Caritas Christi Urget Nos

Category: The Church Year

  • Saturday of the First Week of Ordinary Time

    Saturday of the First Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    In today’s Gospel, we have the epiphany of Jesus manifested as one who identifies with sinners.  That is not, of course, to say that he was a sinner; quite the contrary, we know that Jesus was like us in all things but sin.  But today we see that he is certainly concerned with calling sinners to the Kingdom, and concerned enough that he will be known to be in their company.  He eats with them, talks with them, walks with them.

    This of course, riles the Pharisees.  And for good reason; Jewish law taught that sinners were to be shunned; they were cast out of the community.  But Jesus has come to say that he hates the sin but loves the sinner, that nothing in us is beyond the power of God to redeem.  Nothing that we have done can put us so far away from God that we are beyond God’s reach.  And God does reach out to us, in tangible ways, in sacramental ways, in the person of Jesus and in through the ministry of the Church.

    Sin is a terrible thing.  It’s often cyclical.  Because not only does the judgment of the Pharisees make sinners feel unworthy; but also does the guilt that comes from inside the sinner.   The more one sins, the less worthy one often feels of God’s love, and so the more does that person turn away from God, and then they sin more, feel less worthy, turn away again, and so on, and so on, and so on.

    But Jesus won’t have any of that.  Instead, he walks into the midst of sinners, sits down with them and has a meal.  He is the divine physician healing our souls, and those who do not sin do not need his ministry.  But we sinners do, and we should always be grateful for the salvation he brings us.

  • Monday of the First Week of Ordinary Time

    Monday of the First Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    It seems like just yesterday that John the Baptist was baptizing Jesus in the Jordan River.  Oh wait, it was just yesterday!  But today’s reading fast forwards a bit and takes us to a time after John has been arrested.  John isn’t dead yet, not yet out of the picture, but clearly he is decreasing, as he says in another place, so that Jesus can increase.

    And Jesus is certainly increasing.  His ministry is kicking into full swing, and he begins by preaching that the kingdom is at hand – a theme that will continue his whole life long.  And he begins to call his followers.  Simon and Andrew, James and John, two sets of brothers, two groups of fishermen, give up their nets and their boats and their fathers and turn instead to casting nets to catch men and women for God’s kingdom.

    You know, even though today is the first day of Ordinary Time, we continue some aspects of Christmas and the Epiphany right up until February second, the feast of the Presentation of the Lord.  So today’s Gospel fits right in with that.  Today’s Gospel gives us a little more light to see what Jesus is up to.  He calls us all to repentance and to accept the Gospel and the Kingdom of God.  He says to us just as he said to Simon, Andrew, James and John: “Come follow me.”  The year ahead can be an exciting spiritual journey for us.  Who knows what Jesus will do in us to further the kingdom of God?  We just have to answer that wonderful invitation – “Come follow me and I will make you fishers of men.”

  • The Baptism of the Lord

    The Baptism of the Lord

    Today’s readings

    Do you know the date of your baptism?  I know the month of mine, but have to admit I’m not really sure about the date.  But when was the last time you even thought about your baptism?  Most of us don’t remember much about our baptism day, having been to young for it to really register in our memories.  In some ways, our lack of knowledge about our baptisms is sad, because baptism is, we believe, a radically life-changing event.

    In the sacrament of baptism, our sins are washed away.  For those of us baptized as infants, that means our original sin.  For those baptized as adults, that also includes any personal sins committed up to that time.  Baptism also gives us the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, which fills us with grace to participate in the mission of Christ in this world.  So those waters of baptism are powerful ones: they wash away our sinfulness and give us the grace to be who we were created to be.

    Today, Jesus himself is baptized.  Which is odd: he certainly didn’t need to be cleansed from sin, which was the type of baptism John the Baptist was doing.  But there was a reason for it.  Jesus told John to allow it for now.  This was how Christ desired to be one with us, to be manifest to us.  By entering the waters of baptism, Jesus makes those waters holy.  When we then enter the waters of baptism, we are made holy – that never could have happened if Jesus had not been baptized.  By being baptized, Jesus identifies himself with sinners; pledges to be one with them and make salvation possible.  Today’s Gospel story is an incredibly significant event.

    So if Jesus Christ identified himself with us sinners through baptism, then we who have been baptized must also identify ourselves with him. We must manifest him in the world through living the Gospel and following in his ways. Today we hear in the reading from the Acts of the Apostles that Jesus, having been anointed with the Holy Spirit, “went about doing good and healing all those oppressed by the devil.” That’s the model he set for all who would be baptized as he was. So we baptized ones must do the same.

    It is easy to see how we can go about doing good. There are thousands of opportunities to do that in our lives. Children and young people can do good by obeying their parents, being kind to brothers, sisters and friends, attending to their school work, and praying for those who are needy. Adults can strive to lead godly lives, raising families in peace, working diligently at their jobs, and being of service to the community. Every day there is an opportunity to do good in ordinary and extraordinary ways. All we have to do is decide to live our baptismal call and do it.

    Healing those oppressed by the devil might seem harder to do. But there are lots of ways to cast out demons. Teaching something to another person is a way to cast out the demons of ignorance. Reaching out to an elderly neighbor is a way to cast out the demons of loneliness. Educating ourselves on the evils of racism is a way to cast out the demons of hatred. Bringing food to the food pantry, or volunteering at a soup kitchen or loaves and fishes is a way to cast out the demons of poverty and hunger and homelessness. Visiting the sick, or picking up medication or groceries for a sick neighbor, is a way to cast out the demons of illness. We have opportunities to heal those oppressed by the devil all the time. All we have to do is decide to do it.

    Today we are called upon to remember our baptism, and perhaps to think about it in a slightly different light.  We should remember that our baptism was made possible by Christ’s baptism and above all by his saving sacrifice.  Given that extraordinary price, we must always be mindful of how important that baptism is.  We can live our baptism every day: all we have to do is decide to do it.

  • Friday of the Second Week of Advent

    Friday of the Second Week of Advent

    Today’s readings

    We Americans tend to believe that we ourselves have all the answers; and I don’t necessarily mean that all of us together have the answers, but rather that we individually have the answers.  We hold relative truth, even if we wouldn’t say that we do.  It’s cold comfort to see, in our gospel reading this morning, that we aren’t alone.  Jesus’ generation was much the same.  John the Baptist came across too strict, and Jesus came across like a drunkard and a partier.  But they both proclaimed the truth; Jesus, obviously more so than John.  But the crowds dismissed them both, because both required them to change their lives and their ways of thinking.  If John and Jesus were right, then they weren’t, and that was unsettling.  It’s unsettling for us too, but we have the benefit of centuries of Church teaching to help us.  Maybe it’s time we abandoned our weak answers and points of view and put on the attitude of Christ.

  • Thursday of the Second Week of Advent

    Thursday of the Second Week of Advent

    Today’s readings

    It’s amazing, I think, that our God would choose to become one of us, frail and weak creatures that we are.  And he could have come and become incarnate in any way he chose.  But what he chose is almost incomprehensible: the Lord of all came into the world as a tiny baby, born to a poor family, to an unwed mother.  He grew through childhood and young adulthood, working with his hands in the trade of his earthly father.  He knew the frustrations we have, and he knew our sadness and disappointment.  He was well-acquainted with our infirmities, and even grieved at the death of those he loved.  He could have done this in many easier ways, in much more splendor.  So why this way?

    There is a theological principle that says something like “whatever was not assumed was not redeemed.”  He had to assume, take on all of our weaknesses, so that he would be able to redeem all its brokenness.  What great comfort it is that our Advent leads to the Birth of a Savior so wonderful in glory that the whole earth could not contain him, but also so intimately one of us that he bore all our sorrows and grief.  It is amazing that God’s plan to save the world took shape by assuming our own form, even to the point of dying our death.

    That’s what I thought about as I reflected on today’s first reading.  Israel was pretty low and lacking in power, in the grand scheme of things.  Almost every nation was more powerful than them.  Yet they were not unnoticed by God – indeed they were actually favored.  God’s plan for salvation takes place among the weakness of all of us.  God notices that weakness, takes it on and redeems it in glory.

    That’s the good news today for all of us who suffer in whatever way.  God notices our suffering, in the person of Jesus he bore that same suffering, and in the glory of the Paschal Mystery, he redeemed it.  God may not wave a magic wand and make all of our problems go away, but he will never leave us alone in them.

    And it all started with the Incarnation.  The birth of one tiny child to a poor family, in the tiniest region of the lowliest nation on earth.  God can do amazing things when we are incredibly weak.

  • Saint Nicholas

    Saint Nicholas

    Today’s readings

    The general rule of thumb is that the saints are always supposed to point us to God.  The stories of the saints aren’t always real factual, and we cannot rely on them for actual historical records.  That’s not their purpose.  The stories of the saints are designed to illuminate the saints’ lives in a colorful way and to get us thinking about strengthening our relationship with God.

    I was thinking about that as I was reading the stories of St. Nicholas.  He died probably around the year 350 or so, so we don’t really know a lot about him.  But that doesn’t mean there aren’t stories!  One of the best known is that St. Nicholas came from a very well-to-do family.  He became aware of a family in his village that had three daughters who were close to marrying age.  The father was very poor and could not provide a dowry for his daughters, so that meant in that time, they would generally have to resort to prostitution.  St. Nicholas had no intention of seeing that happen.

    So one night, he walked by the man’s house and tossed a bunch of gold coins wrapped up in a cloth through the window.  The man rejoiced the next morning on finding it, and so he gave thanks to God.  He was able to provide a dowry for his oldest daughter.  A while later, the second daughter was to be married, and St. Nicholas repeated the same action.  The man again woke up to find the gold, and what did he do?  He gave thanks to God!  And then he was able to provide for his second daughter’s dowry.  A short time after that, St. Nicholas did the same so that the youngest daughter could have a dowry, and this time the man woke up when he heard the gold hit the floor in his house.  So he ran out the door and began to follow Nicholas, and eventually realized who it was he was following.  He knelt down and wanted to kiss the saint’s feet, but Nicholas would not let him, and made him promise not to tell of it as long as he lived.

    And so this was the story that led to the giving of gifts on St. Nicholas’s feast day.  And it’s just a little twist of the tongue in English that turned St. Nicholas into Santa Claus.  I think the celebration of St. Nicholas shines an interesting light on our gift giving.  St. Nicholas did not want to be known for his generosity.  He wanted to keep it quiet and was content to have the man give the glory and praise to God for the generous gift.  How willing are we to do the same?  Or does our gift giving have a sort of one-upsmanship to it?  The giving of gifts is not bad or good; it is the intent of the giver and the heart of the receiver that really matters.  When we wrap up our gifts in these Advent days, and when we unwrap them on Christmas, I wonder if we can tuck some prayer in it somewhere.  Maybe we can find a way to give glory to God among all the hectic-ness of our Christmas season.

  • The Second Sunday of Advent [A]

    The Second Sunday of Advent [A]

    Today’s readings

    I’ve had the feeling, lately, that things just aren’t right.  I think we all get that in our lives from time to time, and it leads us to take stock of what’s going on in us and around us.  For me, of course, it’s this impending move, just ten days from now.  I’m trying to finish up things here at Saint Petronille, and I’ve been fielding calls and emails from Notre Dame to make decisions about things that are coming up quick, like the celebrations of Christmas, and things like that.  I’m starting to go through the very unpleasant task of packing – I just hate that! – and I feel like I’m starting to live out of boxes, and that’s only just begun!  Times of transition are like that; they are disconcerting, unsettling – they give you that distinct feeling that things just aren’t right.

    We could all probably think of times in our lives when things just haven’t been right: times of transition, times dealing with the illness of a loved one, or family difficulty, times when we have been looking for new work or trying to discern a path in life.  These are unsettling times that we all have to experience every now and then.

    But at some point in our lives we find that even this kind of thing is merely a drop in the bucket. At what point did you figure out a lot of things in this world just weren’t right? We could cite many examples: rising violence in our communities, declining respect for authority, terrorism, fear and war, poverty, hunger and homelessness, corruption in politics on every conceivable level, the proliferation of consumerism, greed, and overconsumption, pollution of the environment, and more. All it takes is a few minutes’ worth of the evening news to let us know that somewhere at the core, fundamentally, our world just isn’t right.

    God knows it isn’t right. And he’s known for a long time. The whole Old Testament is filled with God’s lament of how things went wrong, and his attempts to bring it back. The fourth Eucharistic Prayer sums it up by saying to God, “Again and again you offered a covenant to man, and through the prophets taught him to hope for salvation.” But, as we well know from our studies of the Scriptures and its proclamation in the Liturgy, again and again humankind turned away from the covenant and away from the God of our salvation. Ever since the fall, things just haven’t been right.

    So what is it going to take for all of this to turn around?  What is going to get things whipped into shape?  Albert Einstein once said something like that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.  Nothing ever changes if nothing ever changes.  Things don’t suddenly become right by continuing to do the wrong thing.  I really think the only way things will ever change is by starting over.  And that’s what I believe God is doing.

    Today’s first reading speaks of this new creation: a shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse.  A young woman in my previous parish once visited the concentration camp at Auschwitz.  She saw the horrible death chambers and holding cells.  But she also noticed, that growing up through the cracks in the asphalt, were some beautiful little wild flowers.  Her tour guide commented that that was nature’s way of healing what had gone on there.  It was a new creation, breaking up through the horrible devastation of the murder and destruction that had reigned in that place.

    The bud that blossoms from God’s new creation is something completely different, something incredibly wonderful, something that would never be possible in the old order:  “The wolf shall be a guest of the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and the young lion shall browse together, with a little child to guide them.”  None of those species would ever get along in the old creation; none of them would ever have been safe.  But in the new creation, all of them will know the Lord, and that knowledge will give them new life, a new direction, new hope and a new salvation.

    In today’s gospel reading, Saint John the Baptist proclaims the coming of Christ who will do things in a new way, too:  “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.”  The all-consuming fire of the Holy Spirit will burn away all that is not right and heat up all that has been frozen in listless despair for far too long.  That fire will force a division between what is old and just not right, and what is of the new creation:  “He will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

    All of these are nice words, and the idea of a new creation is one for which I think we all inwardly yearn.  But what does it really mean?  What does it look like?  How will we know that we are moving toward new creation and new life?  I think Saint Paul gives us a hint in the second reading today: “May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to think in harmony with one another, in keeping with Christ Jesus, that with one accord you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.”  We are to be people who think and act in harmony with one another and with Christ.

    Which is, as most things are, easier to say than to actually do.  For one thing, if we are really to be created anew, that means that some of the old stuff has to die: the death chambers have to be closed, the chaff has to be burnt up in the fire.  Our old, stinkin’ attitudes have to be abandoned: resentments have to be put aside, rivalries have to be ended, forgiveness has to be offered and accepted, jealousies have to be thrown away.  All of that festering, disease-ridden thinking has to be put to death if we are ever to experience new life.

    The death of that old nonsense then has to give way to the new life that God intends for us.  We have to be a people marked by new attitudes, new grace, new love.  We have to strive for peace and justice – real peace and real justice available to everyone God has created.  We have to be a community who worships God not just here in Church, but also out there in our daily lives: a community that insists on integrity, a community that genuinely cares for those who are sick, in need, or lost.  We have to be a people who worship God first every Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation, who confess our sins with hope of God’s mercy, who give priority to prayer in the midst of our crazy lives.

    Most of all, we have to be a people who are open to being re-created.  If we are not willing to put to death our old stinkin’ selves and embrace new attitudes and ways of living, then we are proving Einstein right: we are doing the same old thing and hoping for a different result.  It doesn’t work that way.  We have to cooperate with God’s new creation, we have to be eager to let God do something new.  We have to be willing to live out of boxes for a while, so that the transition can take place.  We have to have unwavering hope that giving ourselves to God’s re-creation will be worth it, if not immediately, then certainly in the long run.  We have to truly believe our Psalmist’s song: “Justice will flower in his time, and fullness of peace for ever.”

  • Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

    Wednesday of the First Week of Advent

    Today’s readings

    We are a people who are always in a rush, and so way too often we pick up a bite to eat on the run.  We stop at fast food places so often that they are a thriving industry, all of this to the detriment of our health.  We offer this same mentality, at times, to our relationship with Christ.  Today’s readings tell us of the feast that God would spread out for us – nourishment for our bodies and our souls. Advent is a time for us to slow down and feast on the hope that God provides for us.  Not some fast food quick bite to eat, but rich, juicy fare.  All we need to do is pull up a chair and really enter into the feast.

  • Monday of the First Week of Advent

    Monday of the First Week of Advent

    Today’s readings

    Could you do that?  You have someone close to you at home, and you know Jesus is near and one visit could heal her or him.  Yet, you realize the unworthiness that you have, that we all have, for him to come under your roof.  Would you have faith enough to tell him not to come, but just say the word.  Would you be confident enough that his word would heal your loved one?

    That’s the faith we are called to have, and I wonder if we have that kind of faith when we pray.  Do we trust God enough to let him “say the word” and then know that we don’t have to set “Plan B” in motion?  Today’s Scriptures call us to greater trust as we begin this Advent journey to the house of the Lord.  In what way do we need to trust God more today?

  • The First Sunday of Advent [A]

    The First Sunday of Advent [A]

    Today’s readings

    I don’t know about you, but I always find this weekend after Thanksgiving to be a little strange.  And I love Thanksgiving: what a great holiday when we don’t have to worry about shopping for gifts, but instead can concentrate on a nice meal with family or friends, or whatever our traditions may be.  But this weekend, as a whole, has become rather strange, and I think I’ve always struggled a bit with it.

    Here is a weekend when we can barely clear the plates at the Thanksgiving dinner table before we have to make room for Christmas.  And I’m not talking about the religious implications of Christmas here, but you know I mean all the secular trappings of that holy day.  It begins about Halloween, or maybe a little earlier, when you start to see the stores slowly make room for the Christmas stuff.  They sneak in some “holiday” signs here and there, and start to weave the garland in to the end of the aisles, just past the Halloween costumes.  On Thanksgiving day, you hear the great “thud” of the daily newspaper, heavier than it is on most Sundays because of all the “Black Friday” sales.

    And then there’s that horrible thing – Black Friday – what a nasty, evil name for a day that is, well, nasty and evil.  I loathe the idea of even getting in the car to drive to the drug store to pick up a prescription on that day.  And you can get an earlier and earlier start on the madness every year; this year the friendly folks at Kohl’s were waiting for you at 3am – at least that’s what I gathered from their advertisements for I have no personal experience to verify that fact!  We barely have time to gather up the pumpkins and corn stalks and autumn leaves before we have to set out the Christmas stockings and brightly-lit trees and candy canes.

    This is a weekend that has always brought a lot of conflicting emotions for me.  As a Liturgist, I want to celebrate Advent, but we don’t get to do that at least in the secular world.  And I’m not a Scrooge – I love Christmas, but I’d like to experience the eager expectation of it, and to be mindful of the real gift of Christmas, before we launch headlong into the real sappy Christmas songs that get played over and over and over in the stores and on the secular radio stations.  By the way, I do have a list of sappy songs that I could do without ever hearing again.  I’d tell you some of the titles, but I don’t want you to leave here with those tunes going through your head – God forbid!

    And, for a lot of people, these upcoming Christmas holidays are hard.  Maybe they’re dealing with the loss of a loved one, or the loss of a job or house, or who knows what calamity.  The synthetic joy of these holidays just heightens their grief, and that makes this season anything but joyful for them.  I remember the year my grandmother on dad’s side passed away.  I went into a store here in Glen Ellyn about this time of year, and it was decorated with all sorts of subdued lighting and homey Christmas motifs, and I had this feeling of grief that was just overwhelming – it came at me out of nowhere, and I had to leave the store in tears for no apparent reason.

    The emotions we feel at this time of year are palpable and often conflicted.  The Church knows this, and in Her great wisdom, gives us the season of Advent every year.  It’s a season that recognizes that there is this hole in our hearts that needs to be filled up with something.  That something isn’t going to be an item you can pick up on Black Friday, or a trite holiday jingle, or even a gingerbread-flavored libation.  Those things can’t possibly fill up our personal sadness, or the lack of peace in the world, or the cynicism and apathy that plague our world and confront us day after day.

    What we’re really going to need is a full immersion of hope.  And we know what – or rather Who – is the source of that hope.  That’s what we really celebrate at Christmas, what causes us to bend the knee in genuflection, what brings us here week after week, or even day after day.  Our hope can only ever come from Christ our God, sent into a world just as listless and cold as the one we live in today.  He came to redeem that world and re-create it in love, painting it all along the way with the bright hues of a hope that can never fade.  We will not find that hope in our own personal resources; we won’t find it in science, in politics, in soccer, golf or work.  We won’t find hope in Oprah or Dr. Phil or anyone else.  The only real hope we have is Jesus Christ, and he is all the hope we will ever need.

    Today’s first reading lights up the way to that hope: “Come, let us climb the LORD’s mountain, to the house of the God of Jacob, that he may instruct us in his ways, and we may walk in his paths.” We have not been left to deal with the sadness of our world without an anchor of hope. That anchor is the Church, the Lord’s mountain, which provides instruction in the ways of God and a kind of roadmap to follow in God’s ways.  Because, let’s face it, our ultimate goal is to come through the Judgment Day and be in God’s presence for all eternity.  God has given us the Church to show us how to get there.

    And that gift of the Church is wonderful, but we must humble ourselves and slow ourselves down to take advantage of it.  The problem is that most people don’t believe in the necessity of the Eucharist and the sacraments any more.  Far too many skip Mass on days when the kids have a sports event, or when they want to sleep in, or when they don’t feel like going through the trouble of getting the family to Church.  Entirely too many people don’t think the Sacrament of Penance is necessary; that they haven’t done anything that bad, or that the priest won’t understand the bad thing they did, or that they can just pray for forgiveness.  There is hope in the Church and her sacraments, and if we don’t take advantage of them, we have to stop wondering why our lives seem so devoid of hope sometimes.

    We absolutely have to stop thinking we know what’s best for our lives-both our temporal as well as our spiritual lives.  Because the Church has two millennia worth of saints who have wrestled with the truth and been victorious over the world by joining themselves to Christ.  We need to open our minds and hearts to the wisdom of a Church that is governed by the Holy Spirit and possesses a Truth that is eternal, irrefutable and able to bring us to salvation.  Maybe this Advent that means that we will humble ourselves and come to the Sacrament of Penance for the first time in many years.  Or maybe in the coming year we won’t miss Sunday Mass in favor of a soccer game, an opportunity to golf, or a really important project at work.  Because as important and wonderful as these things may be, soccer, golf and work will not get you to heaven.  They just won’t.

    Today’s prayer after Communion aptly pronounces what our readings call us to today.  I want you to pay special attention to that prayer when I pray it later on.  It speaks of the Eucharist teaching us to love heaven and says: “May its promise and hope guide our way on earth.”  If we’re ever going to get through the craziness of a secularized holiday and our own struggles and the world’s woes, we need to take a step back, quiet ourselves, and let the hope of Advent brighten our outlook and heighten our longing to be with our God.  May we all be transformed from the cynicism and apathy of our world into the joyful promise of the Kingdom of God.  As the Psalmist sings today, may we all go rejoicing to the house of the Lord.