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Continue readingIt’s Enough
In today’s first reading we hear Jesus’ reference to “the sign of Jonah.” I think we have been conditioned to think: “Jonah, three days in the belly of the whale. Jesus, three days in the tomb. Ok, the ‘sign of Jonah’ must be Jesus’ Resurrection.” Maybe. I think it is more than that.
If I said, “Oh, say can you see…” most citizens would recognize those words as the opening verse of the national anthem. But I am not asking a question about your visual acuity. I am asking you to recall the whole story of a nascent nation struggling for its independence. In the same way, I would offer that “the sign of Jonah” is asking us to consider the whole of the story of Jonah – and not just the whale.
The Lord came to Jonah and asked him to be a prophet to the city of Nineveh, capital city of the moral enemy of Israel. Jonah’s response was to run away and attempt to sail to the farthest ends of earth. In short: storm at sea, crew throws Jonah overboard to appease the Lord, whale swallows Jonah, and the whale spews Jonah on the beach. Jonah begrudgingly makes the long journey to Nineveh.
Nineveh was located hundreds of miles from where the whale spewed Jonah on the beach. It is not likely that Jonah’s arrival in Nineveh was heralded by the news that he had spent three days in the belly of the whale. Yet somehow Jonah’s recalcitrant and truncated announcement, essentially, “repent or die” was heeded by everyone from King to people, even the animals.
What was the experience of Jonah in the belly of the whale? All of Chapter 2 is Jonah’s realization that he has sinned against the Lord and because of that is at the point of death. Does Jonah ever repent? He certainly realizes that only God can save him, but I am hard pressed to find where he repents. It seems to me that Jonah relents and gives in to the inevitable rather than death. God wants him to be a prophet to Nineveh and God gets what he wants.
The city of Nineveh witnesses the unlikely prophet of Jonah walking their streets with the basic message repent or die. In Hebrew his entire message is five words and I doubt it is given with either volume or enthusiasm. Jonah is a reluctant prophet at best – as shown in the last chapter of the book where he is sulking because they did repent and the Lord was not going to destroy them.
There were no miracles or great signs, just the prophetic word. It is enough and it is clear that the people of Nineveh repent.
Israel witnesses the unlikely prophet from Galilee – what good ever comes from Galilee, right? They were witness to a whole host of miracles and signs, yet they resist. It is as the Gospel acclamation says: “Even now, says the LORD, return to me with your whole heart for I am gracious and merciful.” (Joel 2:12-13) And yet they resist. They want another sign. Jesus says that at this point they will get what Nineveh received, the unexpected prophet announcing repent or die. The life, death, and ministry of Jesus is that sign. The choice is theirs.
We have the one sign given, Jesus the Christ. We have the Word calling us to turn to the gracious and merciful God. As always it is our choice.
Flow and Direction
This coming Sunday is the 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Lectionary Cycle A. Over the last three weeks we have considered three tightly connected Matthean parables: the two sons 21:28-32; the tenants in the vineyard 21:33-46; and the wedding banquet 22:1-14. They are parables about doing (or not doing) what God (father/landowner/king) wanted (or submitting one’s self to their authority): sons working in the vineyard, tenants giving the owner the fruit, and invitees accepting the king’s invitation to his son’s wedding feast and wearing the proper garb.
Matthew makes the last parable the climax of the progression of this three-parable set: The first of the triad, the parable of the two sons (21:28–32), focuses on the (more than a) prophet John; the second, the parable of the lord’s vineyard given to others (21:33–46), pictures the whole prophetic line climaxing in Jesus, the Son who is killed. This third parable is understood from Matthew’s own post-Easter perspective, facing the parousia and final judgment. This final parable thus follows the perspective in picturing the history of salvation from the original calling of Israel to the last judgment, and places Jesus and the church in the succession of Israel’s prophets, persecuted and rejected by Israel.
That is the perspective from the overarching view of salvation history. On the less cosmic view of an individual there are other themes that have emerged: the everyday task of doing God’s will. The leaders of Jerusalem are found wanting and, despite their invitation, do not come to the king’s wedding banquet. The invitation is then extended to those traveling on the streets (some would say, “on the way”) – but as noted in the parable and in 22:14, “Many are invited, but few are chosen.” Who are the chosen? The true “chosen people” are not automatically identified with those who belong to the Israelite community, not even those who are its official leaders: these are the invited, but not necessarily the chosen. The “many” and the “few” speak of a weeding process, whereby many of those invited will not make it to the feast. The chosen are the new tenants who will produce the fruit, who, as we have seen in the second parable, may be Jewish or Gentile. Their “chosenness” does not depend on their racial origin but on their response to God’s summons and their readiness to give God his due. The principle applies both to the old Israel (vv. 3–7) and to those who have taken their place (vv. 8–13).
The three parables are an overarching message that those who find themselves unexpectedly included in the invitation may not presume on grace and their willingness to “show up,” but are warned of the dire consequences of accepting the invitation and doing nothing except showing up. As the first parable warned: one must produce fruit.
Now that we’ve had a quick refresher on the flow of Matthew’s gospel, let us look ahead and see the direction the Sacred Writers wants us to go. With the three parables concluded, Matthew now offer three controversy stories:
- Taxes to the Emperor (22:15-22)
- The Resurrection (22:23-33)
- The Great Commandment (22:34-40)
Our Sunday gospel talks about doing what God wants and our submission to proper authority in real life. And certainly “taxes” are real and a part of life. Real enough that they are part of our literary tradition. As Brian Stoffregen notes: “In 1789, Benjamin Franklin wrote in a letter to a friend, ‘In this world nothing is certain but death and taxes.’ Nearly 150 years later (1936), Margaret Mitchell used a similar phrase in Gone with the Wind: ‘Death and taxes and childbirth! There’s never any convenient time for any of them.’” The good thing about the love of Christ is that it is truly the only certain thing – and now and always is a convenient time.
The scene throughout the parable and these controversies remains in the temple courtyard. We are reminded that there is a single listening crowd. A single notice in v. 33 states that they were astonished at Jesus’ teaching. Their favorable reaction will be presupposed in the way Jesus takes them to be on his side against the scribes and Pharisees in 23:1–12.
Image credit: The Tribute Money, Peter Paul Rubens (1610–1615), Fine Arts Museum of San Francisco, Public Domain PD-US
Being Careful
In Jesus’ parable, the King has prepared the feast – all is ready, the invitations sent … and resent, and yet amazingly, people don’t come. In our reading it says that people ignored the invitation. The underlying word in Greek means to ignore in a way that is careless – or perhaps, not being sufficiently careful with treasures with which we have been charged.
Parables are meant to get you to stop and think about what you have just heard. Why would people pass up on this extraordinary invitation: it comes from a king, it involves a lavish feast for the wedding of his son. The invitation is issued several times. Who could refuse it? Who would be careless with it? Why don’t they show up? I guess their lives were filled with other things – other than the great feast.
Henry David Thoreau said that “Nature abhors a vacuum.” I suspect most of us have heard that bit of wisdom. But that is not the end of Thoreau’s thought. The full quote is “Nature abhors a vacuum, and if I can only walk this life with sufficient carelessness I am sure to be filled.”
Perhaps the people in the parable had filled their lives with all manner of things that seemed important, vital, necessary, and good. When the invitation from the king came, there was just a whole lot going on. While the invitation from the King was good in theory, it did not rise to the top of the list.
It made me think about my life in faith, … our life in faith. How are we walking this life? With care or carelessly. Because if it is the latter, we then have to ask, what invitations are we missing? What’s not rising to the top?
Growing up many weekends were taken up with invitational swim meets. My sisters and I were all very good swimmers and there was no lack of important meets, preliminaries, finals, medals and trophies that took up the entire family. Looking back on it all, I realize that were it left to me, I would have filled up the whole weekend with swimming meets. But before one entered the meet, mom insisted that we figure out when/where we were attending Mass. There was no sense in entering prelims for an event if finals would be during Saturday Vigil mass time. And if we were going to Mass Sunday morning, then there were events you just couldn’t enter because you’d miss prelims. My Mormon mother was the enforcer. She was very careful about keeping our practice of the faith as a family priority.
Sometime last century, I was a catechist for the 8th grade Confirmation class. It was a rural parish spread over parts of three counties with lots of the parents working in the Washington DC metropolitan area about an hour to an hour-and-a-half commute away. It made week-night faith formation difficult to schedule; so, Confirmation classes were on Sunday. One parent asked to meet with me. She handed me a list of all the conflicts Confirmation class was causing because of being held on Sunday – the majority of which related to a traveling elite soccer team and season tickets to the Washington pro football team games. And as you might imagine, Sunday mass fell into the same conflict in scheduling on those same weekends.
We had a nice conversation. I told her the story about my mom, watching out for us and being careful to make sure the main thing remained the main thing. I said that looking back on it, I was grateful that there was someone looking out for me. That my childhood was filled, but carefully so. It was a good conversation, she figured it all out and her child well celebrated Confirmation.
We can all figure it out. It helps to have someone remind us of priorities and that we are holding the invitation to the Great Wedding Feast of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Take some time this week to think about how carefully (or not) your life has been filled. Maybe we received the fancy embossed invitation, or maybe we are rounded up from the highways and hedgerows – either way – we’re invited to this Eucharistic feast. It’s weekly, yes, but it is extraordinary and we need to prepare, be careful, and be mindful of why we are here. We need to be careful with the fruits of this celebration. Careful with wisdom, fortitude, humility of Christ in the readings and Eucharist. Careful in our life of prayer; in our behaviors. Careful as servants of the Lord, sent out to invite others.
“Nature abhors a vacuum, and if I can only walk this life with sufficient carelessness I am sure to be filled.”
May God fill us all with the blessings of this Eucharist and a life well walked.
Image Credit: Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525) National Museum, Warsaw | Public Domain
The Elect of God
This coming Sunday is the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time. Now the “guest list” of those in attendance at the banquet is set – those who are “in” and those who are not. Then the king said to his attendants, ‘Bind his hands and feet, and cast him into the darkness outside, where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.’ 14 Many are invited, but few are chosen.” The judgment seems harsh, but Matthew is thinking not of an actual wedding party, but of the last judgment. The language “weeping and gnashing of teeth” corresponds to 8:12; 13:42, 50; 24:51; 25:30, an apocalyptic expression (cf. Luke 13:28) that became a favorite of Matthew’s to picture the terror of condemnation at the last judgment.
Matthew does not use “call” (kaleō) in the sense of “effective call,” as does Paul, but in the sense of initial invitation to become a disciple. Whether one is actually “chosen” (eklektos, “elected,” i.e., accepted in the last judgment) depends on manifesting authentic Christian faith in deeds of love and justice. For the first time Matthew explicitly appropriates the term rendered “elect,” referring it not to a specific group (Jews, Christians), but to those who will finally be accepted in the last judgment (see also 24:22, 24, 31). The focus of an elect people of God has shifted from the OT understanding of the people of Israel as a whole to that of the righteous “remnant,” a shift already made in some streams of Judaism.
A final thought from Eugene Boring:
The theological point of 22:11–14 is that those who find themselves unexpectedly included may not presume on grace, but are warned of the dire consequences of accepting the invitation and doing nothing except showing up. By concluding in this manner, Matthew makes it clear that such pictures in which unfaithful Israel is condemned are not an encouragement to smugness on the part of his Christian readers. The “elect” are not the church as a replacement for Israel, but those finally accepted in the last judgment. The whole section, in fact, is directed to the Matthean reader. It is instruction and warning to insiders, not a description of the fate of outsiders, confessional language rather than objectifying report. At this point, Matthew does join his voice with his fellow Jewish convert, who laments the present rejection of Israel: “Therefore, whoever thinks he is standing secure should take care not to fall” (1 Cor 10:12; cf. Romans 9-11)
Image Credit: Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525) National Museum, Warsaw | Public Domain
The Heart as Dwelling
In today’s gospel we witness an encounter between Jesus and the people after Jesus had driven a demon out of an afflicted person. At the end of the dialogue, Jesus offers a parable: “When an unclean spirit goes out of someone, it roams through arid regions searching for rest but, finding none, it says, ‘I shall return to my home from which I came.’ But upon returning, it finds it swept clean and put in order.”
This sounds like a good thing, yes? The house has been cleaned up. Everything is orderly. What’s wrong with the house? Nothing, apparently. It’s clean, swept and orderly, but it’s also empty.
In the context of the gospel story, Jesus uses the man from whom the demon has been cast out as the source for the house in the parable. We might say that the person has reformed and cast out the bad things, the unholy things. But will that be enough?
As David Henry Thoreau commented: “Nature abhors a vacuum, and if I can only walk with sufficient carelessness I am sure to be filled.”
Apparently have been spiritually careless, the house/the person has not filled up with good, holy and true things. There exists a spiritual vacuum and when noticed by the demon, it “…brings back seven other spirits more wicked than itself who move in and dwell there, and the last condition of that man is worse than the first.” It seems that getting rid of what was there was not enough. Something needed to take its place. Nature abhors a vacuum. Apparently, according to Jesus, so does the human heart.
Moral reform is not the same as Christian conversion. Christianity cannot simply consist of removing things: I stopped doing this. I gave up that habit. I don’t hang out with those people anymore. “I’ve cleaned up life and set it in order.” All of that may be necessary. But Jesus seems to be saying that an emptied life, even a beautifully cleaned and orderly life, is still vulnerable. The Gospel isn’t simply about what leaves us when Christ enters our lives. It is about what fills us afterward.
Jesus isn’t offering generic advice about self-improvement. The context of the gospel message is the arrival of God’s Kingdom in Jesus: something stronger has arrived. The arrival of God’s Kingdom is far more than getting rid of the evil spirit. It extends to letting the Strong One in.
Yes, you’ve been baptized, confirmed, reared in the Faith, and have continued into your adult years. Those can be profound beginnings. But the house has to become a home. And that takes a lifetime to fill our lives with Christ. The Word of God is one essential means. The Eucharist another. Prayer, charity, sacramental life, Christian community: all are ways in which our lives become increasingly inhabited by Christ. Elsewhere, St. Paul gives us wonderful language for this: “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly.” (Col 3:16) Not visit, or drop by, but dwell.
So… hopefully you have taken care of what should not be in your life, but should be there and up to now is missing? Maybe I’ve removed anger but have I cultivated mercy? I’ve stopped gossiping but have I learned to speak words that build others up? I’ve stopped spending time with those who would lead me astray but have I developed friendships with people who draw me toward God? I have cleared out lots of things, but what have I put in their place?
Every day something is forming us, filling our minds, and shaping our desires. Something is teaching us what to love. The question isn’t whether we will be filled. The question is what we are allowing to fill us.
Jesus didn’t come merely to clean up the house.
He came to make it His home in which He dwells.
Image credit: WordPress AI based on the text of the posts | downloaded 10-9-2026 | AI-described as: A vintage Greek folk-art illustration shows a pale stone house with an open wooden doorway, pottery, and a dark figure reaching from an arched window. A group of shadowy spirits gathers among olive trees and rocks to the right, creating an eerie contrast with the warmly lit house. The image is framed by an ornate blue, gold, and rust-colored border, with radiating lines behind the Greek title Η ΟΙΚΙΑ ΚΑΙ ΤΑ ΠΝΕΥΜΑΤΑ, meaning “The House and the Spirits.”
Dressed for the Occasion
This coming Sunday is the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time. This parable further clarifies not only the failure of the leaders and its consequence, but also the nature of the new “nation.” The king now extends his invitation: Then he said to his servants, ‘The feast is ready, but those who were invited were not worthy to come. 9 Go out, therefore, into the main roads and invite to the feast whomever you find.’
The “new nation” is symbolized now by an indiscriminate collection of people from the streets, people of no special standing, just as in Mt 21:31 it is the lowest social group who will get first into the kingdom of God. This feature of the story speaks of the universal proclamation of the good news of the kingdom of heaven.
The concept of a mixed community, within which not all will make it through to ultimate salvation, has been a recurrent feature of this gospel. Consider Matthew 7:13–27, especially the “impostors” of 7:21–23 who apparently thought they were all right, and later in Matthew’s gospel (25:1–13) where both wise and foolish bridesmaids are invited but only the wise get into the feast. Remember also Mt 13:36–43, where weeds and wheat are allowed to grow together and are separated only at the final judgment; also 13:47–50, in which good and worthless fish are gathered in the same net.
Scholars are of mixed opinion about the urgency of the “feast is ready” in v.8 as it applied to those invited when the servants scour the main road. One line of thought offers that these royal wedding feasts were several days in the making and even more in the execution. Not all guests came at the beginning nor stayed until the end. There was a great deal of coming-and-going during it all. There is no reason to suppose that, once invited, these people have no time to go home, to change their clothes, and to borrow clothes from their neighbors, if necessary.
For any such occasion guests would be expected to wear clothes that were both longer than those worn by ordinary people on working days and also newly washed. Those who could afford it would wear white, but it was sufficient for ordinary people to wear as near to white as washing their poorer quality clothes could achieve. Poor people, who might own only one patched tunic and cloak each, would often borrow clothes for occasions such as weddings or religious festivals.
How could those unexpectedly herded into the wedding hall from the main roads wear the expected clothing, which all but one of them seem to do? Again, realism is sacrificed to meaning. However, the issue has troubled some readers, and is normally addressed by the traditional speculation (deriving from Augustine) that the host was himself responsible for providing a wedding robe, so that this man’s fault was in his refusal to accept what was freely offered. While it is a nice thought, it lacks any convincing evidence in terms of contemporary wedding customs (see the Note on 22:11). The clothing expected at a wedding was not a special garment but simply decent, clean white clothes such as anyone should have had available. In that case the man’s fault is that, even though invited to a royal wedding, he had not gone home to change into his best; to turn up in ordinary, dirty clothes was an insult to the host. The symbolism is of someone who presumes on the free offer of salvation by assuming that therefore there are no obligations attached.
In early Christianity, the new identity of conversion was often pictured as donning a new set of clothes; the language of changing clothes was utilized to express the giving up of the old way of life and putting on the new Christian identity (see Rom 13:12–14; Gal 3:27; Eph 6:11; Col 3:12; cf. Luke 15:22; Rev 3:4; 6:11; 19:8). At the allegorical level, the man was expected to have the faith and deeds of an authentic Christian life, corresponding to the “fruits” in the imagery of the preceding parable. When confronted with his lack, the man has no response, for he is without excuse.
Image Credit: Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525) National Museum, Warsaw | Public Domain
Receiving the Spirit
In today’s readings both St. Paul and Jesus have something to say about receiving the Holy Spirit. I wondered what the Early Church Fathers might have to say about receiving the Spirit. Some use receiving the Spirit in context of a different point they are trying to make. But others have deep insight about receiving the Spirit as a key divine event in the human person. They reflect on God entering, inhabiting, sanctifying, transforming, empowering and even beginning within us the life we will possess fully, not just now, but also in eternity.
In his Catechetical Lectures, St. Cyril of Jerusalem, is addressing adults preparing for Baptism. It is not a theological treatment on pneumatology but rather a preparation for people who expected sacramentally to receive the Holy Spirit at their initiation. Cyril strives to help the people realize that receiving the Spirit means receiving Someone. In Lectures 16 and 17, he notes that the Spirit isn’t merely an influence or divine power. Rather, the Spirit acts personally. The Spirit speaks, calls, sends, teaches and sanctifies. It is an interpersonal relation.
Cyril explicitly cites our Gospel: “How much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him.” But what interests Cyril is what happens when this gift is received. Speaking about Christ breathing the Spirit upon the Apostles in John 20 and then Pentecost, Cyril sees degrees of capacity for receiving God’s gift: the Apostles genuinely receive the Spirit, and yet Pentecost brings a still greater outpouring. He paints a picture as the human person like a vessel being enlarged to receive more.
So often receiving the Spirit is depicted as something that happens once, but Cyril makes the point that receiving the Spirit is something we are continually becoming capable of receiving even more deeply. We received the Spirit sacramentally in Baptism and Confirmation. But that doesn’t mean God has exhausted what the Spirit can do within us. Cyril’s image allows the prayer of Luke 11:13 to remain meaningful for baptized Christians: “Father, give me your Holy Spirit.” Not because the Spirit is absent, but because we are not yet completely open to everything the Spirit desires to do in us.
St Irenaeus, his writings, echoes Cyril to a degree when he offers that the Spirit accustoms us to God. Irenaeus describes Christians as already receiving a portion of the Spirit with a pledge of more to come. He describes this wonderfully when he writes that: “little by little [we become] accustomed to receive and bear God.” Think about what that means: the Holy Spirit is teaching us to grow and ever be more capable of bearing a greater presence of God in our lives. For Irenaeus, salvation isn’t merely God changing our legal status. It is God gradually transforming human beings so that we become capable of sharing divine life. The Spirit dwelling within us is already the beginning of that future.
In the first reading St. Paul asks: “Did you receive the Spirit from works of the law, or from faith in what you heard?” (Gal 3:2) Often that is taken primarily as part of Paul’s argument about justification, and indeed it is. But Paul already knows they have received the Holy Spirit and so he appeals to their experience.
Then in v. 5: “Does, then, the one who supplies the Spirit to you and works mighty deeds among you do so from works of the law or from faith in what you heard?” He is making the point that something has already happened to them. Their experience, their Christian existence itself was evidence of God’s action. That is what makes rumors of their return to circumcision and Torah observance so incomprehensible to Paul. God has given you his Spirit. You have already received the thing you are trying to earn. He is asking, why are they now behaving as though God’s life must be acquired through something they accomplish?
All of this together reinforces the idea that the Spirit is gift, not achievement or reward. The Spirit is something earned by sufficient religious performance.
This is the point St. Augustine makes in his homily on Luke 11. Augustine emphasizes that Christ would not urge us so persistently to ask unless God truly desired to give: God is more willing to give than we are to receive. When you join Augustine’s thought to that from Irenaeus, it means the Spirit gradually makes us capable of receiving what God desires to give.
Consider how that might make us think differently about today’s Gospel. We hear: “And I tell you, ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks, receives; and the one who seeks, finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. “Ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened…” and immediately begin filling in the blank. Ask for what? And we ask about of current needs and future hopes, no doubt legitimate prayers.
But consider Jesus’ words: “How much more will the Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?” Jesus isn’t promising that persistent prayer eventually persuades God to give us whatever particular outcome we’re requesting. He promises something much greater: God gives us God in the Holy Spirit.
Maybe that’s why the answer to prayer sometimes doesn’t look like what we asked for. We ask God to remove a difficult situation but the Spirit gives us courage to live through it. We ask God to change someone else and the Spirit begins changing us. We ask God to show us exactly what to do but the Spirit gives us patience to wait. We ask God to take away suffering and the Spirit somehow enables us to discover Christ within it.
The gift isn’t always a changed circumstance. Sometimes the gift is a changed person within the circumstance.
May the real question is how much of me have I allowed the Holy Spirit to receive so as to change me. What parts of my life do I insist on keeping control? My decisions, relationships, plans fears…?
Maybe we over-complicate our prayer. Might it be as simple as teaching me to receive and bear God? And then “buckle up” as we let the Spirit change us.
The King Responds
This coming Sunday is the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time. The king patiently responds to the refusal to attend the banquet, but patience goes so far. Some ignored the invitation and went away, one to his farm, another to his business. The rest laid hold of his servants, mistreated them, and killed them. (Mt 22:5-6) Continue reading
Our Lady of the Rosary
One of the great things about teaching in the OCIA classes is the questions which come from people who are not yet baptized or people from other Christian denominations who seek to be in full communion with the Catholic Church. Sometimes they are the “big” questions about Sacraments and papal infallibility, but sometimes they are questions which ask about things we cradle-Catholics don’t think about because,… well, they have just always been there.
This past summer one of the “new” Catholics chatted with me on the sidewalk in front of Church. The conversation centered around Marian feasts and celebrations. Basically the person noticed that there were a lot of Marian celebrations – most of which they understood – but they wondered about the Memorial of Our Lady of the Rosary: why is it celebrated and how is it different from other days. And besides, the gospel for the Memorial is Luke’s account of the Annunciation, which is the event in the life of Mary the Church celebrates as a Solemnity.
So why do we celebrate the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary?
The historical origin of the Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary lies in the naval Battle of Lepanto on October 7, 1571. Pope St. Pius V, a Dominican pope with a strong devotion to the Rosary, called Christians throughout Europe to pray the Rosary as a coalition fleet of Christian states, called the Holy League, confronted the Ottoman navy. After the unexpected victory of the Holy League, Pius V attributed the outcome to God’s grace obtained through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the prayers of the faithful. In thanksgiving, he established a feast called Our Lady of Victory. Two years later, Pope Gregory XIII changed the title to The Feast of the Holy Rosary. Over time the celebration was extended to the universal Church and eventually fixed on October 7, the date on which it remains today.
While Lepanto explains why there is a feast day, the feast ultimately celebrates a devotion that had already become a central means of Christian prayer: the Rosary
Most Marian feasts commemorate one of four things: events (e.g. the Annunciation), dogmas (e.g. the Immaculate Conception), Marian apparitions (e.g. Our Lady of Guadalupe), or Marian patronages (e.g. Our Lady Help of Christians). The Feast of Our Lady of the Rosary celebrates neither a dogma nor a moment in Mary’s life. Instead, it celebrates the Rosary itself as a privileged means of contemplating the mysteries of Christ.
In the Rosary, the focus is not first on Mary but on the Incarnation, the Passion, the Resurrection, and the entire mystery of salvation, as viewed through Mary’s eyes. St. John Paul II famously described the Rosary as a “compendium of the Gospel.” In that sense, the feast is almost as much a feast of Christ-centered meditation as it is a Marian feast.
Unlike many Marian feasts that direct attention to a singular privilege or event, Our Lady of the Rosary points believers to a lifelong practice of prayer. In that sense, it is perhaps the Church’s most explicitly devotional Marian feast. It honors Mary precisely because she teaches the Church how to gaze upon Christ. As Pope Paul VI wrote in Marialis Cultus, the Rosary is “a Gospel prayer, centered on the mystery of the redemptive Incarnation.” That may be the deepest reason why the feast occupies a distinctive place among all Marian celebrations: it celebrates Mary not only as one who receives grace, but as the one who leads the Church into the mysteries of her Son.
Image credit: “Christ at the home of Martha and Mary” | Charles de La Fosse | Private collection in a castle in Lorraine (France); Galerie Didier Chéreau, Paris | PD-US
The Invitation
This coming Sunday is the 28th Sunday of Ordinary Time. “The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king who gave a wedding feast for his son. He dispatched his servants to summon the invited guests to the feast” (Mt 22:2-3) Rabbinic and Hellenistic sources indicate that a two-stage invitation was quite normal – an ancient “Save the Date” coupled to the actual invitation itself. In the 1st century, the invitation was sent well in advance of the banquet. The invitation was acknowledged and accepted by those invited, who then received a courtesy reminder on the day of the banquet itself.
The problems begin “on the day” – but they refused to come. A second time he sent other servants, saying, ‘Tell those invited: “Behold, I have prepared my banquet, my calves and fattened cattle are killed, and everything is ready; come to the feast.”’ (Mt 22:3-4). The invitees who had committed themselves to attend the banquet simply declare their unwillingness/refusal to come (ouk ēthelon elthein). What are we to make of this reaction? There are two avenues often pursued: one personal, one political (of sorts). One could take the approach that the invitation to come was a threat to the invitees’ own pursuits. They want to do what they want to do when they want to do it. One goes to his field and another to his business. These aren’t excuses (as in Luke 14:18-20), but personal concerns that they think are more important than the king’s invitation to this most important celebration for his son.
On a political scale, refusal of a king’s invitation, especially by so many and so suddenly suggests something is afoot. There are two likely things: a general snubbing and disrespect toward the king, or perhaps more sinisterly, a conspiracy and that would be tantamount to rebellion (2 Sam 10:4). But then the king is a patient and accommodating person (again, cf. the preceding parable).
Either way, the unwillingness/refusal to come share the festive occasion with the King is to send the signal that loyalty and commitment are waning. In religious terms, people are wandering from the Covenant. Yet, the king does not strike out or retaliate, but sends a second group of slaves. This element of the story is peculiar to Matthew. Not only do those invited continue to refuse, but some go so far as to abuse and kill the messengers as well. If “a second time” (v.4) is considered the day of the feast – and there is good reason to do so since “everything is ready” – then it may be that Matthew is not talking about early and later prophets, but the Christian evangelists of Matthew’s own time. Certainly, many of the late-1st century evangelists were ignored; some were martyred.
Image Credit: Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525) National Museum, Warsaw | Public Domain