Thirty-first Sunday of Ordinary Time

The greatest among you must be your servant.
Whoever exalts himself will be humbled;
but whoever humbles himself will be exalted.

The idea of servant leadership is a hot topic for me these days. As I and my friends prepare to be ordained as transitional deacons, the whole meaning of the word is encompassed in today’s Gospel reading. The Greek word, diakonos, means service. In Christ’s Kingdom, those who are to lead, are to serve, as He did.

The model for our service, and our leadership, is Christ on the Cross. Love who and what He loved … all the way to death. It’s a hard act to follow, but then, we’re not expected to do it alone. All of us are called to this kind of service, but especially those of us who are called to lead. There is no leadership in the Kingdom that is not service — none.

So we don’t get to widen our phylacteries (I’ve always wanted to use that word in my blog!) and we can forget about lengthening our tassels: the concept of Christian leadership isn’t just for show. And if our leadership is really authentic, then it won’t take wide phylacteries or long tassels to see it. This doesn’t mean we don’t wear clerical garb or anything like that; it simply means that the garb is the afterthought — service comes first.

If we have learned anything in these past few years about leadership, it ought to be that we can’t just get by on our looks. That gets us into trouble every time. Forget what it looks like, serve the Lord, serve His people, serve His Church, serve the Kingdom. If that’s where our focus is, everyone will see that, and people will be moved.

St. Paul says it well in today’s second reading from his first letter to the Church at Thessalonica:

You recall, brothers and sisters, our toil and drudgery.
Working night and day in order not to burden any of you,
we proclaimed to you the gospel of God.
And for this reason we too give thanks to God unceasingly,
that, in receiving the word of God from hearing us,
you received not a human word but, as it truly is, the word of God,
which is now at work in you who believe.

Servant leaders do not ask people to bow and scrape to them. Instead, they roll up their sleeves, and work for the sake of the Kingdom of God. It is then that the Gospel gets preached not just in words, but in our very living. St. Francis said well that we are to preach the Gospel at all times, using words “when necessary.”

Our living is our preaching, and our preaching is our living.

It finally happened…

World Series Champion White Sox

I’m not the world’s greatest sports fan, especially of baseball, but… I’ve been a life-long Chicagoan and have had some very happy memories at Sox games (Cubs games too, because Mom’s a Cubs fan). My Dad is the life-long White Sox fan, and was even able to see the game in Chicago on Sunday. It’s great for his loyalty, and the loyalty of so many other fans, to be rewarded at long last. And yes, I even watched a lot of the World Series. Miracles do happen, y’know!

So congratulations, White Sox and White Sox fans!

ChiSox Win First World Series Since 1917

White Sox Home Page

Coming Soon to a Church Near You

“Left Behind: World at War,” the third movie based on the Left Behind series of novels about Armageddon and the Second Coming of Jesus, will open tonight on 3,200 screens across the country. But it will not be shown in a single commercial theater.

Maybe it’s because the premise is fundamentally flawed?

Thirtieth Sunday of Ordinary Time

“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?”
He said to him,
“You shall love the Lord, your God,
with all your heart,
with all your soul,
and with all your mind.
This is the greatest and the first commandment.
The second is like it:
You shall love your neighbor as yourself.
The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments.”

First of all, I’m sorry this reflection is late. I know some of you check this blog out frequently for lectionary reflections, and I appreciate that … you’ve been keeping me honest! So with that in mind, and my sincere apologies, let’s look at last Sunday’s scriptures.

Jesus quotes with all of the ease of being a good Jew the greatest commandments. He has been taught them from his youth, as all Jewish children would have been. (We’ll just let go for now the special knowledge he may have of these based on his divinity…) But the important part is his last sentence: The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments. With all the skill of a good rabbi, Jesus sums up the scriptures in one call to action: love of God and love of neighbor.

It’s simple. As we dedicate ourselves to God and one another, we fulfill everything the law and prophets always tried to do. The Gospel, though, gives us the mechanism to really do it: freedom. God always meant for us to be truly free, and that freedom does not equal “license” or lawlessness. It does not equal doing whatever we want or expressing any thought that crosses our minds: our freedom cannot trample the rights and freedoms of others, or we have lost sight of the goal of the greatest commandments.

True freedom is ridding ourselves of the attachments that keep us from loving God and neighbor fully. Everything that holds us back and drags us down must be cut away mercilessly or we cannot love God and neighbor freely. And ironically, when we do not love God and neighbor freely, we are never really free.

The hard part is cutting away the attachments: the relationships that are not healthy; the entertainments that do not edify; the concern for self that does not let us reach out to others; the desire for success that manifests itself in greed. The list can get long, and it can be hard to identify those attachments in our lives. But the Psalmist today gives us the criteria:

I love you, O LORD, my strength,
O LORD, my rock, my fortress, my deliverer.

Whatever takes our eyes off this truth, this praise, this love of God who is our Savior, that must be cut away. Mercilessly.

This is painful, yes. But the payoff is great: true freedom.

It’s a small world, after all…

This is kind of an inside joke from CPE. We had a running thing about which songs would set off the various staff chaplains because it would be impossible to get them out of their heads. For M, it was … well, I can’t remember what it was; for William it was “It’s a Small World.” You get the idea, we all have those kinds of songs.

Well, I got to thinking about that again this week. On Monday, our Polish Schola sang for Mass. Of course, I couldn’t understand any of it, let alone pronounce any of it from the music given on the worship aid. So I just pretty much sat there and let the music happen.

But later in the day, the melody of one of the songs wouldn’t get out of my head. I realized that it was because I couldn’t sing the song in its entirety (heck, I couldn’t sing a word of it). So I just had to “enjoy” it all day long. Grrr.

The Burglar who Painted Like Mondrian

The Burglar who Painted Like Mondrian

This one, obviously, I read for pleasure. Lawrence Block’s burglar series, featuring ex-Burglar Bernie Rhodenbarr, is always good for a laugh and some light but often complicated whodunit action. The Burglar who Painted Like Mondrian is no exception. Bernie, his pal Carolyn, cop Ray Kirschmann, and the whole host of others are all colorful and well, colorful pretty much sums it up!

On the cultural side, this book also introduced me to the paintings of Mondrian, and his particular geometric style, which I had otherwise not heard of.

But the best part of reading books like this is that I read them for my own enjoyment, when so much of my reading is really other-directed. Not that I want to be selfish, but we’re all entitled to some recreation, and reading a mystery novel now and then (or even more often than that) is food for the soul in that it keeps us joyful about what we do.

Now I’m off to read a Blackie Ryan mystery. Don’t tell anyone at the seminary that!

The Power and the Glory, by Graham Greene

The Power and the Glory, by Graham Greene

I just finished reading The Power and the Glory for my Theology of Priesthood class. I must say that I enjoyed the novel, and found it to be a quick read.

Quick as it was, though, there was a lot in there, of course. It was about failure, and how that failure can impact a community. It was about the dignity of priesthood, and how that can be lost or won, and what it really means. It was about pain and suffering, and how we need to fearlessly enter into it and move through it to redemption.

The story is of a priest in early 20th century Mexico, a time when in Mexico priests and the Church were forbidden. Priests were forced to marry, or were shot. The protaganist of this story is a priest who did not marry, and is now on the run from the law.

Was the priest a sinner or a saint? Well, probably the answer is the “Catholic Yes:” he was both/and … both a sinner and a saint. Throughout the story, he had a sense of his duty as a priest, and a concern for the souls entrusted to him. In the end, he gave up what he saw as his only salvation — a chance to confess his own sins — in order to possibly save someone else. Most of all, though, he looked back on the days when he wasn’t a wanted man to see that those were the days of corruption for him, and his journey to eventual martyrdom in his last days was the one that brought about his true conversion.

I still haven’t figured out why, but the theme of pain really stood out for me, especially at the end of the book. The pain of Mrs. Fellowes’s sick headache, the pain of the jefe in the dentist chair, and the pain which the priest himself feared as he went to his execution. Maybe there’s been enough pain and sadness in my own life lately, with all that’s happened this quarter at the seminary, that this theme really grabbed me. As I learned on CPE, the pain doesn’t go away — and it is largely unresolved in the book — but you cannot be afraid to enter into it and be in it. Redemption happens for those who enter into the pain; we just have to enter it fearlessly and trust the grace of the God who loves us and calls us; the God who lived and died for us; the God who offers us everlasting life.