Category: The Church Year

  • Tuesday of the Sixteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Tuesday of the Sixteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    A perfectly respectable reading of the whole Exodus story is the allegorical one.  In this reading, the Egyptian army, its chariots and charioteers and even its horses, symbolize the forces of evil and sin.  God loved the Israelites, who are God’s chosen people, and in a sense, you and me, so much that he rescued them from their abject slavery in Egypt, a slavery that we all have to the forces of sin.  Anyone who has struggled with an addiction or any pattern of sin in their lives, can tell you how sinfulness is really its own kind of slavery.  God leads his chosen people away from sin back to the Promised Land, the heaven he promises us all.  On the way, the forces of evil are drowned in the abyss of the Red Sea, which symbolizes the abyss between this world of sin and the Promised Land of heaven.

    I like this allegorical reading because we are all pretty well removed from the ancient history of the Israelites and the Egyptians.  But the slavery that we all have to sin at one point or another in our lives is anything but ancient history.  God intends a very real exodus for all his chosen people, and he continues to do the work of salvation in and for all of us every day.  All of us who are sister and brother and mother to the Lord Jesus, all of his family, are too important to be left behind in slavery to sin.

    All we have to do is follow the Lord through the desert of purification, through the abyss of whatever the Red Sea looks like for us, into the Promised Land.  And it won’t be easy.  If the desert doesn’t discourage us, the abyss will outright frighten us.  But the thought of being back at the fleshpots of our Egypt of sin should easily be enough to keep us all on the journey to get where we’re supposed to be.  We too might sing to the Lord for he is gloriously triumphant.  The horse and chariot of our own sinfulness has been cast into the sea.

  • Monday of the Sixteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Monday of the Sixteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    It’s easy to have faith when our enemies aren’t pursuing us, isn’t it?  When things are going well, we can be people of faith with the best of them.  But it does take a certain amount of sainthood to have faith in the face of opposition of whatever kind you can imagine.  For the Israelites, it was the pursuing Egyptians; for the Pharisees, it was the destruction of their worldview; for us it might be illness, or unemployment, or the death of a loved one.  It’s hard to have faith when our faith is tested.  But that’s when faith is faith, really.  Like the Pharisees, there is something greater than Solomon here.  We have Jesus Christ, who proved that God loves us first by laying down his life for us.  If our faith is real, then we must trust that God has hold of us even in our darkest moments, and that the way he chooses to answer our prayers will be greater than we can imagine.

  • Sixteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time [B]

    Sixteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time [B]

    Today’s readings

    You know, as a shepherd of souls, whenever I hear Jeremiah’s words, I am given more than just a little pause.  These words quite properly give me pause to think about the ways that I have led people – is this the way God would want it done, or have I scattered the sheep and driven them away.  It’s not a bad little examination of conscience for any of us, because in some ways we are all called to be leaders at one time or another in our lives.  Maybe we are leading our families, or leading others in our business, or leading at school or other activities.  We are all called upon to be good leaders when we’re in those positions, leaders who help others to know that they are special and loved and needed.

    Today’s scriptures call us to look also at the people we have decided to follow as our leaders.  And I don’t think there’s any shortage of those who would lead us.  The problem for most of us is deciding which of the many voices out there we will choose to follow.  I think in some ways that’s a big project of our lives, the focus of our growing up.  Many of us would prefer to be “free spirits,” independent souls who don’t look to anyone for advice or instruction.  And that’s interesting except for the fact that it only goes so far.  None of us have ever waded through this life before, so we cannot claim to know how to do it right the first time out.  At some point, we have to look to someone else and claim those ideas as our own, which, of course, they aren’t.

    So again, we’re back to square one.  Who are we going to follow, who will be our leader?  Our society gives us so many options.  We could pick “heroes” from the world of sports, or entertainment, and then eventually we find out their flaws and their worldview doesn’t really help us any.  We might pick wealthy CEOs or leaders of industry, but then money doesn’t buy happiness, as we quite often see in their own lives.  We may turn to self-help books or sites on the Internet, except that they very often make things seem way easier than they actually are.  We may even turn to people on television like Oprah, Dr. Phil, or – God help us – Martha Stewart.  But as wise as they may seem to be, they really don’t care about us personally.  They are content if we tune them in, increase their ratings, and buy from their advertisers.  They aren’t ever going to tell us anything their sponsors don’t want us to hear.

    So we are pretty much in the same position as Jeremiah the prophet.  He was chastising those who were supposed to be in charge of shepherding the people, namely the monarchy.  The king and his court were responsible for the people, only time after time they proved that they were no more up to the challenge of being objective, compassionate shepherds than Martha Stewart is for us.  The problem wasn’t, and isn’t, a lack of leaders, but a lack of leaders who really care about the people they are leading.

    And so it is the Gospel, of course, that gives us the answer to our quest today.  Jesus sees that the people are like “sheep without a shepherd” and he absolutely intends to fill that role for them.  His reaction could have been one of irritation.  Here his disciples had just returned from the missionary journey he sent them out on in last week’s Gospel, and he wants to have them come away to a quiet place, to rest, and debrief.  But they don’t even have that opportunity.  But seeing that they were lost without a shepherd to lead them, he isn’t irritated, instead he has pity on them.

    Now let’s talk a bit about this word “pity.”  I think that word has all kinds of negative connotations for us.  Pity, when we hear about it, almost speaks of a kind of condescension, or at least a begrudging kind of granting of a favor.  But that’s clearly not the kind of pity that Jesus has on the crowd before him.  The Greek word that we translate as “pity” here is splanchnizomai.  Now I’m not a Greek scholar, so I’m not bringing this up to dazzle you with my command of New Testament Greek.  Instead I offer it because I think it helps us shed a little light on what this word really means. Splanchnizomai is an example of onomatopoeia, which, if you’re smarter than a fifth grader, you will remember means a kind of word that sounds like what it means.

    Splanchnizomai has this kind of deep, guttural sound, which makes us think about a kind of deep, guttural reaction to something.  That’s the kind of pity Jesus has for the crowds, a deep, guttural compassion that wells up from deep inside him and makes him want to respond.  This is such a strong word in Greek that Mark only uses it in his Gospel to refer to Jesus, or to describe the feeling that Jesus is having.

    So in today’s Gospel, Jesus has this kind of pity on those crowds who desperately were following him for lack of anyone to lead them.  They were sheep without a shepherd, and he would be that shepherd, choosing to shepherd them by teaching them “many things.”

    This reaction of care and blessing answers the question of who exactly is the true shepherd. We cannot possibly miss it from today’s Scripture readings. If the monarchy of Jeremiah’s time had abandoned and misled the people, then Jesus in his time was all about bringing people back together and leading them to the Father. In another place, Jesus says that he is the way, the truth and the life, and the only way to the Father. He is the shepherd that the people have been longing for, all the way back to Jeremiah’s day and before.

    Back in our own day, we have to come to see Jesus as our true shepherd also. We too, are like sheep without a shepherd at times. We have all sorts of trials in our lives. We struggle with finding the right spouse for marriage. We debate the best ways to raise our children. We agonize over the best neighborhoods in which to live and the choice of a school in which to educate our children. We struggle with the illness or death of those we love. We have problems at work, or lose a job. Life can often be uncertain at best, and we need direction to follow the right way. The good news is that Jesus has splanchnizomai for us too. He longs to gather us up, to teach us “many things,” and to lead us home to the Father. That’s the way it was always supposed to work in the first place.

    The problem is that we are not exactly like sheep, are we? We have our own wills and we tend often to ignore the voice that’s leading us in the right direction. It’s long past time that we all followed Jesus to a deserted, out-of-the-way place and put our complete trust in his love and guidance. We might not be able to take a week-long retreat or find a desert in which to come to Jesus. But we can come here to Church, maybe more than just on Saturday or Sunday. We have available the great gift of daily Mass, and a church building that is open much of the day. We have the Sacrament of Reconciliation to help us to come back to Jesus and to receive the Church’s direction in our troubles. We have the Blessed Sacrament in our Tabernacle in the Chapel where we can pray and actually be in the physical presence of our Lord. Brothers and sisters in Christ, this parish church is our out-of-the-way place. This is the place where we can steal away even for just a few minutes in our hectic day and be one with the Lord. And even if we cannot come to church on a given day, maybe we can find the space in our homes to close the door and be alone with Jesus for a few minutes.

    The important piece is that Jesus is our true shepherd. He is the only voice that has the splanchnizomai to lead us in the right direction, which is home to the Father. We must hear this and turn to Christ our shepherd with the words of the psalmist today: “My shepherd is the Lord; nothing indeed shall I want.”

  • Friday of the Fifteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Friday of the Fifteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    Today, Jesus gives us what might be considered to be his mission statement: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.”  Or at least we might consider this to be his statement of what he wants from us, his people.  And we, like the Pharisees, might be tempted to make all sorts of sacrifices.  That might mean sacrificing our time to work long hours to attain our goals.  Or maybe we sacrifice to give to the poor, or spend more time at Church, or whatever.  None of those things is bad in and of themselves, in fact, depending on our intentions, they are probably good things.  But if we don’t have mercy in the mix, if we don’t then also extend God’s love to our family, coworkers, or whoever God puts in our presence today, then we’ve blown it.  It’s all for nothing.  But, if we put mercy first, if we forgive as we have been forgiven and love as we have been loved, then we’ve gotten our mission statement right, too.

  • Fourteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time [B]

    Fourteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time [B]

    Today’s readings

    When I met with Father Jim before I came here to Saint Petronille a few weeks ago, the one concern I expressed was coming back to my home parish.  I thought it might be weird, and I quoted the exact line in today’s Gospel: “A prophet is not without honor except in his native place and among his own kin and in his own house.”  I asked him what he thought about that and he said he didn’t know; he’s never had to experience that himself.  But, he also assured me that you’d all be on your best behavior!  So we’ll just have to see how that goes.

    But it is a valid concern, because, as I believe today’s Liturgy of the Word is saying, we are all of us called to be prophets.  When we are baptized, we are anointed with the Sacred Chrism oil, the oil whose name has the same root word as the word “Christ.”  In that anointing, we are called to be other christs to the world, we are anointed as Jesus was, priest, prophet and king.  So the mission is laid out for us on our baptism day.  As priests, we are called to sacrifice for the good of others.  As prophets, we are called to speak the truth and witness to the will of God.  As kings, we are called to reign eternally with Christ our King in the kingdom that knows no end.

    Today, I want to focus, as our readings suggest, on the whole idea of us being anointed as prophets to the world.  This presents two important issues.  First, whether we like it or not, we are called to be prophets.  And second, whether we like it or not, there are prophets among us.

    So first, we are called to be prophets.  And we may in fact not be thrilled about being prophets.  With good reason, I think, because a prophet’s job is not an easy one.  Prophets are called to witness to the truth, and quite often, people just don’t want to hear about the truth.  God says as much to Ezekiel in today’s first reading: “Hard of face and obstinate of heart are they to whom I am sending you.”  You know, that’s not a scriptural quotation you’ll often see on a vocation poster!  But it’s a warning we all need to hear, because we will always in our witnessing to the truth come up against those who don’t want to hear it.  You might be witnessing to the truth by taking a stand against a business practice you aren’t comfortable with.  You can bet that won’t be popular.  You might be witnessing to the truth by refusing to allow your children to participate in sports when it conflicts with coming to church on Sunday, that won’t be popular either.  Whenever we exercise our ministry as prophets, we are certain to run up against people who are hard of face and obstinate of heart, but our call is the same as Ezekiel’s: witness anyway.

    And second, we need to recognize that there are prophets among us.  And that’s hard too because prophets can be a real pain.  None of us wants to be confronted when we’re straying from the right way.  None of us wants to hear the truth about ourselves or others when we’ve been blocking it out.  None of us wants to be called out of our comfort zone and have to extend ourselves to reach out in new ways or meet the needs of those we’d rather ignore.  But prophets insist that we do all those things.

    It’s harder still when we know those prophets.  They might be our spouses, our parents, our children, our best friends, and because they love us they will witness the truth to us.  But how ready are we to hear and respond to that truth when we are called to it?  Wouldn’t we too want to dismiss the carpenter’s son – or daughter – the one whose parents or sisters or brothers live with us, the one we have watched grow up, the one who shares our life with us?  Who are they to be witnessing to the truth anyway?  That’s the kind of thing Jesus was dealing with in his home town.

    It’s like the Procrustean bed from Greek mythology.  The mythical figure Procrustes was a son of Poseidon and a bandit from Attica, with a stronghold in the hills outside Eleusis. There, he had an iron bed into which he invited every passerby to lie down. If the guest proved too tall, he would amputate the excess length; victims who were too short were stretched on the rack until they were long enough. Nobody ever fit the bed exactly because it was secretly adjustable: Procrustes would stretch or shrink it upon sizing his victims from afar. Procrustes continued his reign of terror until he was captured by Theseus, who “fitted” Procrustes to his own bed and cut off his head and feet. And so a Procrustean bed is any kind of arbitrary standard to which exact conformity is enforced.  We might be a lot like Procrustes when we refuse to admit that people among us are prophetic, when we refuse to hear the truth from them.

    And here is a very important truth, the truth that I think we are being asked to take away from today’s readings: the prophetic ministry continues among us.  There are times when we will be called to hear the prophets, and times when we will be called to be the prophets.  Neither task is an easy one: the truth is very often difficult to deal with, no matter what side of it we are on.  But honoring the truth is the only way we are going to get to be with Jesus who himself is the way, the truth and the life.  So it is the vocation of us Christian disciples to constantly seek the truth, proclaiming it when necessary, hearing and responding to it when called upon, but always to be open to it.

    Ezekiel says at the beginning of today’s first reading, “As the LORD spoke to me, the spirit entered into me and set me on my feet.”  We might be ready to skip over that detail but I think we need to dwell on it a bit because it’s important.  The truth is a heavy thing, and very often can flatten us.  It might seem to crush the prophet who has to bear it or even knock the wind out of the one who has to hear it.  But it doesn’t go away.  We are given the truth, and the strength of the Spirit who picks us up and puts us on our feet.  So we prophets can depend on the strength of the Spirit to bear the news, and we hearers can depend on the grace of the Spirit to receive the news and heed its call.  The prophetic word is difficult, but our God never leaves us to bear it alone.

    In our second reading, it is Saint Paul who makes the call so plain to us.  He was afflicted with that thorn in the flesh.  Maybe the thorn was the call to witness to the truth as he so often was.  It wouldn’t go away, but God did give him the grace to bear it.  And the words he heard from God are the words we prophets and hearers of the prophets need to know today: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”

  • Wednesday of the Thirteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Wednesday of the Thirteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    I always think it’s interesting that the demons know who Jesus is.  The Pharisees and scribes and religious leaders had a real hard time figuring that out, but the demons know and are in fear of him.  But the demons do have something in common with the townspeople: neither of them want anything to do with Jesus.  We are obviously here because we want to be close to Jesus, but the challenge is what happens when we leave this nice church and go to our jobs, our homes, or wherever life takes us today.  Will we see Jesus in each person that comes to us today, or will we have nothing to do with him?

  • Tuesday of the Thirteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Tuesday of the Thirteenth Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    I want to feel bad for Lot’s wife in today’s first reading.  Not only is she not even called by name in the entire reading, but she gets turned into a pillar of salt just for a backward glance.  But, sad as it is, this is the whole point of the reading, and it’s not like they weren’t warned – the angel was very clear: “Flee for your life!  Don’t look back or stop anywhere on the Plain.  Get off to the hills at once, or you will be swept away.”  So in some ways, she deserved what she got.  But I think the reading is getting at something a little deeper here than a mere glance over one’s shoulder.

    Indeed the real issue is, what did that looking back mean?  Sodom and Gomorrah were being destroyed for their wanton evil.  They may have once been wonderful cities, but they had become centers of every kind of evil and debased action.  And this evil was so pervasive that no other corrective action other than total destruction of the cities would do.  If yesterday had not been the solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul, we would have heard the famous reading about Abraham and God bargaining to save those cities.  At the end of it all, God agrees at Abraham’s urging not to destroy the place if just ten righteous people could be found there.  Obviously the righteous numbered less than ten, amounting to just Lot, his wife, and his two daughters.

    But, so pervasive was the evil of that place, that it infected even Lot’s wife, who didn’t just glance back to see if she dropped something.  No, the backward glance was more likely sorrow for what she left behind; she was not untainted by the scandal of Sodom and Gomorrah.

    The lesson is that when God leads us forward, we cannot debase ourselves to look back.  The Psalmist has it right today, as always, when he says, “For your mercy is before my eyes, and I walk in your truth.”  Your mercy is before my eyes, so I need to look forward, not back.  Looking backward leads us to our old sinful ways; looking forward is what leads us to our God.  So if God is giving us the chance to move forward, as he did for Lot and his wife and his daughters, then we can do no less than fix our eyes on the path ahead, cutting our ties with everything that is behind us.

  • Thirteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time [B]

    Thirteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time [B]

    Today’s readings

    220jesus_womanThese readings today are just incredible. In one sense, they give us a reason for hope and a foundation for faith, but in another sense, they raise some pastoral questions that are difficult to answer. The very first words of today’s Liturgy of the Word reach out and grab us: “God did not make death, nor does he rejoice in the destruction of the living.” And perhaps we already knew that. Perhaps we know that God does not intend our death or our suffering, but the really hard thing for us is that he permits it. Why is that? Why would God permit his beloved ones to suffer so much here on earth?

    When I was in seminary, I worked as a fire chaplain the last couple of years. We were called out one wintry night, just before Christmas break, to speak to some medics who had extracted a nine-year old child from a badly mangled car, only to have the child die on the way to the hospital. These medics were from a neighboring fire department, so we didn’t know them, and I didn’t have too much hope that the conversation would go well. But, to my surprise, these men did open up and expressed the frustration they felt.

    One of the men was Catholic and he was the one who had the task of extracting the child from the car. His enduring question was, why did this innocent child have to suffer and die? There was no answer for that question, but my fellow chaplain was able to give some meaning to it all when he pointed out that the child died in front of Marytown, a Franciscan monastery near our seminary that provides 24 hour exposition of the Blessed Sacrament. He pointed out that he died near the physical manifestation of Christ’s own body, and that Jesus was always letting the children come to him. They had struggled so much to find a reason for this sadness, but only faith could provide help in the situation.

    Which is the story of today’s Gospel. Two people reach out in very different ways to end suffering and provide healing. One is a man, who approaches Jesus and falls at his feet, begging the teacher to heal his daughter. The other is a woman, who dares not make herself known, who sneaks up behind Jesus to touch his clothing. The situations were different, but what unites them is their faith. They have faith that reaching out to Jesus in their own way will bring them the healing they desire.

    And there was a pretty serious leap of faith involved for the hemorrhaging woman. Touch was her enemy. She had suffered much at the hands of many doctors. Not only have their ministrations failed to heal her, but they have also left her penniless. And to touch anyone in her state of ritual impurity makes them ritually unclean too. So she is totally marginalized: she is a woman in a patriarchal society, afflicted by an enduring and debilitating illness, she has no money to take care of herself, and she is unable to be part of the community or participate in worship. Things could not have been worse. Finding the courage to reach out to Jesus, even in her impure state, she is healed by her faith.

    Now that same faith was lacking in the people who were attending to Jairus’s daughter. They may have believed that Jesus could cure her illness, but now that she is dead, his assertion that she is merely “sleeping” meets with ridicule and scorn. So Jesus has to throw out the faithless ones so that they would no longer be an obstacle. The child cannot reach out to Jesus so he reaches out to her, taking her hand, and raising her up.

    So it’s as simple as that. An act of faith on the part of the hemorrhaging woman and the synagogue official provide healing and restore life. But how realistically does that match our experience? I am guessing that those medics threw up a prayer or two in addition to all of the life-saving actions they performed on that nine-year old when he was in the ambulance with them, but the boy died. How many of us have prayed faithfully, constantly, only to be met by seemingly deaf ears? We don’t even have the same opportunity as Jairus and the hemorrhaging woman. We can’t reach out and touch Jesus in the flesh. So I can’t stand here and tell you that one simple act of faith is all it takes to make all your problems go away.

    But what I will say is this: as I have walked with people who have suffered, those who have reached out to Jesus in faith have not gone unrewarded. Maybe their suffering continued in some way, but in Christ they found the strength to walk through it with dignity and peace. Maybe Jesus won’t always stop the bleeding of our hurts and inadequacies and woundedness. But through his own blood, he will always redeem us. We who are disciples need to make those acts of faith if we are to live what we believe.

    I am struck by the Eucharistic imagery at the end of today’s Gospel. Jesus comes to the home of Jairus and finds his daughter asleep in death. He reaches out to her, touches her, and raises her up. Then he instructs those around her to give her something to eat. We gather for this Eucharistic banquet today and Jesus comes to us, finding us asleep in the death of our sins. Because we are dead in our sins, we can hardly reach out to touch our Lord, but he reaches out to us. He takes our hands, raises us up, and gives us something to eat.

    We come to the Eucharist today with our lives in various stages of grace and various stages of disrepair. At the Table of the Lord, we offer our lives and our suffering and our pain. We bring our faith, wherever we are on the journey, and reach out in that faith to touch the body of our Lord. We approach the Cup of Life, and whatever emptiness is in us is filled up with grace and healing love, poured out in the blood of Christ. As we go forth to love and serve the Lord this day, all of our problems may very well stay with us, remaining unresolved at least to our satisfaction. Our suffering and pain may very well be with us still. But in our faith, perhaps they can be transformed, or at least maybe we can be transformed so that we can move through that suffering and pain with dignity and peace. And as we go forth, perhaps we can hear our Lord saying to us the same words he said to the woman with the hemorrhage: go in peace, your faith has saved you.

  • Saturday of the Twelfth Week of Ordinary Time

    Saturday of the Twelfth Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    Today’s first reading reminds me of times growing up when I’d laugh at inappropriate times, which was pretty often. Come to think of it, some things might not have changed that much, but I digress. But growing up, especially when there was tension, I’d often laugh, and I’d hate it when I got caught. “Who me? No, I didn’t laugh…” That kind of sounds like the conversation between the Lord and Sarah today. Yesterday, it was Abraham who laughed, and for the same reason. They simply could not believe that God’s generosity and blessing could overcome the limitations of their advanced age. But God had plans for Abraham and his family, and so age and even laughter could not prevent the beginnings of the covenant.

    Contrast their incredulity and lack of faith with the faith of the centurion in today’s Gospel. Jesus didn’t even have to go to his house to cure his servant. The centurion’s faith was so great that even distance provided no obstacle to blessing. As I mentioned yesterday, we can’t be too hard on Abraham and Sarah. They didn’t yet have the experience of the Lord that we have, or even that the centurion had. That centurion had seen Jesus’ mighty deeds and probably had come to believe because of that.

    This raises a rather uncomfortable pastoral question, I think. How many good, faithful people, have prayed their hearts out, totally trusting in God’s power to heal and save, and yet their loved one remains ill, or perhaps was not saved from death. That’s a hurt that a lot of people carry with them for a long time, it may even be that they have felt they had done something wrong or perhaps didn’t have quite enough faith. The answer of course, is that none of those are true. God’s answers to prayer can take a lot of different forms, and sometimes he doesn’t answer the way that we would have picked. That doesn’t mean that God is not merciful, just, or good, and it doesn’t mean that we are not faithful. It just means that whatever the blessing is, it’s different that we expected, and perhaps we can’t even see it just yet.

    The responsorial psalm today is actually Mary’s Magnificat, her song of praise and faith. What a wonderful model this is for all of us who struggle with faith and who struggle with the way God answers prayer sometimes. Mary’s life was not without its struggles and pain, but still she was able to sing, “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.” That is the prayer for all of us who struggle but still have faith.

  • Friday of the Twelfth Week of Ordinary Time

    Friday of the Twelfth Week of Ordinary Time

    Today’s readings

    “Lord, if you wish you can make me clean.” In some ways, that is the biggest understatement in all of Scripture. We would say to the leper, “of course God can make you clean, God can do anything God wants to do.” But for the leper, I think it’s less of an understatement than it is a statement of faith. He has obviously heard of or maybe has even seen some of Jesus’ other mighty deeds, and he is expressing the faith that Jesus can help him. The big “if” for him, though is the “if you wish” part. And of course, Jesus does wish, and he is made clean.

    In our first reading, God wishes to bless Abraham and Sarah too. They display far less faith than our leper, but in their defense, they are new to the whole experience of God. They would be happy enough for God to just bless them through Ishmael. But God intends to do more for the aged couple: he will give them a child through Sarah. Abraham laughs in the face of such overwhelming blessing. But it is God who has the last laugh: he indeed gives them a son through Sarah, whom they are to name “Isaac,” which in Hebrew means, “God laughs.”

    God can do anything God wishes. Nothing is an obstacle for God, except perhaps for our lack of faith. If we have the faith that our leper had in the Gospel reading, we might well be amused to see what God can do in us and through us and among us. That doesn’t mean every whim of ours will be God’s pleasure, but it does mean that the ways he blesses us might make us all laugh for joy.