Category Archives: Musings

From his roots

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Our first reading gives us one of the most hope-filled visions in all of Scripture: “A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom” (Is 11:1). Why hope-filled? Because Isaiah is speaking to a people who have watched their nation fall. The royal line of David, the great tree of kings, has been cut down. All that remains is a stump: lifeless, abandoned, barren. From a human point of view, the story is over.

But Isaiah teaches us one of the great Advent truths:  God does His best work in stumps.

When everything looks finished, when the situation looks hopeless, when the future seems cut down to the ground, it is then that God begins something new. The “shoot” is small, fragile, humble. But it is alive, and it carries the promise of a new Kingdom.

Isaiah goes on to describe the Messiah endowed with the gifts of the Spirit: “a spirit of wisdom and of understanding, a spirit of counsel and of strength, a spirit of knowledge and of fear of the Lord” (11:2). The Messiah is the One for whom Israel waits.

This is the One we await at Christmas yet the One who already reigns. He is the One who can renew what seems dead in us. And what might seem dead or dying in our lives?

Hope, because there are days when the news feels overwhelming; when the world feels unstable; or when personal disappointments pile up. Hope can feel like a cut-down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Trust, because we experience betrayals, family wounds, and broken promises. A person can feel unable to trust others, family members, themselves or even God. Trust can feel like a cut-down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Compassion and tenderness because stress and busyness can harden hearts. We become too preoccupied and so we respond more with irritation than empathy. We find we can neither give or receive compassion. It can all feel like a cut-down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Forgiveness because we carry the burden of memory and hurts that we can’t shake, can’t set down. Resentments have settled in over the years and petrified a part of our heart. It feels even worse than a cut down stump. Yet Christ is the “shoot” who revives it.

Our prayer life, because of everything above and even more. We are bereft of courage, of joy, of wonder, and patience. Prayer feels dry, mechanical, or absent. It seems “dead,” as though not even the stump is left. Christ can awaken it with one small word spoken into a dark night: “Lord, help me to pray.”.

Advent is a time to bring “our stumps” to prayer and to the Sacraments, especially the Eucharist. Bring them and give them over to the One who brings life out of nothing.

“A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse, and from his roots a bud shall blossom” (Is 11:1) The Messiah is coming. A shoot is already sprouting. In Him through Him and with Him you are being restored and renewed.

Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | Pexels

At the beginning

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Today is the first weekday of the Season of Advent. The gospel reading is the account of a centurion who approached Jesus and asked that his servant, paralyzed and suffering, be healed. Does it strike you as odd that this is the gospel? It seems like something suited to Ordinary Time rather than Advent. Or does it? I think that here at the very beginning of Advent the choice of this gospel is quite appropriate for Advent. Let me suggest six reasons why this gospel is a great choice.

It highlights Advent’s central theme: It is Faith that welcomes the Messiah. The centurion expresses one of the most remarkable statements of faith in all the Gospel: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof; only say the word and my servant will be healed.” (Mt 8:8) At the start of Advent, the Church places before us the posture we must have to welcome Christ: humble, trusting, expectant faith. This faith is so exemplary that the Church echoes it at every Mass before Communion.

This gospel reveals that Christ came for all nations. Advent looks forward not only to Bethlehem but to the final coming of Christ, when all nations gather before Him. Jesus’ response would have been startling to the listeners in the 1st century: “Many will come from the east and the west, and will recline with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob…” (Mt 8:11) The centurion is a Gentile, yet he recognizes Jesus more clearly than many in Israel. This scene is a partial fulfillment of Isaiah’s Advent prophecies which proclaim that all nations will come to the Lord – “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. (Isaiah 2:2)  Here at the very beginning of Advent we are reminded that Christ’s Kingdom is universal. It is for outsiders, seekers, and anyone drawn to the light of Christ.

The gospel mirrors our Advent longing: “Come, Lord Jesus” The centurion comes seeking the Lord, confident that Jesus’ arrival brings healing. Advent is the season we sing “O’ Come, O’ Come Emmanuel” expressing our longing, a longing embodied by the centurion. He seeks Christ, calls out to Him, and trusts His word even before seeing results. It holds up for us a model of our Advent posture: not passive waiting, but active reaching.

Advent’s weekday readings are filled with Isaiah, a prophet whose words shaped Israel’s hope for the Messiah. This gospel emphasizes the Power of the Word of Christ. The centurion believes Jesus’ word alone is enough: “only say the word and my servant will be healed.” (Mt 8:8)  From the Word made flesh, the Word goes out to accomplish its mission. We are given an example that God’s Word fulfills what it promises. As Isaiah foretold and as the centurion believed, the Word made flesh is coming and will accomplish healing and salvation.

The readings for the early Season of Advent carry themes of healing and restoration. The first days of Advent feature several healing miracles: the centurion’s servant, healing the two blind men who cry out to him, sending apostles out with the specific mission of healing, and others. These early readings present Christ as the One who restores creation, heals what is wounded, and makes all things new. This is the very mission promised in Isaiah and fulfilled in Christ’s coming at Christmas and in glory.

And last but not least, this gospel anticipates the Eucharist. The centurion’s words echo through the liturgy: “Lord, I am not worthy…” Placing this Gospel early in Advent highlights the link between Christ who came at Bethlehem, Christ who comes at every Mass, and Christ who will come again in glory. As many have noted: these are the “three comings” of Christ during Advent.

It is a great choice for the first weekday of the Advent Season.

Image credit: The Healing of the Officer’s Son | James Tissot, c.1880 | Brooklyn Museum | PD-US

Standing in Hope

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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

Remembering the Roots of Thanksgiving

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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

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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

Passing Things; Permanent Things

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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

Spiritual Integrity Under Pressure

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The first reading for today is from the First Book of Maccabees. It is an account of the time of persecution of the people of Jerusalem during the time they were ruled by Antiochus IV of the Seleucid Kingdom, a now distant descendant of the empire built by Alexander the Great. Tired of the revolts and troubles, Antiochus decided to first try to lure them into a different culture by enticing the young and old with the mystery of philosophy, worldly allures, access to the gymnasium where the elite met and deals were made, and a world of customs and value hitherto unknown. Antiochus wanted them to center their lives on something other than the Temple and the Covenant with God.

It worked for a while. People “abandoned the holy covenant; they allied themselves with the Gentiles and sold themselves to wrongdoing…[they began offering sacrifices] to idols and profaned the sabbath.” Having made inroads, Antiochus then ordered that all the people of Jerusalem should be unified in custom, language, and worship. At this point Antiochus introduced pagan worship into the very heart of the Temple, the Holy of Holies – and then began to systematically destroy the signs and symbols of the Jewish faith. “Terrible affliction was upon Israel.”

History is filled with different kinds of rulers, kings, dictators, and monarchs whose rule covers the gamut of dominion from persuasion to persecution. With one hand they offer the people something desired, be it moral or mundane. With the other hand, they offer the questionable. Rarely do they offer blatantly wrong. It is more likely that the heat is slowly turned up so that the people never sense the change in temperature until it is too late. The waters around them are already boiling.

What about “we the people”?  In the age of the Maccabees there were those who joined Antiochus’ agenda. There were those who remained silent. There were others who stood firm in their ancient faith of Abraham and they suffered mightily for their stand.  Maccabees reveal the range of circumstances that surround us in the realm of political decrees, cultural temptations, moral compromises, or the quiet drift away from what we once held to be true. It is a story of all ages: spiritual integrity under pressure. 

Our times are no different. Some of us join an other-than-Christ-centered agenda. Some remain silent. Others stand firm and speak from their faith. What is the issue, the agenda, the topic that you sense is wrong or headed in the wrong direction? Something in that quiet drift away from what you held to be true. Are you silent? Waiting for more information?

What issue do you find yourself apart from the Church and you think, “those bishops should stay out of politics?” Might this be a sign that you have joined an agenda different from the Church?

The Maccabees remind us: fidelity to God is not always easy.  But what is always easy is prayer.  As the gospel reminds us, the Lord is always asking: “What do you want me to do for you?”  Our response should always be “Lord, please let me see.”

Like our ancestors in faith, we live in the realm of political decrees, cultural temptations, moral compromises, and the quiet drift away from what we once held to be true. “Lord, please let me see.” Pray for the Wisdom to discern God’s desire and your call to action. When external forces demand conformity, stand firm in the grace and Wisdom of God.

Image Credit: “Healing the Blind Man” | Václav Mánes | 1832 | National Gallery Prague | PD-US

The Beauty of Wisdom

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The first reading for today is from the Book of Wisdom (13:1-9). It is an amazing passage the speaks to the natural human inclination to be drawn to beauty – and at the same time our inability to look beyond the fullness of beauty to see the Divine Maestro who orchestrates the symphony of order and beauty that surrounds us. Too easily we stop with what we see. We marvel at the created world but fail to lift our eyes to the Creator. We are drawn to the beauty of nature, but sometimes we mistake the reflection for the source of the light. It is a type of foolishness: “From the greatness and the beauty of created things their original author, by analogy, is seen.” Creation is a window through which we can see God – but we need to truly and deeply look.

The author provides a gentle warning:  It’s possible, even with great intelligence, to miss the mark — to admire the art but forget the artist. “If they were so successful in knowledge that they could speculate about the world, how did they not more quickly find its Lord?” In every age, there’s a temptation to worship the creation — whether that’s nature, human achievement, or science — instead of the Creator. None of these are bad in themselves; they are good, beautiful, and true in their own right. But they are not God.

St. Paul makes the same point in Romans 1: “Ever since the creation of the world, God’s invisible attributes of eternal power and divinity have been able to be understood and perceived in what he has made.” Faith, then, is not opposed to reason or science. It is the completion of them. Faith takes us the next step — from what is seen to the One who is unseen; from wonder at creation to worship of the Creator. 

When we pause to see the beauty of creation with faith, we discover not just design, but love — a love that orders all things, sustains all things, and calls each of us into communion with the One who made them.

And here’s the heart of it for us today: the God who fashioned the stars and the seas has come near to us in the person of Jesus Christ. The One who made the heavens walked upon the earth He created. He touched the dust of the ground and blessed it with His own hands. If we see beauty in creation, how much more beauty should we see in the Creator who became one of us? Christ is not only the Maker of all things — He is the Redeemer of all things. In Him, creation finds its meaning and its destiny.

Take in the beauty of the world. Stop to watch a sunset, the autumn colors of the trees, a star filled sky and the faces of those we love. Let it all draw you closer to its Source. For from the greatness and the beauty of created things, their original author is indeed seen.

Image Credit: Parable of the Unjust Steward | A. Mironov | CC BY-SA 4.0 | Wikimedia Commons

The Fullness of Wisdom

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The first reading for today is from the Book of Wisdom (7:22-8:1) and is one of the most beautiful descriptions of divine Wisdom in all of Scripture. You can hear the author’s reverence when he speaks “a breath of the power of God,” “the image of His goodness,” “she reaches mightily from one end of the earth to the other.” There is a recognition that Wisdom is not merely cleverness or human intelligence. The author recognizes that Wisdom is the divine life of God shared with His creation. It is the divine presence active in the world, bringing order out of chaos, and goodness out of confusion. Wisdom is, as the text says, “the refulgence of eternal light” — that shining reflection of God’s glory that guides all who seek truth and goodness.

It is also more than poetry. Christians recognize this divine presence in the world as a foreshadowing of Christ, “the power of God and the wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 1:24). Just as Wisdom is described as the image of God’s goodness, so St. Paul says that Christ is “the image of the invisible God” (Col 1:15). Just as Wisdom “pervades and penetrates all things,” so the Spirit of Christ fills all creation with life and light.

This passage, then, draws our hearts toward the mystery of the Trinity — the Father, whose power is revealed; the Son, who is the radiant image of that power; and the Holy Spirit, who moves with gentle might throughout creation. It means that divine Wisdom — this living breath of God — is not distant or abstract. She is near. She moves within every circumstance where truth and goodness are sought. Whenever we act with patience, discernment, and love, we allow Wisdom to order things well.

Wisdom is that quiet light that helps a parent guide a child with fairness; that calm in the heart that helps a person choose mercy over anger; that inner clarity that helps us say, “This is the right thing to do, even when it costs me.”

The final line says it all: “She reaches mightily from one end of the earth to the other, and she orders all things well.”

When we look at our world — so full of confusion, injustice, and disorder — it’s tempting to think chaos has the last word. But this verse is a promise: the Wisdom of God still holds creation together. Even when human foolishness seems to rule the day, God’s Wisdom is quietly at work, bringing His plan to fulfillment.

Today, take a quiet moment apart and pray for Wisdom. Not just to understand more, but to live rightly. To see as God sees. To love what God loves. Pray to let the Spirit of Wisdom order our thoughts, words, and actions so that, through us, God may continue to “order all things well.”

Image Credit: Parable of the Unjust Steward (A.N. Mironov), CC BY-SA 4.0 via Wikimedia Commons