often miss an uncomfortable truth about what actually took place this day in the life of Jesus.  At the time, it was a deliberate act of theological and political confrontation. It wasn’t just pageantry; it was protest.  On that first Palm Sunday, there was another procession entering Jerusalem. From the west came Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, riding a warhorse and flanked by armed soldiers bedecked in the full pageantry of an oppressive empire. Every year during Passover, a Jewish festival celebrating liberation from Egyptian oppression and slavery, Pilate entered Jerusalem to suppress any unrest set off by that memory.

His arrival wasn’t ceremonial; it was tactical — a calculated show of force, what the Pentagon might now call “shock and awe.” It displayed not only Rome’s power but also Rome’s theology. Caesar was not just the emperor; he was deified and called “Son of a God” on coins and inscriptions. His rule was absolute, and the peace it promised came through coercion, domination and the threat of violence.  Ironically, the current Administration has lost one court decision after another as it seeks dictatorial power and retribution against its perceived enemies. The parallel between our era and the first century is an unfolding nightmare from a Gospel perspective.

The Saducees we read about in Scripture allied themselves with the Roman authorities and could be associated with today’s billionaires who oversee an economy that benefits the wealthy (e.g., your 401K takes a hit this week as the wealthy buy up stocks now being sold at lower prices than that of a month ago).  Meanwhile, the emperor could care less that the price of eggs is higher than when he promised to bring their cost down.  Return now to Jesus that first Palm Sunday.

He entered the city not on a warhorse but on a colt, not with battalions but with beggars. His followers were peasants, fishermen, women, and children — people without standing or status. They waved palm branches — symbols of Jewish resistance to occupation — and cried out “Hosanna!” which means “Save us.” Save us from a system that passes itself off as wise stewardship (slashing medical research, education, poverty programs, and all outreaches to those in need).  Save us from those who deceptively endorse greed with pious language and prayer vigils that have Congressmen chastising a chaplain who encourages the president to be a merciful leader—as Jesus was.  Palm Sunday’s Jesus should be seen as a parody of imperial power: a deliberate mockery of Roman spectacle and a prophetic enactment of a kingdom built on justice.    

The next day, Jesus walked into the Temple, the heart of Jerusalem’s religious and economic life, and flipped the tables in the marketplace, which he described as “a den of robbers.” The Temple wasn’t just a house of prayer. It was a financial engine, operated by complicit leaders under the constraints and demands of the occupying empire. Jesus shuts it down. This is what gets him killed—the Wall Street of his time in concert with banksters and government.

Jesus wasn’t killed for preaching love, or healing the sick, or discussing theology routinely debated in the Temple’s courtyards, or blasphemy (the punishment for which was stoning). Rome didn’t crucify philosophers or miracle workers. Rome crucified people like Jesus who spoke truth to power. The sign nailed above his head — “King of the Jews” — was a political indictment and public warning. Like with the killing of the prophets before him, the message sent with Jesus’s death was that those who demand justice will inevitably find themselves crushed.  Sound familiar?

We, too, live in the shadow of empire. Ours doesn’t speak Latin or wear togas, but its logic is familiar. Our economy prioritizes the 1 percent and puts corporate profits over worker dignity. Our laws enforce inequality in the criminal justice system, education and health care. Our military-industrial complex would be the envy of Rome. Note that budget-cutting never negatively affects military spending. 

This week’s Gospel gives us one of Christianity’s most well-known lines: “You who are without sin, cast the first stone.”  The incident from which this quote is taken tells us about “the woman caught in adultery.”  Contemporary minds might ponder: “What about the man?  Where is he when the religious authorities are considering capital punishment?”  Before reflecting on how this real-life drama is played out in our lives, let’s first take a look at the historical context.

Recall that we’re reading this story from John’s Gospel.  The other 3 are called the “synoptic” Gospels because they, Matthew, Mark, Luke, share a common perspective.  John writes in a different fashion and presents a Jesus whom John seems to have recorded at length!  Scholars tell us that Matthew and Luke drew upon Mark’s text (the first of the three written) and that they put their theological spin on how the Jesus story unfolded.  People often think the 4 Gospel authors were apostles, but none of them were.

There’s some question as to whether or not today’s anecdote was even written by John.  The earliest texts of John did not contain it, but eventually, the woman’s experience was reported and subsequent versions of John retained it. 

The historical setting is just after the Romans outlawed the Israelite “Sanhedrin” (their legal body) from executing people (as prescribed in the law of Moses).  Asking Jesus if they should stone the woman to death is thus putting Jesus in a possible conflict with the civil authorities.  If he replies, “Yes, stone her,” he is telling Israelite officials to violate the civil law.  If he says, “Do NOT stone her,” he is violating the Mosaic tradition.  In short, he’s between a rock (no pun intended) and a hard place.

So we’re told he bends down and starts doodling in the dirt.  For us, this might seem peculiar, but in this part of the Mediterranean region, this behavior was typical of peasants who were taking time to reflect when distraught (thus suggesting this scene was historically grounded in its detailed noting of a typical real-life behavior).

How does Jesus get out of this “no win” situation?  He did what politicians do today!  Instead of answering a tough question, they reply with a question of their own or change the subject (so that they will not be held accountable on some topic).  However, politicians “change the subject” so that they do not have to admit one or another of their actions is misguided.  Jesus forces the Pharisees and Scribes to look at themselves—and evaluate their living of the faith (which is what we’re supposed to do during Lent). 

He has forced this “holier-than-thou” crowd to consider their sinfulness.  Were they perhaps “guilty” of disobeying one of the OTHER “sins” that were spelled out in the Book of Leviticus (e.g., Blasphemy, i.e., speaking sacrilegiously about God or sacred things; profane talk, Cursing or disobeying Parents, Adultery, i.e., sexual behavior that contradicts the financial agreement struck between 2 families, Homosexual Acts, Incest—rules that vary from culture to culture, even in the U.S., Human Sacrifice, Witchcraft and Spiritism, i.e., belief and invocation of spirits thought to influence human behavior, Working on the Sabbath).  Keep in mind that different cultures place a “taboo” (or cite as illegal or “sinful”), and when doing so, do not read from the same global script.  For example, there are cultural behaviors in different parts of the world that are customary in some places but that would send a person to prison for many years here in the U.S.

Today’s Gospel contributes to Church teaching that condemns capital punishment.  As Catholics, we say that each life is important to God (both victim and perpetrator).  No child of God should be “legally” murdered based on the varieties of cultural traditions or based solely on cathartic revenge.  Besides, Jesus was killed “legally” and for the revenge and self-interest of some.  How can we, as Christians, unleash this same death-dealing behavior on others?

This is, of course, a provocative issue for many people.  The U.S. is one of 50 countries that have the death penalty (i.e., certain states have it) while 150 countries DON’T have it.  Countries like China, Russia, Iran, Saudi Arabia, andother non-Western nations that have a lame human rights record make up the 44 other capital punishment countries.  Since studies have shown that the death penalty is NOT a deterrent to murder, and since authoritarian countries use the death penalty to kill political opponents, vengeance and corruption are further reasons why the Church is against it.  As with so many other issues, just ask yourself: “Would you see Jesus endorsing vengeance and authoritarian corruption?”   But there’s more to this New Testament drama.

Picture yourself in the crowd, and Jesus looks in your direction saying, “You who are without sin, cast the first stone.”  Would you pause and reflect before acting, or would you heave a stone as hard as you could throw in the hope of hitting the woman?  And would you unthinkingly continue to find stones and do your best to see that she falls and dies?  And would you go to her now-dead body—and just look at the face of death?  Or would you, although she’d not hear you, say something like “I sure got you with some good ones.”  Picture yourself standing there—with nothing more to do and nothing to say, but just leave and later wonder if she had breakfast yesterday morning after feeding her little dog.  Maybe later, you’d go to bed and reflect long enough to ask yourself, “What did throwing those stoned accomplish—other than adding my name to a long list of people who have killed someone?”

Picture, too, yourself as the woman.  You’re standing there, not sure of what just took place.  Jesus looks up at you and says something like, “You okay?”  You nod “yes” and wonder what he’s now going to say or do. Feeling totally powerless since her arrest, she is not sure what this man is going to say.  He stands up and smiles at her as he asks if she has a place to stay, and she nods “yes” again.  In a tone of voice she finds caring, she hears him say just a few words that encourage her to be the good woman who God calls her to be.  As she walks away, she feels the weight of rejection and hate fade away with each step.  She smiles with hope and thinks to herself that she wants to be like that man who just spoke to her—and not like the others who condemned her.  She felt as if she had risen from the grave and looked forward to helping others have the same experience.    And so it is with each of us.  We are a person in the crowd, and we are the woman. 

We reject people because we don’t like them for some reason.  We are also not perfect, and not everyone likes us.  We are like the woman.  We are not perfect.  As you look at your life and think of the “unforgivable” sins or misdeeds that you’ve committed, try to get a sense of Jesus looking at you affectionately and saying something tailored in language you can appreciate—that there are no “unforgivable” sins in your life.  There is only now—you and I speaking.  Jesus says that you should begin your life now and leave those behaviors of the past behind.

We gather for Mass each week, and we bring to the altar what’s going on in our world of experience.  Some people bring a sense of gratitude.  Some bring their tears, or confusion, or discouragement.  We’re a ‘mixed bag’ of human longing and joy—as depicted in this week’s Gospel story of the prodigal son.”

Remember that Scripture tells us about ourselves.  When reading a page, it’s as if we’re holding a mirror and looking at ourselves—because when reading scripture, each character in a parable, story, setting, or scene is us!  At different moments in our lives, we ARE those characters.  For example, in the prodigal son story, we are the young son, the older son, and the father.  At least, we CAN be each one—if we choose to be.

Keep in mind that this parable is addressed to a first-century, Israelite audience who lives in a culture wherein sons have a well-defined relationship to their father.  For us, 2000 years later, we can apply the lessons of this parable to women since the lessons are not directed just at men.

When the young son asks for his inheritance, he’s violating norms and insulting his father.  The father in this story is a “God figure,” so when he gives freely of his wealth to this son, we are reminded of how much God has given us.  We might also be reminded of how we might be prone to “taking” and not giving thanks to God or to others who have been good or kind and giving to us.  We overlook courtesies and make our demands—as we think only of ourselves (and not the community for whom the laws were intended to produce good behavior). 

The young son continues to behave in self-centered ways and pursues a lifestyle that sees him waste his time, talent, and treasure.  Now destitute, he sinks to the level of being with pigs—an “unclean” or tabooed animal among the Israelites.  Famine was everywhere, and he was so starved that he longed to eat what the pigs ate.  In short, his story is that of a young person violating cultural norms (which were the same as his people’s religious norms—symbolized in his association with pigs, the much disdained animal of Israelite (and later, Muslim) tradition. 

In thinking of his plight, the young man perhaps recalls his religious formation and that his “father” in heaven (i.e., God) will show mercy to him if he returns to his earthly “father” and asks for forgiveness.  And so his life is saved by returning to the “father” above and below.  Rich in mercy and slow to anger, his father-s rejoiced in his return to the homestead.  Behaving this way, the father does what Jesus did—he eats with a sinner—his son, the dregs of society.  Remember today’s Gospel passage began by reporting that Jesus ate with sinners.

His behavior, like the father’s toward the son, was not solely him being a do-gooder or humanitarian.  Just as Jesus ate with sinners, so did the father warmly welcome back his sinful son to the dinner table.  He did not reject or ignore him.  The father presumably kept watch for the ne’er-do-well son since we are told he spotted him when he was still “a long way off.”  Often thought of as symbolizing our forgiving Father in heaven, this father did what Jesus did.  He drew close to a sinner to influence the young man.  Ignoring him, or Jesus ignoring the sinners, would keep them at a distance.  To influence the young man or the sinners who ate with Jesus, they had to be near.

The parable is often understood as an illustration of God’s forgiveness.   But it’s more than that—just as Jesus eating with outcasts is not just humanitarian broadmindedness.  In both settings—the father forgiving and Jesus with sinners—the point of this passage is God, in Jesus, outreaching to people in need.  Both Jesus and the father broke rules that forbade mixing with sinners, but they did so to save the lost. 

How many of us are as solicitous of “bad” people as the father was?  Or as Jesus was?  Here are the sort of statements we might make when offensive persons surface in our families?  Maybe you’ve said them to someone, or maybe they’ve been said to you. They do not appear in scripture but do in homes globally.

1) Are you proud of what you’ve done?  We have a lot to talk about

2) I can forgive, but I can’t forget

3) You can’t just come back here & act as if nothing happened

4) You’re going to have to earn back my trust in you

5) Do you know how much you’ve hurt your mother and me? Or ‘Are you aware of how many people you’ve hurt?

6) Give him 25 years to life!  No penalty is too severe for him!

BUT–“God’s ways are not our ways” (Isaiah 55:8).  The father, a symbol of God, says none of the above statements (that we would be tempted to say).  You or I could be the greatest sinner in the world, but God still loves us.  God’s love for us is like that of a mother for her child.  The hormone “oxytocin” bonds her and the child, making a mother not forget the baby at her breast.  The Father’s love for us is shown in the love of Jesus for outcasts and the prodigal son’s father.  However, the elder son wants none of this.

Recall that when we read scripture, it’s like holding up a mirror to ourselves.  WE are each character in the stories—at some point in each tale told.  Within this parable, we can be the prodigal son, the father, or the elder brother.  Which one do you choose to be today?  Or the next time you deal with someone who betrays you in some way, or who insults you, or breaks your heart? 

It’s so easy to be the elder brother.  The role comes naturally to us.  We envy someone else’s good fortune when we feel neglected and deserving of more than another who is given an honor of some kind.  Where’s OUR honor?  Our prize?  Our reward?  Seeing another get privileged treatment stirs anger within us.  We fail to see that one’s moment in the sun is just that—a moment.  Everyone eventually has to come down from the mountaintop (another symbol of great blessing).  The father in the story knew this lesson well.  He knew that his son did not need condemnation but consolation.  Jesus gave us this story so that we imitate the goodness and example of the father—who symbolizes the Father.

It is God who sees more in us than we see in ourselves—and who looks for us to realize we can be renewed by coming home to his embrace.

With the first day of Spring occurring this past week, I thought of the word “Lent” meaning “Spring season.”  People might associate Lent with fasting and abstinence, our religious observance has the very practical goal of improving our sense of identity, and becoming the best version of ourselves.  As with the Spring season, so we, too, are growing anew (or trying our best to do so).

The 40 days set aside for this spiritual “retreat” is intended to remind us of Noah’s flood.  When the deluge stopped, a new earth came to life and replaced the old with the new.  This period is also intended to remind us of Goliath slaughtering Israelites for 40 days—until the shepherd boy, David, slew the great warrior.  So it is with God’s help.  We are able to face the Goliaths that threaten us.  With God’s help, we are able to face any foe.

The Israelites wandered for 40 years looking for a land flowing with milk and honey.  They spent time and energy, moaning and groaning—all the while seeking the “promised land”—losing their way, like we do at times, and wondering why they ever left slavery in Egypt.  With these experiences in mind, we become the people of faith within these biblical stories—struggling to overcome threats and begin anew.

The season of Lent sees us trying to find meaning amidst the floods, Goliaths, and deserts of our life experience.  We’re sometimes like our ancestors and believe that any bad experience we have is due to God “punishing” us for some wrong deed we did.  We are like the people in the Gospel reading.  18 died because a tower fell on them and people thought this occurred because they or their relatives did something bad.  They thought that God was getting even with these people. But Jesus told them that they died because the tower fell on them—NOT as a punishment from God.

Actions have consequences—yes.  But God calls us to growth and new life.  God is not vengeful.  Maybe the builders just did a poor job of construction.  Jesus pointed out that their “theology” was misguided—as was the thinking of our ancestors who thought that wealth was a sign of being “chosen” by God to go to heaven. Our colonial fathers and mothers were raised on a theology that associated wealth with heaven and one’s destination being hell if they were poor.  Scholars have pointed out how this mindset held sway over our ancestors.  On a less grand scale, and applicable to each of us is the spiritual task of evaluating our behavior during Lent, and seeing what behaviors and thoughts we need to put aside and which to cultivate. 

I recall Bill Clinton’s adviser telling him what to focus on when speaking to the public, and the line he offered Clinton has become almost a proverb when running for public office.  When discussing their strategy, his adviser said “It’s the economy, stupid!”  And so that has been the North Star of electioneering.  Address the economy and tell the public that you’ll put the people on “easy street”—unlike your opponent.  An ad for Hoover in 1928 said there would be “a chicken in every pot” if he were elected.  And this same pitch was given by Mr. Trump who promised to bring down the price of eggs the first day on the job.  Well, neither the chicken nor the egg prophecies came about. 

Just as Hoover folks rejoiced at the thought of getting a chicken, so did Trump’s voters who were no doubt inspired when he said “We’ll have so much money we won’t know how to spend it all.”  Sometimes critiqued as nothing but a good used car salesman, it was not surprising for critics to say “I rest my case” when he came to the aid of the world’s richest man and encouraged people to buy Musk’s Tesla cars that were placed on the White House lawn (ignoring the law that said no Federal property can be used for private business). When the new Secretary of Commerce urged people to buy Tesla stock, Mr. Musk benefitted from yet another illegal and free-of-charge advertising.

Lent is a period calling us to reflect on what we’ve done with our lives.  What would it say if we were to write our resumé—as if applying for a job, but instead it would be our resumé to enter heaven? Here’s what came to mind in my case.

Over the years, I was on numerous hiring committees—for positions on campus that sought someone for president, dean, faculty, coach, maintenance, janitor, campus minister, and every position that existed.  As you might suspect, there were numerous applicants for each “job.”  I was reminded of having this role when presidential candidates and then Administration leaders were paraded past us.  I found that some candidates were easy to pitch when reading their credentials.  With the University, we sought quality people who would represent the institution well and who would contribute to its mission.  Those basic criteria should, of course, be the same for the new Administration in Washington.  They were not. 

As you know, one submits a resumé that highlights their many achievements. I thought of what mine would say and noted that some good accomplishments were listed.  Surely God and he choirs of angels would applaud what I’ve done.  And no sooner had that sin of pride raised its head that something forcefully struck me.  Confessing here, I knew deep inside that I could not pull the wool over God’s eyes.  Maybe the angels, but not God.

We both knew that while my resumé appeared decent, there were numerous times I could have seized the opportunity to do the “more” that lay before me.  Instead, I took the path of least resistance and avoided involvement with numerous places where I could have made a difference.  My Lenten reflection led me to “repentance”—not in the sense of beating up myself for where I’ve been remiss but in re-committing myself to discerning and doing the “more” that God calls me to do with my life.

Dear Lord, inspire me to bring a smile to those whose eyes I meet.  May I have the strength to stand tall in the face of conflict and the courage to speak my voice, even when I’m scared.
I ask not for easier tasks but just enough talent to meet any tasks that come my way.
May I seek to know the highest truths and dismiss the pull of my lower self.

May I learn more profoundly why you created me, how to overcome darkness, and have the gospel wisdom To Choose generosity over selfishness.  Today, I want to surrender anything that
Undermines the sacredness who you made me to be So drench me with a knowledge of your affection for me—a child, like you, born in the Bethlehem of my family.

We return this week to the Genesis world of Abram and Sarai.  This patriarch and his matriarch wife came to be called Abraham and Sarah.  Because of their relationship to God, they were blest with descendants numbering more than the number of stars in the sky.  Their faith is the foundation of the 3 great monotheistic traditions known as the “Abrahamic religions.”  Judaism, Christianity, and Islam each claim to descend from Abraham.

This week’s Gospel reading is known as the “Transfiguration” of Jesus. It begins with Jesus, Peter, James, and John going to a mountain (ascent of a mountain signaling to us that some profound appearance of God will take place—called a “theophany”).  Once at the top, the disciples see Moses (who represents the “Law” of the Torah) and Elijah (who represents the “Prophets”).  God’s voice from a cloud is heard to say “Listen to him.”  And so, it is as if to say Jesus combined within Himself both the “Law” and the “Prophets.” He is the new covenant of God with the “human race.”

We don’t use the term “transfiguration” in everyday speech, but in today’s story, it is illustrated when Jesus is seen in a new and glorious way by the 3 disciples.  His appearance is transformed.  He is seen as the “chosen one” of God who distills in Himself all of Hebrew scripture and more!

This incident demonstrates that our spiritual growth entails opening ourselves to seeing reality in ways previously unknown.  It is a story that reminds me of an experience I had as a child.  I was about 6 years old.  One of my playmates was Mike Brady.  Mike was always on a 3-wheeler bike because he had polio and couldn’t walk.  He’d accompany us down the block as we would walk on the sidewalk or driveways and he would peddle along with us. 

One day, I was with him when he said that he could walk, too.  He said he’d show me that he could walk—but I was not to tell his mom that he showed me.  Whereupon he got off his bike—with some difficulty—and stood as upright as he could.  He then moved forward slowly in hard-to-do steps.  Then he turned back to the bike and returned to his seat—positioning himself on it once again as before.  Seeing Mike move as he did, I was amazed.  We all knew he couldn’t walk, but I had seen that he could!  Later on I told my mom about what I had seen—the unbelievable fact that Mike Brady could walk.  I had witnessed a great revelation—seeing reality in a way I had never previously seen.  Mike had been “transfigured” before me and I actually saw him standing face-to-face with me for those few minutes.

So the story of Jesus opening the eyes of the disciples is a story about us needing to have our eyes opened to realities that are not entirely on our radar.  We still have much to learn—whatever our age, income level, ethnicity, knowledge, or powers of some sort that make us feel secure.  The tribal Celts had a concept that the mountain experience represents.  Namely, some locations or experiences can be “thin places” wherein the supernatural and natural are very close to one another and are revelatory of something that moves us to new insight. Our minds expand and we are “in touch” with more than we previously possessed.

One such experience for me occurred when making an 8-day retreat.  Midway through the experience, I was speaking to God in prayer as I walked the beautifully landscaped retreat house grounds.  The natural world looked lovely as the trees along the river were joined by rabbits hopping in the grass and all was peaceful.  “It’s easy to believe in your existence, Lord, when the world around me is so peaceful and pleasant.  Where are you when my experience is not peaceful and pleasant—when I really need you to somehow help me?”  Such were my thoughts as I walked off the retreat house grounds and into a neighborhood where traffic replaced the calm vista I had just departed.

I walked a sidewalk whose street was filled with honking cars and a “semi” switching its gears loudly enough to make the whole scene an unpleasant one.  As I proceeded, a white picket fence was on my right and the unpleasant sounds of street traffic gave way to the startling and unpleasant sound of a dog rushing alongside me on the other side of the fence.  It was barking as if to say “If this fence weren’t here, I’d have you by the leg—just as that other dog had you as a child—and sent you to have 14 rabies shots.”  I was not in a good state of mind and I mused to God “Where are you when life isn’t pleasant and when the nasty sound of voices barking at me?  Where are you at those times, Lord?”

No sooner had I pondered that type of thought than a woman appeared at the door of the fenced-in house.  Her voice blended with that of her barking dog as she shouted: “Here, Angel.  Come here, Angel.”  And with that summons, the barking dog turned tail and ran to the woman and into the house whose door she held open.

It was as if God had to send a messenger to me–”angel” meaning ‘messenger of god’.”  It was as if I had to be drawn a big picture by God—and told “I’m with you in bad times and good, in sickness and in health, in pleasant landscapes and busy streets.  I am ‘Emmanuel’—God with you.” As it was in the beginning with Peter, James, and John, I was charged with taking my experience of this “thin place” transfiguration of hearing and feeling God’s presence—from that retreat experience—down from the mountain, and into the lives of people I would meet elsewhere.

And so it is that we meet in this “thin place” of church—bringing our ordinary sense of self to this mountain altar where we are reminded of God’s tangible presence.  We are here exposed to the thin places of sacramental encounters such as baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and sacred observances that expose us to God’s word.  Here we learn that the story of Peter, James, and John is our story of being here and now in prayer at the Mass.  And this is where we realize God calls us to be a “thin place” with whom one encounters the risen Lord in their experience of you.

Take us, Lord, from this sacred thin place of sacramental encounter to other thin places of insight—so that we can be the apostles so needed by those who stand alone on mountains with no sense of inspiration or guidance.

Lent is a period of 40 days that calls to mind the 40 days of rain that produced the flood.  Washed away was the earlier life and what came about was a new creation.  Our Lenten observance is INTENDED to be a period of growth, of insight, and greater self-awareness.  We become a new creation owing to our effort to confront and overcome the demons we encounter in the desert of our life (today’s Gospel story).  Lent is our Exodus from the shackles of sin’s slavery and journey to a “Promised Land” of new life freed from messed-up behavior we’ve been part of.

All sorts of people refer metaphorically to life as a journey—and so it is with Lent.  But in this case, it is a journey we travel with Jesus.  As our companion during Lent, he points out to us the “sights” along the way.  He calls our attention to the beautiful mountains, waterfalls, lakes, puppies, porcupines, and peacocks that make us smile with appreciation.  We thus rejoice in the wonders given us throughout life.

However, he also points out the swamps, deserts, and quicksand that we’ve sometimes not avoided.  Our sacred companion very much wants each of us to have as wonderful a life experience as we possibly can—but God knows that we have been, and still are, quite vulnerable to the mirages that lead us astray.  The Lenten season tries to put us in touch with our inability, at times, to be a good traveling companion.

One way the Gospels help us follow good maps for our journey is to point out what theology texts refer to as the “capital sins and “cardinal virtues.”  These behaviors contrast with one another in describing how we behave.  Each behavior (that is, each “sin” or “virtue”) is on a spectrum, or scale (of 1 to 10—with 10 being the “virtue” Jesus calls us to embody).  Lent calls us to evaluate where we fall on these scales:

Sadly, developed, Western, industrial-cultures tend to encourage actions that foster capital sin behaviors.  For example, instead of humility, we’re told that we should acquire things that will give us “swag” power.  “Gluttony” refers to more than eating whatever we can get our hands on.  It can follow the commercial that encouraged viewers: “When you’ve got it, flaunt it.”  And instead of being humble, we try to impress people with what we have or what we’ve accomplished.  The pro basketball player, Nikola Yokich has set records never before attained by stars of the game—but he is known among the players as the most humble guy you’d ever meet. 

Billionaires who currently control Washington can afford whatever they want, but their greed motivates them as much as a blue-collar worker is motivated simply to put food on the table.  When they have all that money can buy, the super-wealthy become greedy for power.  Not surprising is that less well-off people give proportionately more to charities than the wealthy.  In short, when looking at sinful or virtuous behavior, realize that Jesus is at one end of the scale and Madison Avenue at the other end.  We Christians are told that fullness of life and happiness can only come from imitating where Jesus would fall on that scale.  Unfortunately, as stated, we are vulnerable to society’s seductions in our quest to “get ahead” in life.

Lent is a period in which we join Alcoholics Anonymous in living one of their steps toward sobriety.   We “make a fearless inventory” of our behaviors and acknowledge our need for God to help us overcome those behaviors that have brought us, and others, down.  Some American Indian groups made a “vision quest.”  It parallels what Lent tries to accomplish with us—acquire a “vision” that will guide us on our life-path.  We can grow by reflecting on where we have been helpful or harmful toward others.  Have we committed sins of “commission” (what we’ve done) or sins of “omission” (what we’ve NOT done but SHOULD have)?

An Indian would seclude themselves on a hill, for example, and remain there for days at a time.  The person was to observe all that occurred during this time away.  They would watch trees sway in the breeze (a sure sign that the trees were looking up to God and praying).  The person would look at all of creation that lay before them—eagles floating in the wind, rabbits hopping in the meadow, ants running busily from one place to another, etc.  Each gift of God might have some revelation to provide the quester (just as St. Ignatius said that we can “find God in all things”).

Where do you fall on the spectrum and what are you going to do about it?