Category Archives: Sunday Morning

Leaks and All

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As it happens we had the same gospel just this Tuesday. It is a familiar story in which we find the disciples battling against the tempestuous waves and howling winds. Amidst this chaos, they spotted Jesus walking on the water towards them. Filled with awe and faith, Peter cried out, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus responded, “Come.” And Peter, guided by faith, stepped out of the boat and began walking towards his Lord… and then he realizes he’s not in the boat. As an experienced fisherman he knows the danger of the wind and waves. Fear seizes him and he begins to sink into the chaos. Fortunately, Jesus seizes his hand, pulls him from certain death, and gets him back into the safety of the boat. The basic message on Tuesday was: “stay in the boat.”  Afterwards someone emailed me to note that “sometimes the boat (Church) has leaks,” noting examples and so people “leave the boat.”

But here’s the thing… As any blue water sailor will tell you, boats inevitably have leaks. As any serious student of church history will tell you, the Church was never this pristine Church that somehow deteriorated into its present condition. As long as humanity is part of the Church, it will have leaks. Look at the original crew. Peter denies Jesus. Thomas refuses the testimony of the others. James and John argue about who is greatest. The apostles abandon Jesus at Gethsemane. Judas betrays him. And in today’s gospel those in the boat, the chosen Apostles, are frightened and confused. The Church has always been a community of flawed people. The boat has always had leaks. Leaks that need repair, major and minor – it is simply life afloat. Discovering a leak should not surprise us into abandoning ship. Thanks be to God, the holiness of the Church has never depended upon the perfection of her crew. It depends upon Christ.

Folk might complain about popes, bishops, pastors and priests, but we’re not the Captain of the ship. We are more like watch officers entrusted with the vessel, trusted to carry out the Captain’s orders. Some watch officers are excellent. Some mediocre. Some fail badly. But they don’t command the ship. Command has always been Jesus Christ. Our faith is not ultimately faith in church management. It is faith in Christ.

The Church survived Peter. It survived bad popes. It survived corrupt bishops. It survived schisms, sin, scandals, wars, and terrible human decisions. Not because leadership doesn’t matter. It matters enormously, but because Christ remains faithful even when his servants aren’t.

Peter discovers something important: the storm exists inside and outside the boat. Leaving the Church because Christians disappoint us does not transport us into a world without human failure. Every human institution leaks. Families leak. Governments leak. Businesses leak. Universities leak. And every one of us springs a leak from time to time. The question isn’t: “Can I find a community without flaws?” There isn’t one. The question is: “Where is Christ?” He is in the boat.

What should be the response when the boat springs a leak? A crew member who discovers flooding doesn’t say: “”Well, there it is, the darn ship leaks.” They report it, find the source, control the flooding and begin to repair the damage. Staying aboard doesn’t mean tolerating abuse, corruption, incompetence, or injustice. Sometimes fidelity to the Church means challenging precisely those things. Saint Catherine of Siena stayed in the boat—and challenged popes. Saint Francis stayed in the boat—and helped renew the Church. Reformers, saints, religious founders, theologians, and ordinary faithful Catholics have repeatedly repaired leaks from within. There is a difference between criticizing the boat because you hate it and repairing the boat because you love it.

And the crew turns over. Commanding officers, executive officers rotate. Department heads change. Young sailors report aboard; veterans transfer. But the ship has an identity extending beyond any particular crew. And yet the vessel continues its mission. The Church has experienced two thousand years of crew changes.  Don’t confuse the current crew with the ship.

What I love about this gospel account is that Peter is both the problem and the promise. Peter gets out of the boat, sinks, and cries out: “Lord, save me!” Jesus rescues him and then brings Peter back into the boat.  Problem and Promise.

And notice that Jesus doesn’t say: “Peter, clearly boats aren’t working for you. Let’s start something else.” Jesus takes Peter back to the boat … with the frightened disciples. The Church contains frightened disciples and sinking Peters – there in the boat with Christ in the center of it all.

Boats aren’t built for harbors; they’re built for setting out on the water. The Church isn’t a pleasure boat. It doesn’t exist to provide us with a pleasant religious environment. It exists to carry the Gospel across dangerous waters where the whole Church experience might not meet one’s expectations. But that was never the point. The real point is “What mission has Christ entrusted to us?” A leaking ship still has a mission. And sometimes repairing the ship is part of the mission.

Repairs are made underway. You don’t abandon a seaworthy ship in the middle of the ocean because you discovered water where water shouldn’t be. You repair and keep sailing. You stay in the boat. Why?

Not because the Church’s leaders or fellow believers will never disappoint us. Not because the institution always gets everything right. We stay because Christ has chosen to meet us in this boat: in his Word, in the Eucharist, in reconciliation, in the communion of believers, and in the mission he entrusted to the apostles.

And Matthew’s Gospel ends the episode with something especially important. Once Jesus and Peter enter the boat: “Those who were in the boat did him homage, saying, ‘Truly, you are the Son of God.’” (Mt 14:33).  And there’s the point of the gospel account. Not toward confidence in Peter’s seamanship. Not toward praise of the crew. Toward worship of Christ. That is the deepest reason to stay in the boat.

The Church is not the object of our faith. Christ is. The Church is the vessel in which Christ has chosen to gather a very imperfect crew and carry them together toward him. And when we find a leak – and we will – the faithful response is neither denial nor immediate abandonment. Grab a bucket. Find the leak. Help repair the boat. And keep your eyes on Christ.

Image credit: Jesus and Peter on the water – Gustave Brion, oil, 1880 | Public Domain

No Strings Attached

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From the prophet Isaiah: “All you who are thirsty, come to the water! You who have no money, come, receive grain and eat; come, without paying and without cost.”  Sounds good, perhaps too good to be true? So…what’s the catch? I mean nobody gets something for nothing. There is always a string attached, a debt incurred, or something in the small print. Such are the thoughts of a person who is ensconced in a transactional worldview.

A transactional worldview is not simply about money. It is a way of seeing all of life through the lens of exchange: I give in order to get. It can become so ingrained that people begin to relate to God, other people, and even themselves in transactional terms.  It crops up in so many subtle ways, e.g. when we catch ourselves thinking about relationships as a type of calculation. Instead of asking: “How can I love this person?” the question becomes: “What am I getting out of this relationship?” It is rarely as draconian as that, but do you “keep score” in your marriage? Do you discover that friendships are maintained only while they are useful? Helping others is a gateway to gain approval, influence or to “bank” a future favor? Or maybe you feel cheated whenever your kindness is not returned.

Christian love gives without any guarantee of return.

And about others…have you ever caught yourself thinking, “Can this person advance my career? Can this friendship benefit me? Is this relationship worth the investment of my time?”

This is very different from the Gospel’s view of persons as ends in themselves, loved simply because they are children of God.

Ok, maybe the whole transactional approach to people was a little cold and Machiavellian. But in what way do you think about achievement? A transactional mindset often operates with an inner voice whispering: “My worth depends on what I accomplish.” Perhaps you are driven to always be productive; constantly comparing yourself with others. Do you find it difficult to rest because you haven’t earned it? Is failure evidence of personal worthlessness?

Grace says something radically different: your dignity precedes your performance.

Do you find it easier to give than to receive? Uncomfortable with compliments? Struggle to accept forgiveness? Reluctant to accept help? Feel guilty receiving generosity from another? All the while there is the whisper: “Nothing valuable should come free.”

Makes God’s grace difficult to receive and embrace.

Is your forgiveness conditional? “I’ll forgive them after they apologize.” or “I’ll reconcile after they change.”

I guess we should be thankful that God doesn’t operate that way.

How about your life of faith? Some may work the “checklist”: I fulfilled my Sunday obligation – check. Said my prayers – check.  Is this just a busy life keeping on track or without realizing it, did worship become payment rather than encounter?

“All you who are thirsty, come to the water! You who have no money, come, receive grain and eat; come, without paying and without cost.”

Why can we sometimes be this way? What makes this way of being attractive or at least seductive? Because transactional thinking gives us a sense of control. If life is an exchange, then we imagine: “If I do A, I’ll get B.”

Grace is unsettling because it cannot be controlled.  It must be received.

Throughout Scripture, God invites us to move from transaction to covenant. Where a transaction asks: “What is the minimum required?” A covenant asks: “How can I be faithful?” A transaction says: “I’ll love you if…” A covenant says: “”I have chosen to love you.” A transaction keeps accounts. A covenant remembers persons as gifts from God.

Recall the disciples at the feeding of the five thousand. Their first instinct is transactional: “Send the crowds away so they can buy food.”  Jesus, the source and foundation of the Covenant, comes at it completely differently. He does not ask: “Who has enough money?” He asks: “What do you have? What will you contribute?” Turns out it’s not a lot, only five loaves and two fish. But it is enough.

The miracle begins when the disciples stop calculating and start trusting. That is the movement Isaiah is inviting us to make. God says: “Come, without paying and without cost.” The Kingdom begins where transactions end and gift begins.

A transactional view of life often produces anxiety, because everything depends on our ability to earn, prove, achieve, or maintain. A covenantal view produces gratitude, because we begin each day already possessing the greatest gift: we are loved by God before we have accomplished anything.

An abiding attitude of gratitude determines your altitude. And it costs nothing. No catch. No string attached. No fine print. Just eternal life.

Image credit: James J. Tissot, ‘Miracle of the Loaves and Fishes’ (1886-94), Brooklyn Museum, NYC | PD-US

The Kingdom of Heaven among the Weeds

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The kingdom of heaven is like…. There are lots of parables that begin with those words.  Maybe we can do a thought experiment – a kind of fill-in-the-blank thing. Keep your answers silent within your own thoughts. And since no one is listening, you can be completely honest with your answer. For you…. the kingdom of heaven is like……. What? (No hurry, I’ll wait….) Continue reading →

Weeds, Wheat and Choice

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Note: by the time you read this I should be on the way back from the Friar’s meeting. This was posted three years ago.

The “enemy came and sowed weeds all through the wheat.”  We really should not be surprised. It’s the way it has always been. The “enemy” – a nice term for Satan, the devil and all the evil minions – are just doing what they have always done – offering us a choice.

In the Garden of Eden, humanity had it pretty good. Everything we could want. God came and walked with us in the cool of the afternoon. We were in communion with God. Imagine that, little ol’ us in communion with the one who is infinitely good, infinitely loving, infinitely just and so much more – and what God seeks is communion with us. God only asked one thing of Adam and Eve: eat of the tree of life, but do not eat of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. Along comes the enemy to offer us a choice.

Adam and Eve could have chosen to remain in communion with God or they could grasp at control in order to decide what is good and what is evil; to set aside the moral compass that points to the goodness of God and have our own compass that points any way we choose. The enemy did not make anyone choose. The choice was ours. And so it remains today. The enemy is there hoisting up choices. And we hear it playing out in our thoughts, in what we tell others, or what others tell us. “It’s only a small thing.” “No one will ever know.” “What’s the harm?” “Don’t pretend you’re some holier-than-thou saint.”

I love the passage in the Gospel where Jesus quotes a Psalm: “I will open my mouth in parables, I will announce what has lain hidden from the foundation of the world.” Yup, since the foundation of the world we have been continually faced with the choice between the One who is Goodness and the source of all Good or giving in to the pursuit of some less good, or no good at all.

So when the enemy comes to sow weeds all through the wheat of our lives, the enemy is doing what he does – offering a choice. But in this gospel passage it’s not an easy this-or-that choice. Early on you can’t tell the difference between the baby wheat and the baby weeds. Later on when you can tell the difference the roots are all tangled up together, so if you try to uproot the weed, you’re pulling out wheat also.  In the parable, Jesus is saying, this is the way the world will be: weeds and wheat together – because some will choose to be weeds and sow weeds throughout the kingdom. So, we are not to judge, but let it be and the harvester will take care of it: “collect the weeds and tie them in bundles for burning; but gather the wheat into my barn.”

I guess we have no choice in the matter. Doesn’t Matthew 7:1 say, “Stop judging, that you may not be judged”? True, in so far as it is not our role who decides who will be bundled for burning and who ends up in the barn. But we do have a choice. Consider Matthew 18: “If your brother sins [against you], go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.”

You are in that situation of choosing when you think or say, “I thought they were my friend.” “How could they do that to me?” You know what the gospel says – go and talk to him or her. Want for them exactly what God wants for you – community. This is when the enemy offers you choices: “It’s no big thing. Let it slide.” “Just ghost them.” “Cancel them!” If you are the one whispering this to another, perhaps you are unwittingly acting as the enemy’s minion … just saying…  In any case, this is how the harmony between you and that person begins to erode and perhaps the harmony between that person and God is also eroding. What are we to do?

The first reading from the Book of Wisdom reminds us, as does the gospel, that in the end God’s justice to God’s self demands a reckoning. God is justice, power and might – as so the scribe reminds us: “For your might is the source of justice; your mastery over all things makes you lenient to all.” Lenient to all who call upon God. Lenient, clement, merciful, kind. This is the character of God so beautifully expressed in Exodus 34:6: “… a merciful and gracious God, slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity.”  Fidelity – that loyal love.

But though you are master of might, you judge with clemency, and with much lenience you govern us; for power, whenever you will, attends you. And you taught your people, by these deeds, that those who are just must be kind; and you gave your children good ground for hope that you would permit repentance for their sins. (Wisdom 12:16-19)

Clemency, mercy, grace, loyal love, kindness, hope  – all these things are offered to us when we choose wrongly, rejecting the moral compass of God and choosing our own designs. This is what we are keeping from the friend to whom we won’t engage and reorient them to God’s design. This is what we need to offer our friend in the words and the way we speak: mercy, loyal love, and kindness.

This is what is waiting for us when our own moral compass is misdirected. It awaits us in prayer! “But, Father, I’m not sure I know how to pray when I feel so far from God.” You, me and St. Paul:

The Spirit comes to the aid of our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes with inexpressible groanings. And the one who searches hearts knows what is the intention of the Spirit, because he intercedes for the holy ones according to God’s will. (Romans 8:26-27)

Pray for yourself, pray to know how to best approach that other person and know the clemency, mercy, grace, kindness and loyal love of God is right there with and for you.

Image credit: Parable of the Weeds among the Wheat, attributed to Isaac Claesz. van Swanenburg, 1590 – 1610, Public Domain

Trust me, there is a lot more…

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Note: I am traveling to a week long meeting of the Friars of my province and am “one the road” and so am reporting my homily from three years ago. Enjjoy

Just recently we held a mini-course about the people, events and issues of the Protestant Reformations of the 16th century.  Among the Reformers there was a far greater emphasis placed on Scripture and preaching upon that Word. John Calvin’s typical Sunday homily seems to have been about 2 hours.  John Knox’s homilies often had intermissions. Hard to imagine, eh?

But it was a different era – not just because Sunday was dedicated to church, worship, and little else – but because for that generation of people, Scripture was coming alive for the first time.  When the Zurich reformer Zwingli first began to preach he started at the beginning of the Gospel according to Matthew. Sunday after Sunday he worked his way through the whole Gospel, proclaiming, teaching, cajoling, and encouraging people to embrace and be embraced by God.  The Word of God set people ablaze.

I have to admit there are times in which I would love to take extra time and share a large portion of Scripture with you. For example, our first reading comes from Isaiah 55. But the whole chapter is awesome, amazing….  It is this wide-open invitation to Grace. And we get just a snippet of it in the first reading.  Here is part of what comes before it.

All you who are thirsty, come to the water! You who have no money, come, buy grain and eat;  Come, buy grain without money, wine and milk without cost! Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what does not satisfy? Only listen to me, and you shall eat well, you shall delight in rich fare. (Is 55:1-2)

There are no preconditions to this invitation. It is not first to make your life pure and holy, then come. There is no entry fee. There is only “come” and “listen.” It is your choice.

Pay attention and come to me; listen, that you may have life. I will make with you an everlasting covenant (Is 55:3)

God is offering a covenant with you that you can have more than water or grain, you can choose life.

Seek the LORD while he may be found, call upon him while he is near…turn to the LORD to find mercy; to our God, who is generous in forgiving. (Is 55:6b-7)

What is in this covenant with God? Grace, mercy and forgiveness – and all you have to do is choose.

And that is just 2 or 3 minutes worth. Imagine what you could unwrap and talk about in 2 hours. And trust me there is a lot more there. A lot more, because that is the power of God’s Word.  In Isaiah 55, God tells the prophet Isaiah about the power of His mighty word – irresistible, unstoppable, compelling

so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; my word shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it. (Is 55:11)

This is the kind of message where I want to say, “Can I get an ‘Amen’ ?” I mean, here is it in a nutshell. God desires that we be saved, God has spoken the Word that can save us, the Word has gone forth in the person of Jesus to do his Father’s will, and that Word will achieve the end for which he was sent. I mean how great is that?  Can I get an “Amen?”

And yet…. in chapters leading up to today’s Gospel, the Living Word, the Son of God, Jesus is experiencing growing opposition, doubt, and “push back.” And so the Apostles are asking Jesus, “What gives?  How can people hear your teaching, see your miracles, witness your cures, and still they ask for another sign?  What is with that?  Why don’t people believe?”

And Jesus responds, “A sower went out to sow” The parable is Jesus’ response to why people do not believe.  We have just heard the parable – and I suspect that as it was being proclaimed, lots of us were thinking – “Oh yeah, I have heard this parable before. Right. Jesus is the sower. The seed is the Word of God and we are the soil….” Pay attention and come to me; listen, that you may have life.  When explaining the parable to the Apostles, four times, Jesus explains, “ the seed sown…is the one who.”

Think about it. We are already in the hand of Jesus, imbued with his Grace, and then sent into the world – free will and all. And we make choices that position ourselves on pathways, on rocky ground, among the thistles, or in good soil. (a) We have the Word and Sacraments, but we never take the time to understand and love them (b) We receive the Word and Sacraments with great joy, but at some point, that joy is lost. Maybe it became less than cool to be known as faithful or holy. Maybe socially cumbersome. The joy is gone. (c) Perhaps one simply heard the siren’s call of luxury, wealth, power, and privilege. Or the worries of modern life became distracting or overwhelming. (d) Or despite all these things, we are intentional about our journey of faith in the midst of modern living.

Today we are the seed sown in one place. And I do mean “today” – because Jesus and the Word of God are still with us today – in the Eucharist and in the Scriptures – in the power of the Holy Spirit moving among us.  We are still in the hands of the Sower. Today we can make new choices. And in every choice, hopefully we are reflective enough to learn anew how God is creating and molding us, tilling the soil of our lives, uprooting thistle and weeds, and preparing us to choose life.  The promise is constant: so shall my word be that goes forth from my mouth; my word shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it. (Is 55:11).  But we must choose to let the Word into our lives.  Choose to let the love and grace of God flood our lives.  Can I get an “Amen?”

Image credit: “The Sower” Vincent van Gogh (June 1888), Van Gogh Museum, Public Domain

Tired but not burdened

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Back in the day, I camped and backpacked in the wilds of Virginia and West Virginia. Generally, it was just for a weekend – maybe two or three days – along with a group of friends. We would carry everything in/out. I remember having fun, enjoying it all, but I always felt like I needed a day to recover. Perhaps it was the infrequency of carrying a load, the hiking, and all that goes with the adventure, but come Monday, there was always a stiffness about my neck, arms, shoulders, upper back and all the rest that is connected to those parts.  I could still feel the aftereffects of the pack’s burden.  “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.” It sounded like the perfect scripture for the post-camping Monday mornings.

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Chosen, Loved, and Sent

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Over the many years I have read, studied, written commentaries and led Bible studies, I have become ever more convinced that all the books of Sacred Scripture carry and reveal a pattern that runs through the entire story of salvation. It is simple three-step pattern

  1. God chooses a people,
  2. God loves them before they deserve it, apart from whether they think they are worthy, and
  3. God sends them into the world to let the people of the world know they are loved.

That is the story of Israel. It is the story of the Church. And it is the story of every baptized Christian.

Chosen

In the first reading from the Book of Exodus, God speaks to Israel at Mount Sinai: “You shall be my special possession, dearer to me than all other people, though all the earth is mine.” (Ex 19:5). Why Israel? Are they the strongest? Hardly. They are a small and vulnerable people far more used to enslavement than freedom. Are they wealthy? Hardly. Whatever wealth they had they left behind in Egypt. From a “big picture” point of view, they are actually not all that impressive.

God’s choice of Israel as a people all his own is an act of grace, pure and simple unmerited grace.

That being said, it is not a “free pass.” God immediately explains why He has chosen them: “You shall be to me a kingdom of priests, a holy nation.” (Ex 19:6) What might that mean? In all places and times, one of the most fundamental roles of priests in the Judeo-Christian tradition is to point the way to God, to be a light to the nations, a clarion call of the kingdom, and more. Israel is chosen so that the nations might come to know the Lord through them.

The same is true for us. Through Baptism, we have been chosen by God. Not because we earned it. Not because we are worthy. But because God, in his mercy, has called us into relationship with Him. In the baptismal rite each one of us was marked with the sign of faith and anointed with the sacred oils to share in the role of priesthood. And like the Israelites, that is our calling, that is our commission. 

And that calling is never only for ourselves. We are chosen by God and entrusted with a mission.

Loved – The second reading Saint Paul writes: “God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” (Rom 5:8, NAB) This is one of the most important truths in Christianity: God loved us first. We often think we must become worthy so that God will love us. But Paul says the opposite. Christ died for us while we were still sinners. That changes everything.

The Church does not exist because human beings successfully climbed their way up to God. The Church exists because God came down to us in Jesus Christ. And this is crucial for understanding mission. We do not go to others as people who have everything figured out. We go as people who ourselves have been loved and forgiven and well before we have figured everything out.

Tomorrow our Sister Parish mission team is going to Chinle AZ. Does that make them spiritually superior? Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t. They are going because they have experienced the mercy of Christ and want to share that mercy through service, prayer, friendship, and witness. They possess the most basic awareness of deep abiding gratitude that God loved them first.  And that is the foundation of every authentic Christian mission.

Sent – God chose us. God loved us. And now God sends us. Not just the Sister Parish folks – all of us. In the Gospel from Gospel of Matthew, Jesus looks upon the crowds and sees their suffering: “At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.” (Mt 9:36)

One day if I am ever in charge of biblical translations, “moved with pity” will read “moved with compassion.”  There is something soft and passive about the way we understand “pity” in our modern milieu. “It’s a pity you can’t go.” Not exactly a clarion call for action. 

When you look at the original Greek, you find something – I think – very different. The underlying Greek contains a very unusual verb which is derived from the Greek word for intestines, entrails, or in our slang, your guts. And that sense is not lost in our American idioms. “When I heard the news, I felt that someone had hit me in the gut.” “I was sick to my stomach” “My insides just ached.” We can all understand such a visceral reaction. The sight, the sound, the sense perception of something that just wrenches us in the deepest recess of our soul, our being. Our reaction is instinctual, immediate, and raw. It is with good reason that more recent translations use the word compassion, from the Latin to bear or suffer with another; a sympathetic awareness of others’ distress together with a desire to alleviate it. In the Christian understanding, to truly, deeply feel compassion is to be wired into the love of God poured forth into the world.

The heart of Jesus is moved with compassion. But compassion does not remain a feeling. It becomes mission. He says: “The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few.” (Mt 9:37) And so he sends the disciples out. The Christian life is not only about being chosen and loved. It is about being sent into the world as witnesses to the Kingdom of God.

Some are sent far away, like our mission team traveling to Chinle. Most of us are sent into the ordinary places of life:

  • our families,
  • our workplaces,
  • our schools,
  • our neighborhoods,
  • our parish,
  • our daily encounters with people who are hurting, lonely, searching, or burdened.

Jesus still sees crowds today who are “troubled and abandoned.” He still calls laborers for the harvest.

Misson – So today’s readings give us a simple but powerful pattern:

  • Chosen – God calls us into relationship with him.
  • Loved – Christ gives his life for us while we are still sinners.
  • Sent – The Holy Spirit sends us to share that love with the world.

That is the Christian life in three words. And it is also the story of the Church’s mission.

A Word to the Mission Team – To our brothers and sisters who are being blessed and sent to Chinle,  remember these three truths. You are chosen by God. Your baptism has already made you part of his holy people. You are loved by Christ. His mercy goes with you, not because you are perfect, but because he is faithful. And you are sent. You go not in your own name, but in the name of Jesus, to serve, to listen, to pray, to learn, and to witness to the Gospel among the Navajo people. Your mission is not only what you will do there. Your mission begins with who you are in Christ.

A Word to the Whole Parish – And to the rest of us: this blessing ceremony for the missioners is not a moment for spectators. It is a reminder of our own calling. Not everyone is sent to Arizona. But every Christian is sent somewhere. Every morning, the Lord places before us people who need encouragement, forgiveness, patience, compassion, truth, or hope. The harvest is still abundant.

Before God sends anyone, God first chooses them and loves them. May we never forget that before we are missionaries, we are beloved sons and daughters of God. And because we are loved, we can go forth without fear. 

Chosen. Loved. Sent. That is the Gospel today. And that is our mission. 

Amen.

Image credit: Duccio di Buoninsegna, 1308-1311, National Gallery of Art, Public Domain

Holding Nothing Back

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Back in the day when I served in a slum parish on the edge of Nairobi. Over the course of several encounters I came to know a Mill Hill priest, Fr. John Kaiser. Fr. John was a missionary legend. Originally from Minnesota, he had a Paul Bunyan like quality to him – larger than life. By the time I met him he had been serving in Kenya for 30 plus years. One day he randomly showed up at the parish where I worked and asked me if I wanted to go with him on a trip “into the bush” to visit a group of semi-nomadic Maasai to whom he had been ministering for many years. By “into the bush” he meant the Transmara, the name for the Serengeti on the Kenyan side of the border. Instantly I imagined an exotic safari, an “Out of Africa” moment, … I mean, this was what it meant to be a missionary! So, I showed up in Lolgorian at the appointed hour and at 0-dark-30 in the morning, we headed out in his Range Rover. In time, the paved road gave way to the dirt road, then to the two-track, then to no discernable road at all. In time, the sun rose, the day began and we arrived at the community kraal.

I had wondered why we had departed Lolgorian in the middle of the night, but quickly came to realize, Fr. John’s arrival was a big deal. It had been a while since his last visit and there were babies to baptize, first communions and confirmations to celebrate, marriages to witness, herds to bless, the elders to meet with, and a whole host of kids that wanted John’s attention. I milled around, tried to stay out of the way, kicked a round thing (technically a ball… of sorts) with the kids, and answered questions about my family and how many cows we owned. The questions seem to be asked in Kimaa, the language of the people, and were translated into Kiswahili by some of the teens. Since I wasn’t a priest, my answers seemed to raise a bit of incredulity. I imagined the summary report was: “ He comes from a small family, is the only son, is not married, has no kids, and owns no cows.” Years later I wondered if they were deciding whether I was hopeless or they were discussing which one of their daughters would be a suitable match.

Later that evening, after an amazing, joyous Mass – and you have to remember these folks only were able to receive Eucharist several times a year – there was a banquet/party under the incredible night sky. I was approached by one of the teens who said that the mzee (respected elder) wanted to speak to me. Of course I agreed. We sat near the fire, I offered the greeting one gives an elder, he responded and then asked me, “Do you know what faith is?” Heck of a question, heh?  I had been in Kenya long enough to know the proper response, “Mzee, teach me that I may learn.” And so began his masterclass in faith.

He described in detail why and how the lion hunts, something the Maasai would know quite well. He noted that unlike the muzungu who came as the “great white hunters,” the lions did not hunt for sport. They hunt to feed the cubs, sate their hunger, and to live. Their lives depend on the hunt. He went on to describe how they watched the herd, positioned themselves downwind, crawled through the tall grass hidden from sight, all in a process that might take days. All the time they watch for the animal of the herd that might make the ideal prey. Eventually comes the moment to spring from hiding. It is a total commitment, holding nothing back. This is not sport; this is life.

The elder described in great detail the final moment of the hunt when the lion leaps up onto the back of its prey. Its maw opening wide to sink its teeth into the neck of the animal, its forelegs encircling the animal, the claws digging deeply into the breast, then powerfully tearing open the animal to reveal the heart of the beast. As he was saying all this, I almost felt the hot breath of a lion on the back of my neck. He then stopped, looked deeply at me, and asked, “Now do you know what faith is?” I had no idea how this account was connected to his question. Thankfully, he continued.

He told me that the Christian God was like a lion that hunted the people, but it did not hunt like the lion. God came from upwind that the people would catch his scent. God came upright and in plain sight that we would recognize his coming. Like a lion He was relentless, waiting for the proper moment. Then He sprang upon us. And at the moment when we awaited the final stroke of the hunter, this Christian God turned his claws inward, opening his own breast, revealing his heart, giving his heart for us. “Now do you understand faith?”  I remained silent, transfixed, hoping he would continue…and he did.

He said that God did all of this, sacrificing himself, never knowing if we would accept the sacrifice. That is faith, the faith God has in us.

I hear echoes of the story whenever I see a crucifix. Jesus arms open wide, waiting to embrace us, waiting for us to respond to his act of faith, waiting for us.

I hear echoes of the story at every Mass in the words of the Eucharistic Prayer: “Take this, all of you, and eat of it, for this is my body… Take this, all of you, and drink…for this is… the blood of new and eternal covenant.” Eternal words.  Words of love spoken in hope a Hope that we will respond and accept the life-giving gift. All the while Jesus waits.

In this story the words of St. Francis of Assisi have new meaning: hold back nothing of yourself for yourself so the He who gave himself for you completely may receive you completely.

Amen

Incomplete Christians?

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This past Monday one of the readings for daily Mass was from Acts of the Apostles. I described St. Paul’s encounter with two men who had received the baptism of John of the Baptist, were apparently part of the Christian community in Ephesus, but had never heard of nor received the Holy Spirit. Paul baptized them and laid hands upon them that they might receive the Holy Spirit. From then the two men went about using their gifts given by the Spirit.

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Seven Reasons Why

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There is something special about when the Church celebrates solemnities. Christmas is tangible. Good Friday is emotional. Easter is triumphant. The Ascension is … is … to be honest it can sound like Jesus simply “going away.” It is easy to hear it as a kind of spiritual farewell: Jesus finished his work, returned to heaven, and now we wait until we join him someday. But the Church celebrates the Ascension as a central moment of the Paschal Mystery because it tells us something essential about Christ, about ourselves, and about the meaning of daily life right now.

Often I give three reasons why things should matter, but it is a solemnity, so seven seems like a good number to explain why the Ascension still matters deeply in 2026.

1. The Ascension means humanity now has a place in the life of God

The Ascension is not Jesus escaping the world. It is humanity entering into the glory of God. The risen Jesus ascends with his human nature still united to him. The wounds remain. The Incarnation is permanent. Human life, our humanity, is now taken into the communion of the Trinity. That means heaven is no longer merely a distant spiritual realm. In Christ, human life itself has been brought into the heart of God.This matters because many people today experience life as fragile, disposable, or meaningless. The Ascension proclaims the opposite:

  • human life matters eternally,
  • the body matters,
  • history matters,
  • our struggles and sufferings matter.

Our destiny is not annihilation or absorption into nothingness. Our destiny is communion with God.

2. Christ is not absent. He is present differently

One of the misunderstandings about the Ascension is the idea that Jesus “left.” But in the New Testament, the Ascension is not about absence. It is about a new mode of presence. Before the Ascension, Jesus was physically present in one place at a time. After the Ascension and the gift of the Spirit, Christ becomes present to the whole Church across the world and through time: in the Eucharist, in Scripture, in prayer, in the poor, in the gathered Church, and through the Holy Spirit to mention a few. The Ascension prepares for Pentecost. Christ does not abandon the Church; he fills it with his own life. For everyday life, this means Christianity is not merely remembering someone from the past. Christ is alive and active now.

3. The Ascension gives meaning to ordinary earthly life

The Ascension does not tell Christians to ignore the world while waiting for heaven. In fact, the opposite is true. Just before ascending, Jesus sends the disciples on mission: “You will be my witnesses.”  The disciples do not stand staring at the sky forever. They return to Jerusalem and begin the life of the Church. The Ascension teaches that holiness is lived in ordinary human life: work, family, service, relationships, acts of justice and mercy, and daily faithfulness. Christ reigns not apart from human life, but over it. Therefore ordinary life becomes the place where discipleship happens.

In 2026, many people feel caught between anxiety, division, exhaustion, distraction, and uncertainty about the future. The Ascension reminds Christians that history still belongs to God and that faithful daily living still matters.

4. The Ascension changes how we understand power

In the world, power is often measured by dominance, wealth, visibility, popularity, projection of power or control. But the Ascended Christ still bears the wounds of crucifixion. The one seated at the right hand of the Father is the same one who washed feet, forgave sinners, welcomed the marginalized, and suffered on the Cross. The Ascension reveals that sacrificial love is not failure. It is the deepest form of glory. This matters because modern culture often rewards self-promotion and strength without compassion. The Ascension proclaims that humility, mercy, truth, and love participate in the reign of Christ.

5. The Ascension says we already live between earth and heaven

The Ascension creates a tension at the center of Christian life. We still live in the world with all its beauty and pain: wars continue, people suffer, injustice persists, and death remains real. Yet Christ is risen and glorified. Christians therefore live with hope without denying reality. The Ascension teaches us to live with our feet firmly on earth while our hearts remain anchored in God. This prevents two extremes: despair, as if evil has the final word, or escapism, as if earthly life does not matter. The Christian lives in hope-filled engagement with the world.

6. The Ascension means the Church has responsibility now

After the Ascension, the disciples cannot simply wait passively. The Church becomes the visible sign of Christ’s presence in the world. This means Christians are called to continue Christ’s work: feeding the hungry, defending human dignity, forgiving, proclaiming the Gospel, building peace, caring for the vulnerable, and living as witnesses to hope. The Ascension is therefore not the end of Christ’s mission but the beginning of the Church’s participation in it.

7. The Ascension reminds us where history is going

Modern life often feels fragmented and directionless. Many people experience history as chaos with no larger meaning. The Ascension says history has a destination. The final word over humanity is not violence, death, fear, or division, but the reign of the risen Christ. This does not remove suffering from the present moment, but it changes how Christians endure it. Hope becomes possible because Christ has gone before us.

A bonus spiritual insight

The disciples at the Ascension stand between memory and mission: They remember what Jesus has done but they are also sent forward into the future. That remains the Christian condition today. The Ascension invites believers not to stare upward waiting to escape the world, but to live differently within it – with hope instead of despair, courage instead of fear, purpose instead of aimlessness, and love rooted in the living presence of Christ.

The Ascension is not simply about where Jesus went. It is about what we are called to become.

Image credit: Jesus’ ascension to Heaven depicted by John Singleton Copley in Ascension (1775) Public Domain