Category Archives: Sunday Morning

In Whose Image…

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If you are old enough you will remember the 1990s-television ad campaign for Canon cameras featuring the then very young Andre Agassi. He was a brash young tennis pro sporting long hair, a head band, and was ready to take on the world. He was flashy, a media star, a great tennis player. He was hot, happening, the icon of cool. At the end of the commercial he looks into the camera – into your soul and simply says, “Image is everything.”

And it seemed like that when we were teenagers. Back then – sure we were alone – all us spent some time inspecting our image, gazing into mirrors, creating the face we want the world to see. Practicing a smile, a frown, a smirk, seeing what we would look like with spiked hair or getting our hair just so. I can’t speak for the ladies present, but if we guys are honest, there was some time spent flexing not-yet developed muscles and convincing ourselves we were ripped. Time did not erode the inclination. In our middle years, we check the mirror to make sure we project confidence, competence, and all the market place and business requires. In our later years, we gaze into the mirror to wonder where the lines on our faces came from and where our hair is going. Image is indeed something.

At first blush it all seems terribly vain and shallow, but…we must value something about images… between our cell phones, our camera, and all the other devices that are photo-capable, we capture, post, share, and print tons of images – to share, decorate, and ultimately to remember. I know that I can review my life in the series of images I have stuffed in albums, boxes, desk drawers, cases and a hundred places I have set aside and cannot recall. The oldest ones are polaroid and Kodak black and white images, eventually evolving into the first Kodachrome color images. Then came the digital age. Now my photographed-life is on a hard drive and occasionally posted on-line somewhere.

Images of a lifetime. Images that tell a story – the story of our lives. And they whisper to us… remember what you look like – what you have been, what you are and what you are becoming. Maybe image is everything – at least in the story they can tell…. If we would listen to the whispers. In those whispers are reflections of the mirrors of our soul; reminders of a time when we glanced in a real mirror.

Caesar would have understood. “Show me the coin that pays the census tax.” Then they handed him the Roman coin. He said to them, “Whose image is this and whose inscription?” They replied, “Caesar’s.” The Roman Emperor looked into his mirror and wanted to see a reflection of power, stability and prosperity. And he wanted that image on every coin. Each Roman coin told a story… and they sold an image. Pax Romana – the peace of Rome. For an Emperor, image was everything. He wanted to remind you that everything belonged to him. That you belonged to him.

“Then repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.”

What is it that belongs to God? Surprisingly enough, Jesus is trying to answer that question for the Pharisees by telling them that Image is important. If you only look at the coin you can be seduced into believing Caesar. If you look into the mirror of your life and only see your own face staring back, you can also be deceived.

What should we look into so that we are not deceived? There is an adage that says to read the newspaper in one hand with the gospel in the other. Perhaps our parallel wisdom for today is to glance into the images of our lives with one hand while holding the gospel in the other. We need to take St. Paul’s suggestion from the 2nd reading and peer into the gospel that came in power and in the Holy Spirit. We need to look to the image that Isaiah would have us consider and remember – when we peer into the mirror that we know:

  • We are created in the image of One who chooses us in love and calls us by name.
  • We are created in the image of One who anoints us and gives us a title.
  • We are created in the image of One who unbars all the gates, opens all the doors, and grasps us by the hand.
  • We are created in the image of One who is always with us – who loved us so much he became one of us

In the exchange with leaders of Jerusalem, Jesus isn’t asking us “How much do we owe?” He is asking them to shake off the amnesia, for they have forgotten who they are, in whose likeness they were made.

We are a people who are called to look into the mirror of our lives, into the mirror of this day, into the mirror of the gospel, and see in ourselves the Image of Christ – an image we are called to reflect into the world. To be people in the world that if Christianity were a crime, we would surely be charged and convicted. We are called to be the imago Dei in the world and point to the Reign of God.

Like Agassi at the end of the commercial, Jesus looks into our souls and in the final judgment will simply say, “Image is everything.”

Being Careful

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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

True Humility

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“For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted;” a familiar verse from Luke. But that doesn’t tell us what true humility is. Merriam Webster defines humility as freedom from pride or arrogance. That’s a start; it tells us what humility is not and by implication tells us what not to do in life. St. Bonaventure offered that humility is the guardian and gateway to all the other virtues. So, humility is important for being in this life and getting to the next.

St. Francis of Assisi says this of humility: for what a person is before God, that he is and no more. (Admonition 19).  I like that saying – but it is more reminder than definition. I think we need to put some “meat on the bones,” something that will guide us into what to do or how to be.

Of course we could all take a moment and think of people in our life that we consider humble. We can consider the traits and characteristics of that person that makes us conclude they are a humble person – not just meek, shy, retiring or quiet, but humble. The Christian writer C. S. Lewis offers that: “True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less.” I sat with that a while this week and came up with a list that might reflect Lewis’ thought. The list is not complete, but only a start.

  • A humble person has lots to brag about, but he doesn’t boast. He or she might share accomplishments from their life, but for a purpose that has nothing to do with self-aggrandizement. The humble person is just as interested in your accomplishments.
  • A humble person can be corrected because they know that life ever operates in the sphere of learning. As my dad would say, “Every man is your better because you can learn something from them.”
  • A humble person serves willingly because the motivation is knowing that the one served will be better off.
  • A humble person knows the difference between being a leader and being the boss.
  • A humble person will choose gentleness before strength, will act the same with the poor and the rich, the young and the old, the friend and the foe – will act with compassion and purpose.
  • The humble person pursues greatness. While one might be content in many things, the humble person is not content with their own character. The humble person always seeks greater wisdom, a deeper capacity to love, a balance, and a wholeness…or in our church lexicon – holiness.
  • The humble person is in charge of their lives – even when they choose to follow, to be obedient, and take the path less desirable.
  • Here’s one I think is very important. The humble person is condescending.

Did he just say, “condescending?”  Yes, I did. When most people hear that word, they think of showing a patronizing or superior attitude toward others. But I am talking about the original meaning from the Latin condescendere – to come down so as to be with or to accompany or to serve.

The ultimate condescendere was Jesus being born as one of us. Coming from the Heavenly kingdom to, as St. John literally wrote, “to pitch his tent among us.” Jesus came down to serve us and to do so humbly. I think all of the characteristics of humility above – and more – apply to Jesus. In our second reading, the Letter to the Philippians (2:3-11), St. Paul writes:

Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory; rather, humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not for his own interests, but (also) everyone for those of others. Have among yourselves the same attitude that is also yours in Christ Jesus, Who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. 

Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness; and found human in appearance, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.

Obedient to death – giving his life for our sins, for our salvation, paying the price – truly thinking not of himself, but of us. Sacrificing everything, never knowing if we would accept and embrace his gift of redemption. His humility to the plan of his heavenly Father brought Jesus to disgrace in the eyes of the power of the world.

Because of this, God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. 

There you have it. Some thoughts on humility. Take some time today and make your own list on what it means to be humble and how you plan to walk through this life in humility.  You have examples in the people you admire.. You have the testimony of the life of Jesus in Scripture. You have what you need to begin to change the way we think. Then what we think, becomes the words we speak. The words we speak become the actions of our lives. Those actions become our habits. Habits become character. Character becomes who we are as we stand before God. For we are that and nothing more.

Amen

Image credit: Parable of the Two Sons, Andrei Monorov, 2012 | CC BY SA 4.0 |

Been here all along..

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How many times have you heard today’s Gospel of the landowner who went out to hire laborers for his vineyard? Sometimes the homily focuses on a contrast between God’s generosity and our sense of fairness. Sometimes the theme is ‘it’s never too late’. Both are good insights about the parable. At some level we can all relate to the workers that were there at the crack of dawn and worked all day.  It is not just that expectations were raised when they heard that those who had just arrived, had not borne the heat of the day, and received the usual wage for the whole day. But when they realized there was no bonus, I think they wondered if all they did and endured had meaning. There is a lot to ponder.

And that is exactly the purpose of each of Jesus’ parables. They are meant to draw us into the scene, to associate with one of the characters. So… what character might you play in the scene? Are you part of the early morning, up-and-at-’em crew? The 9 am crew? The noon crew? Or maybe the end of the day crew?

And what about the end-of-the-day crew? Day labor was a common way to earn a living wage in 1st century Israel. Depending on the circumstances, it might be the difference between food for the family or not on that particular day. Imagine if that were your situation. You’ve been there all day. No one has hired you and suddenly at day’s end you’re hired. And more than that, you receive a full day’s wage. After a day of anxiety, suddenly there is an unexpected blessing. I hope they paused and gave thanks to God for the fortune and blessing – especially at so late an hour.

ANd what about you? You’re here at Mass. After my six years here, I recognize lots of you as regulars. I know names and faces. I even know your regular pews. You take your faith life seriously. You’ve been coming to Mass all your life. You’ve sacrificed, followed the rules, and served the parish. The same attributes can translate to your place of work, your career, your family of origin. 

After the Navy I joined a company that was 1-2 years from startup. It had grown to be a multimillion dollar consulting firm. While most of the work was in the DoD-sector, I was part of a commercial technology group that was growing fast and was very profitable.  About six years later a senior executive was hired. Three months later the company was bought in a private equity deal. It was the payday we’d worked for…and the rumors about the new guy swept the company. Rumors had it that he did really well. You can imagine the reaction. He had not borne “the day’s burden and the heat.” A strange combination to be rewarded, “but”… at the same time. All that we did and endured, was it just “business” or did it have meaning?

Imagine you are one of five adult children. You live near your aging parents and are the only one who supports and cares for them. Your siblings live far away, have exciting lives, travel abroad and always promise to help “next time.”  And next time never seems to come. Then as the parent’s health begins to seriously fail and the end is near, they all arrive. Your parents are so excited to see them and all the parental attention is focused on them. You love your siblings but you feel shunted aside. All that you did and endured, did it have meaning?

We are like the early worker, the parent, the dutiful child, the parishioner who say they have borne “the day’s burden and the heat.” All of the roles we fulfill in life  have the potential to place us right there with the beginning-of-the-day crew.

The readings today ask us to focus on our life outside and inside the Church. The parable is a call to answer, for yourself, the question whether all you’ve done and endured had meaning. It is a question for work, home, family, and your life of faith.

The senior executive made a windfall. But he did not have the shared experience of building the company. He did not enjoy the belonging and fellowship of the team. He went on to another company. So did we, our team went and started a new company and had the great reward of the new endeavor.

The siblings were there at the end and were able to say “goodby”.  But they weren’t there for all the intimate moments when parents shared stories of growing up, family, dating, and their life before kids. You heard their dreams and joys. Priceless and filled with all the meaning in the world.

What about faith and Church? Underneath the “started at dawn” workers’ complaint is a question we rarely ask: was being in the vineyard all day really a disadvantage?” Do we believe that spending a lifetime knowing Christ, receiving the Eucharist, experiencing forgiveness, belonging to his people, and having the hope of eternal life was somehow the harder deal? That’s when we need to remind ourselves that it has all been a grace and a privilege to receive: unearned, undeserved, but freely given. It is replete with meaning.

Maybe then we begin to understand what it means to work in the vineyard. The years we have spent following Christ were never wages we earned. They were themselves a gift. The Eucharists we have received, the sins forgiven, the prayers answered, and even the prayers we are still waiting to have answered, the people who have accompanied us in faith, the hope that has carried us through difficult days: all of that, that was the vineyard. It comprises the vineyard.

So when the five-o’clock worker finally arrives, perhaps our response should not be, “Why does he get what I get?” Perhaps it should be, “Thank God he finally made it into the vineyard. And thank God I have been here all along.”

Image credit: Red Vineyards at Arles | Vincent Van Gogh, 1888 | PD from wikiart.org

The Challenge of Forgiveness

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Note: this weekend Deacon Mike is preaching. This is a homily from the 10th anniversary of 9-11

Today’s readings offer an uncomfortable, but clear challenge to us on this anniversary of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks: the challenge of forgiveness.  

  • A woman @ Mass – she can’t forgive and no longer expects God’s forgiveness
  • A marine @ Fallujah – And now he wondered how that boy’s mother or God could ever forgive him for shooting a child.
  • Lloyd LeBlanc at his murdered son’s side – as he prayer the Lord’s Prayer  he realized the depth of the commitment. He would have to forgive the person who had done this heinous crime and taken his son’s life.  He wondered how he could not overcome bitterness and feelings of revenge that would surely wash over him day-by-day. LeBlanc said that each day, for the rest of his life, forgiveness would have to be prayed for and struggled for and won.
  • And the families and survivors of 9-11 each have their own stories – and the struggle with forgiveness – and forgiveness’ attendants:  healing and wholeness.

Forgiveness is a challenge – even for we who live well away from the boundaries and intensity of these stories.  Like them we are called to be people who truly seek wholeness and completeness in this life through Christ – the one who commands that we forgive our brother from the depths of our heart.

And we are left to navigate the maze of the complexity that is forgiveness.  And it seems to me there are lots of instances when our forgiveness is all too human and partial….

  1. No need to apologize – there is nothing to forgive …. But I wonder if I am really just in the state of denial at the moment and maybe this will all catch up with me later.
  2. Forgiveness?  This isn’t about forgiveness, this is about justice… or maybe its vengeance/ revenge
  3. You have not asked yet and maybe you never will – and you may not even think you have done something wrong, but I forgive you….  But I wonder how real that is
  4. I forgive you – but inside I am still madder-than-a-wet-hen and I just forgave you because I am supposed to but I really do not feel like it.
  5. I forgive you because it’s my Christian duty to forgive, but you don’t deserve it.
  6. I forgive you – but in truth I really do not know what I am supposed to do with what I am feeling – I don’t want to feel this way.
  7. I forgive you – and I mean it …. really, …but I won’t forget and I will hold you responsible for changing so that if you do this again, I will remind you of your former malfeasance. 
  8. I forgive you – but that is it …. We can no longer be friends.  I can have nothing to do with you.
  9. I am not ready to forgive you … maybe later.
  10. I can’t forgive you – what you have done is so horrific that I can never trust you again – and I will never forget.

That’s just my list.  I am human and limited in my love and in my forgiveness. I seem to be re-learning how hard it is forgiving people who have sinned against me – to know what to do when my heart is filled with anger and a desire for revenge – even as I struggle to let God’s mercy and justice fill my soul. I don’t have any clear answers.  

Without mercy and forgiveness for others, how can I expect mercy or forgiveness from God?

This Sunday as Americans take time to remember the events of September 11and we are saddened – but are called as Christians to remember the events of 2000 years ago when God’s own Son, surveying a field of broken lives and desolate hearts, chose to call down from heaven not vengeance – but forgiveness.  

He by doing so opened a future marked 

  • not by judgment but by mercy, 
  • not by calculations of retribution but trust, 
  • not by despair but hope, 
  • not by fear but courage, 
  • not by violence but healing, 
  • not by scarcity but abundance, wholeness, 
  • not by hate but love, 
  • and not by death but by new life. Newness of life.  

That’s what forgiveness can do. 

May God lead us through this maze of broken lives and give all of us a palpable sense of the forgiveness in which – and by which – we live.  

May God grant us the faith and courage to walk into the future such forgiveness creates.  

Amen

Difficult Conversations

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The three readings for today give us a roadmap for difficult conversations: 

  • Ezekiel tells us our responsibility, “You shall warn them for me.” (Ez 33:7)
  • St. Matthew describes the method, “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.” (Mt 18:15)
  • And St. Paul tells us why we would ever do such an uncomfortable thing: “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another.” (Rom 13:8)

The responsibility, method, and motive…and of the three, I suspect we are most comfortable with “love one another.” But when you think about it, Jesus tells us that sometimes loving another person means having a conversation we would really rather avoid. And we are pretty good at coming up with all kinds of reasons not to have it: “Who am I to judge?” “I don’t want to embarrass anyone.” “It’s none of my business.” “They’re just going to get angry.” “It won’t make any difference.” “I don’t want to risk the friendship.”  Which one is your favorite? Your “go to?”

And sometimes those are legitimate concerns. Not every mistake needs our commentary. Not every disagreement is a moral crisis. There is such a thing as minding our own business. There is such a thing as being overly critical. And there are certainly people who seem to believe God has appointed them to correct everyone else.

Today’s Gospel is not giving us permission to become the moral police. But neither does Jesus allow us to disguise indifference as tolerance. Sometimes we need to ask ourselves: Am I remaining silent because silence is loving or because silence is easier for me?

That is where Ezekiel becomes uncomfortable. God describes Ezekiel as a watchman whose responsibility was to see danger approaching and sound the warning. He wasn’t responsible for making people respond. He couldn’t force them to listen. But he was responsible for sounding the warning. God said: “You shall warn them for me.” Notice what God does not say: punish, humiliate or condemn. Just warn.

That is an important distinction. We are sometimes responsible for speaking the truth to another person. We are never responsible for controlling what that person does with the truth.

Jesus shows us how disciples should exercise that responsibility: “Go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.” Between you and him alone.  Is that what we often do? Think of a time when someone has hurt you. We tell our spouse about it, then a friend, and well, just one more friend. Of course, there was that text and then email. OK, we posted something on social media vague enough not to use the person’s name but specific enough that everyone knows exactly whom we’re talking about.

Pretty soon everyone knows what this person did, except perhaps the person Jesus told us to speak to in the first place. Jesus was pretty clear: “Go to your brother.” And go privately. The purpose isn’t humiliation, revenge, or to demonstrate that you’re right. Jesus tells us what the purpose is:  “If he listens to you, you have won over your brother.” (Mt 18:15)

Immediately before today’s passage, Jesus tells the parable of the lost sheep. A shepherd has a hundred sheep. One wanders away. And the shepherd goes looking for it. Why? Because the sheep matters. When Jesus says: “If your brother sins against you, go…” It is the same dynamic. We seek out the one who is becoming lost. Christian correction is refusing to give up on somebody we love.

And that’s where St. Paul gives us the motive: “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another.”

Sometimes we imagine love as always affirming, always agreeable, always making another person feel comfortable. But anyone who has ever genuinely loved another human being knows better. Parents know this. If you see your teenager on the verge of making questionable choices, you don’t say, “Who am I to judge?” You speak. Not because you enjoy confrontation or hold yourself as morally superior. You speak because the person matters more than the comfort of the moment.

Sometimes friendship requires the same courage. Marriage, family life, and the Christian community, too. There are moments when the debt of love requires a difficult conversation.

But there is another side to today’s Gospel which may be even more difficult. We shouldn’t spend this entire homily thinking about the people we need to correct. Because somewhere there may be someone trying to work up the courage to have one of these conversations with us. And when that happens, suddenly today’s Gospel sounds very different.

Can I listen without immediately defending myself? Can I consider the possibility that the other person sees something I cannot see? Can I hear uncomfortable truth without immediately deciding that the person speaking it is judgmental?

We take turns being Ezekiel. Sometimes I see a danger you cannot see. Sometimes you see something in me that I cannot see. And Christian love means that neither of us simply walks away from the other. Perhaps that’s why Paul’s words are so important today. “Owe nothing to anyone, except to love one another.”

I owe you enough love to tell you the truth. But I also owe you enough humility to listen when you tell the truth to me. And so perhaps the readings today give us three questions to carry into the week.

Is there someone I love enough that I need to have a difficult conversation? 

If so, can I follow Jesus’ method and speak privately, respectfully, seeking reconciliation rather than victory?

When someone who loves me comes to speak a difficult truth, will I listen?

Ezekiel gives us the responsibility. Matthew gives us the method. St. Paul gives us the motive. And the motive governs everything: Love.

Love one another enough to speak the truth. Love one another enough to speak it gently and privately. Love one another enough to seek reconciliation rather than victory. And love one another enough that, when it is our turn to hear a difficult truth, we listen. Because Jesus never said the goal was to win the argument. The goal is to win over your brother.

Image credit: Sermon on the Mount (1877) by Carl Heinrich Bloch, Museum of National History at Frederiksborg Castle, Public Domain

Faithfulness

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In today’s gospel when Jesus says: “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” (Mt 16:24-25) – what did you hear? Because of the way we use the expression in everyday language, I think a tendency to think of “our cross” is to focus on nagging health concerns, local traffic, or difficult coworkers or relatives, and similar events in our lives. It has become an all-purpose metaphor. 

For Jesus’ first hearers, the cross was not a metaphor at all. It was a horrifying public reality. It represented Roman power at its most brutal: humiliation, shame, and a death reserved primarily for slaves, rebels, and those the empire wanted to make examples of. When Jesus first spoke these words, no one in the crowd would have thought of daily travails, church decore, or even salvation. They would have imagined a more horrific end. After the Resurrection, Christians saw the cross in an entirely new light: the place where God’s love conquered sin and death. 

We are modern people, believing people who hear these words in an ongoing dialogue about discipleship. While suffering can certainly become part of discipleship, here, that is not what Jesus primarily means. Notice the context. Immediately before this saying, Peter has rebuked Jesus for speaking about his coming suffering and death. Jesus replies: “You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.” (Mt 16:23) Only then does he say: “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.” The cross is not simply something that happens to us. It is something we choose because we are following Christ.

Think of it this way: to take up one’s cross is to choose to embrace whatever faithfulness to Christ requires, even when it is costly. Taking up one’s cross is an act of fidelity – that may well bring suffering, misunderstanding, or sacrifice. But the suffering itself is not the cross. The cross is your fidelity.

I think there are several forms of “taking up the cross” that are particularly relevant in the twenty-first century. In an age of polarization and misinformation, telling the truth can carry real consequences. In an age of social media refusing to spread gossip or even more, interjecting to stop the gossip can have repercussions.

In a world that often celebrates convenience the Gospel celebrates covenant. That means remaining faithful to one’s spouse, aging parents, difficult children, a religious vocation, and priestly promises. These can become a genuine carrying of the cross. Not because those people are burdens, but because love remains faithful when it would be easier to leave.

Think about forgiveness. That can be a cross, one you have to choose to take up. Or living simply in this age of consumption where the culture says acquire more. Faithfulness is choosing generosity over accumulation; contentment over consumption; and stewardship over possession.

What about loving the unnoticed, the one no one else visits, a spouse with dementia, quietly serving in parish ministries and other examples of hidden fidelity when we choose to embrace whatever is required of us in order to be faithful to Christ. Those moments without applause. No recognition. Just love lived out.

Being grateful and hopeful. Not normally associated with “taking up the cross,” but aren’t there times when it is challenging to continue believing that reconciliation is possible, that goodness matters, and that Christ has conquered death? Cynicism is easy. Gratitude and hopefulness take effort. They take practice.

I think “taking up the cross” is sustained by habits that train us to let Christ, rather than the ego, occupy the center of our lives. These include:

  • Daily prayer that teaches us to say, “Not my will, but yours.”
  • Regular examination of conscience, where we surrender the need always to be right.
  • Frequent celebration of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, which is itself an act of humility.
  • Eucharistic participation, where we receive the One who first carried the cross.
  • Hidden acts of charity that seek no recognition.
  • Fasting, not merely from food, but from resentment, constant distraction, or the need for approval.

These practices shape the heart so that, when the costly moment of discipleship comes, we are prepared to choose fidelity.

One thing that strikes me is that Jesus does not say: “Endure whatever crosses life gives you.” He says: “Take up your cross.” Something that is active, deliberate, and voluntary. In an age, every age perhaps, people are tempted to arrange life around self-preservation and advancement. And maybe a simple way to understand “take up your cross” is this: “Choose faithfulness over self-preservation.”  And now this final verse makes more sense.

Image credit:RomanNerud | iStock photo ID:2239554065 | downloaded Aug 7, 2026 | std iStock license

Crossing over is dangerous business

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September 1965 should have been a great year.  I was a rising 8th grader at St James school in Orlando – you know, about to become king of the school.  That’s when geography dealt a cruel blow. Both my older sisters were going to Bishop Moore HS – which was the opposite direction from St James.  In a moment, my fate was sealed.  I had to transfer to St. Charles which shared a campus with the HS.  I was exiled from all my friends to attend a school filled with kids who thought they were too cool, who wore all the new clothes, who bought all the right albums, who won all the school championships. Continue reading →

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