Writing earlier about St. Francis Xavier, I was reminded about a Franciscan missioner, John of Montecorvino, whose feast was November 29. Mention John of Montecorvino and most people – even most Franciscans – will say “who?” John was the first Catholic missionary to China, centuries before the efforts of other Catholic religious orders. It is a compelling story. If you would like to read an interesting and accessible account of the travel within the context of an art historian comparing 13th century Italian and Chinese art, read Lauren Arnold’s: Princely Gifts & Papal Treasures: The Franciscan Mission to China & Its Influence on the Art of the West, 1250-1350 – fascinating book.
Continue readingAuthor Archives: Friar Musings
Why this Gospel?
This coming Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent. In yesterday’s posts we considered more about the need for watchfulness, readiness, and being attentive to God’s call. In today’s post we will look into why this gospel is used for the First Sunday in Advent.
So far we have looked at this gospel in its Matthean context. But what about it use on the first Sunday of Advent, the first Sunday of the Liturgical Year? If last Sunday (Christ the King Sunday) represents a culmination of things – when Christ reigns above all – then what are we to make of the First Sunday in Advent? Do we go back to the beginning and again work our way through the year until Christ is again King?
Yes…in way. The beginning is not the birth of Jesus. The beginning is the advent (the coming) of Jesus as the fulfillment of the promise of God and thus the hopes and dreams of the Jewish people. This is the first Sunday of Advent, the Sunday of Expectation and Hope. The Old Testament Lectionary reading for this first Sunday of Advent is Isaiah 2:1-5.
Continue readingThis is what Isaiah, son of Amoz, saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem. In days to come, The mountain of the LORD’S house shall be established as the highest mountain and raised above the hills. All nations shall stream toward it; many peoples shall come and say: “Come, let us climb the LORD’S mountain, to the house of the God of Jacob, That he may instruct us in his ways, and we may walk in his paths.” For from Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, and impose terms on many peoples. They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks; One nation shall not raise the sword against another, nor shall they train for war again. O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the LORD!”Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”
Standing in Hope
Over the last several weeks as we near the end of the liturgical year, the Church has chosen readings that are quite apocalyptic. The readings from the Book of Daniel and the gospels – are they meant to scare us into fearful compliance with the demands of God? The imagery easily serves as a source of all manner of end times predictions of death, doom and despair. Yet, that is not the reason why the Church selected these readings. What is common to all the apocalyptic texts is the final triumph of God. We are called to turn our eyes toward the final triumph of God and to recall where our hope truly lies.
Daniel lived in chaotic times. We live in chaotic times. Think of the past year: wars in Ukraine, Gaza and Israel, Syria, Myanmar, Sudan, Yemeni, Haiti, Ethiopia, Rwanda, and Congo – and those are state actors. There are all kinds of conflicts among non-state actors. Sabre rattling, trade wars, the war on drugs, gun violence, political acrimony reaching ever new levels of accusation and calumny.
There’s a word you don’t hear much. Calumny: the act of maliciously misrepresenting someone’s conduct to harm that person’s reputation. There are days when I think the majority of political party statements are calumnious in their nature.
In Daniel’s vision the chaos arose from the sea, the usual source of such Old Testament beasts. In Scripture, the sea represents chaos, evil, and the forces that oppose God. The beasts symbolize earthly political and military empires – violent, unstable, rising and falling with history. And yet, after all the terrifying beasts, Daniel suddenly says: “As the visions during the night continued, I was watching and saw one like a Son of Man coming… He received dominion, glory, and kingship” (Dan 7:13–14).
This is the heart of the reading: human kingdoms rise and fall, but God’s kingdom, given to the Son of Man, endures forever. Daniel and all the prophets remind us that the last word is not chaos, but Christ and the Kingdom.
It is easy to be mesmerized by the chaos. It is like watching a tornado; we just can’t seem to look away. In the Gospel Jesus uses the fig tree to remind us to learn to see God at work: “When you see it put forth leaves, you know that summer is near. In the same way, when you see these things happening, know that the kingdom of God is near” (Lk 21:30-31). Jesus is telling us to read the signs, to learn how God works in our lives.
The fig tree does not leaf out suddenly. It happens quietly, gradually, almost unnoticed. The same way God’s grace unfolds in our lives. It is there amidst the chaos in a world full of noise, fear, and “beasts” of every kind such as division, conflict, sin, moral and confusion. Mixed right in with signs of His presence: acts of charity, the persistence of faith, forgiveness offered, hope renewed and much more.
Tornadoes demand our attention. Signs of the kingdom demand no such thing but patiently wait to be noticed.
Like the first reading, the gospel is a call to hopeful watchfulness. Daniel says: “Do not be afraid of the beasts; God remains King.” Jesus says: “Watch with faith; the Kingdom is already blossoming.”
Each reading proclaims: no matter how dark the world seems, God’s Kingdom is closer than we think. It is already growing, becoming, patiently waiting for us to spread its borders. “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” (Lk 21:33).
Empires pass. Cultures pass. Trends pass. Even our worries pass. But Christ’s word, His promise, His presence – these do not pass away.
We can name the beast, the chaos and our fears. But where might we also see the first small leaves of the Kingdom God is quietly unfolding? We need not deny the reality of struggle. But we are not defined by it.
We are defined by the Son of Man who already reigns and who already draws near.
Image credit: Flevit super illam (He wept over it) | Enrique Simonet (1892) | Museo del Prado, Madrid | Wikimedia Creative Commons | PD-US
No One Knows the Day
This coming Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent. In yesterday’s posts we looked at Matthew’s emphasis that the disciples will not know the day – no one knows – but that does not remove the need to stay awake – a key theme of Advent. Today, we consider more about the need for watchfulness, readiness, and being attentive to God’s call.
If the time is unknown… It will catch people unprepared. The analogy with the days of Noah suggests that judgment is to be a major feature (though it is not the whole picture) of the coming of the Son of man. But the main point is the unpreparedness of Noah’s contemporaries. Whereas Noah and his family were ready, everyone else carried on oblivious to the threat of judgment, and so, while Noah was saved, they were swept away. The implication is that it is possible to prepare for the parousia, not by calculating its date, but by a life of constant readiness and response to God’s warnings and introductions. There will apparently be only two categories, the prepared (and therefore saved) and the unprepared (and therefore lost).
Some are taken – some are not… This radical division is reinforced by two cameos of ordinary life suddenly disrupted. Both men are involved in the same work in the field, both women in the same grinding at the mill. It is not a difference in work or situation which causes the separation, but a difference in readiness. (Cf. 13:30 for the idea of a coexistence of the ‘saved’ and the ‘lost’ until the final judgment.) Taken is the same verb used e.g. in 1:20; 17:1; 18:16; 20:17; the word for “taken” (paralambanomai) doesn’t mean “to go up” or “to meet”, but “to go along with”. It is used in the Transfiguration story: “Jesus took with him Peter and James and John his brother.” It is used in the section on church discipline. If someone has sinned against you, you are to go to him and tell him his fault. If he does not listen, take one or two others along with you.
Continue readingThanksgiving Blessings to you and your family!
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The Arrival of the Son of Man
This coming Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent. In yesterday’s posts we considered the pastoral concerns of the gospel; concerns that sometimes get lost amid all the attention to an “apocalyptic” fervor around the reading. In today’s post we’ll look at Matthew’s emphasis that the disciples will not know the day – no one knows – but that does not remove the need to stay awake – a key theme of Advent.
Our gospel combines several pictures in order to describe the arrival of the Son of Man (v. 37). The Noah parable (vv. 37–39) contrasts Noah and the other people of his generation. The flood came upon them suddenly and had dire consequences for many. The pictures of the two men in the field (v. 40) and the two women grinding meal (v. 41) emphasize the suddenness of the coming and the separation that it will bring. Since the exact hour of the coming is unknown, the only appropriate attitude is constant watchfulness (v. 42). This attitude is encouraged further by the story of the homeowner (v. 43). If a homeowner knows when a thief is coming, he exercises watchfulness at that time. But since the time of the Son of Man’s coming remains unknown, the watchfulness must be constant (v. 44).
Continue readingRemembering the Roots of Thanksgiving
I am grateful for a day in which we, as a people, pause to give thanks. And who do we have to thank for this holiday? Your answer is likely “The Pilgrims.” You would not be wrong, but then not completely correct, either. Certainly, Thanksgiving and the religious response of giving thanks to God is as old as time. When one considers enduring cultures, one always finds men and women working out their relationship to God. There is almost always a fourfold purpose to our acts of worship: adoration, petition, atonement, thanksgiving. Such worship is part and parcel of life. And yet, there is still a very human need to specially celebrate and offer thanksgiving on key occasions and anniversaries. Since medieval times, we have very detailed records of celebrations marking the end of an epidemic, liberation from sure and certain doom, the signing of a peace treaty, and more. Continue reading
Woe to the soul
From the Office of Readings for the Day – a homily attributed to Saint Macarius, bishop (Hom. 28: PG 34, 710-711). A note: while we often think of the word “woe” as pertaining to accusation and condemnation, the biblical meaning is most often as a lament, a sadness or mourning over an instance or circumstance.
Woe to the soul that does not have Christ dwelling in it

And Jesus wept…
When God was displeased with the Jews, he delivered Jerusalem to the enemy, and they were conquered by those who hated them; there were no more sacrifices or feasts. Likewise angered at a soul who had broken his commands, God handed it over to its enemies, who corrupted and totally dishonored it. When a house has no master living in it, it becomes dark, vile and contemptible, choked with filth and disgusting refuse. So too is a soul which has lost its master, who once rejoiced there with his angels. This soul is darkened with sin, its desires are degraded, and it knows nothing but shame.
Woe to the path that is not walked on, or along which the voices of men are not heard, for then it becomes the haunt of wild animals. Woe to the soul if the Lord does not walk within it to banish with his voice the spiritual beasts of sin. Woe to the house where no master dwells, to the field where no farmer works, to the pilotless ship, storm-tossed and sinking. Woe to the soul without Christ as its true pilot; drifting in the darkness, buffeted by the waves of passion, storm-tossed at the mercy of evil spirits, its end is destruction. Woe to the soul that does not have Christ to cultivate it with care to produce the good fruit of the Holy Spirit. Left to itself, it is choked with thorns and thistles; instead of fruit it produces only what is fit for burning. Woe to the soul that does not have Christ dwelling in it; deserted and foul with the filth of the passions, it becomes a haven for all the vices.
When a farmer prepares to till the soil he must put on clothing and use tools that are suitable. So Christ, our heavenly king, came to till the soil of mankind devastated by sin. He assumed a body and, using the cross as his ploughshare, cultivated the barren soul of man. He removed the thorns and thistles which are the evil spirits and pulled up the weeds of sin. Into the fire he cast the straw of wickedness. And when he had ploughed the soul with the wood of the cross, he planted in it a most lovely garden of the Spirit, that could produce for its Lord and God the sweetest and most pleasant fruit of every kind.
Image credit: Flevit super illam (He wept over it) | Enrique Simonet (1892) | Museo del Prado, Madrid | Wikimedia Creative Commons
Even if the end is delayed
This coming Sunday is the first Sunday in Advent. In the posts from yesterday we reviewed the context of the gospel as used in Advent and in the larger context of a unified gospel. In today’s post we pick up the idea that Matthew’s primary concern is pastoral so that the community continues in its discipleship even if the end is delayed.
John Meier (Matthew,291) notes that a good part of Ch. 24 in Matthew is spent in attempting to calm off-based eschatological (end-time) fervor and calculation. Something that even in our day has become a cottage industry as folks pore over Daniel and Revelation attempting to “crack the code” about the end-time when/where. The three rapid-fire parables in our gospel reading attempt to establish a proper eschatological fervor (watchfulness). The three parables (the generation of Noah, the two pairs of workers, and the thief in the night) announce the major theme of the second part of the discourse: vigilance and preparedness for the coming [parousia] of the Son of Man.
Continue readingPassing Things; Permanent Things
Today’s readings place before us two very powerful images of history. In the first reading from the Book of Daniel, is the scene in the Book of Daniel when he is asked to interpret a dream of King Nebichadnezzar. In the dream there is a statue of gold, silver, bronze, iron, and clay; understood as giant empires rising and falling. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus foretells the destruction of the Temple, a building so magnificent that people were “admiring how it was adorned with costly stones” (Lk 21:5). In both readings, we are reminded of the fragility of earthly things, passing things – even the things we think are permanent
All earthly kingdoms pass away. Daniel interprets Nebuchadnezzar’s dream: a statue of dazzling appearance, representing the great powers of the world. But Daniel also says: “A stone was hewn from a mountain without a hand being put to it… and it struck the statue… and crushed them” (Dan 2:34–35). And then Daniel gives the meaning: “The God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed… it shall stand forever” (Dan 2:44).
Empires rise; they fall. New powers come; they fade. What looks permanent at the time ends up being temporary. We need that reminder today: nothing in this world—no nation, no power, no economy, no institution—is eternal. Only the kingdom of God lasts.
We are not to be dazzled by earthly splendor. In the Gospel, some people marvel at the beauty of the Temple. It was truly magnificent—one of the wonders of the ancient world. But Jesus says: “The days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down” (Lk 21:6). Even the Temple, the holiest place in Israel, would fall. Jesus is not trying to frighten us. He is trying to reorient us. He is reminding us that beauty and power are not the same as holiness and eternity. God invites us to place our trust not in the structures or successes of this world, but in Him alone.
Because God’s kingdom is already breaking into our world. When the stone in Daniel’s vision strikes the statue, Daniel says: “The stone… became a great mountain and filled the whole earth” (Dan 2:35). The Fathers of the Church saw this stone as a symbol of Christ. The Cornerstone rejected by the builders, yet chosen by God. And so Christ’s kingdom has already begun in His death and resurrection. And even as nations rise and fall, even as there are “wars and insurrections… earthquakes, famines, and plagues” (Lk 21:9,11), the kingdom of God continues to grow quietly, steadily, like a mountain that fills the earth. Not through force. Not through power. But through the holiness of God’s people, through the sacraments, through acts of mercy, forgiveness, and love.
What does this mean for us today? It means that the Christian life is not about predicting the end, nor about reading the “signs” with fear. Jesus specifically says: “Do not be terrified” (Lk 21:9). We don’t follow Christ to secure ourselves against worldly catastrophes. We follow Him because He alone is the kingdom that does not pass away.
So the question for us today is simple: Where is my heart anchored? In the things that pass away—or in the One who stands forever? When our hearts are anchored in Christ, even the storms of history cannot shake us. Even when earthly certainties collapse, our hope remains firm.
The great empires of Daniel’s vision are long gone. The stones of the Temple Jesus described have long since fallen. But the kingdom of Christ endures. And we are invited to belong to that kingdom—now, today, in this Eucharist.
May the Lord give us the wisdom to cling to what is eternal, to seek first the kingdom that “shall never be destroyed” (Dan 2:44), and to live unafraid, trusting in the One who reigns forever.
The One who is King of the Universe.
Image credit: Flevit super illam (He wept over it) | Enrique Simonet (1892) | Museo del Prado, Madrid | Wikimedia Creative Commons | PD-US
