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Scripture:

Jonah 3:1-10
Luke 11:29-32

Reflection:

The word “repent” has had its share of comedic renderings over the years. We’ve seen stern-faced clerics or rigidly judgmental church-goers get skewered, even exposed, for riding spiritual roughshod over a wayward but well-intentioned individual or a hapless congregation of mere mortals. We relish when the “sinners” are revealed to be spiritually superior to their critical task masters.

And it is good fun. But that, of course, is the comedic inversion of a spiritual practice that has a long and sacred place in our faith tradition, one that we find throughout the Old Testament and continuing into the New Testament.

On the simplest level, in our modern day world I am constantly amazed at how difficult it is to admit even a small wrong-doing. My ego becomes challenged in this way and perhaps yours does, too. I suppose that is because if we acknowledge we made a mistake, fell short of our best or were less than kind, then we must somehow think a little differently about ourselves.  Maybe other people will, too. Perhaps I’m not as smart as I thought I was; as hard a worker; as good a spouse, friend or parent. I become more vulnerable to myself and others without the “shield” of perfection.

I cannot image the king of Nineveh liked it any better when he had to step off his throne, put aside his courtly robes, don a sackcloth and sit in ashes. Could one take a more humble stance than to accept such public repentance? Ultimately Jesus himself will be hung high upon the lowly Cross, not because he is a sinner and needs to repent, but because we do,  and we will need to draw upon His loving sacrifice in order to find the courage to acknowledge our sins, deal with our pain and draw closer to God.

Here we are in Lent, this time of reflection, prayer and sacrifice. There is nothing comedic about accepting the challenge of looking inward and honestly assessing what is in our hearts. It is hard and humbling work, but it is also loving work. In the Gospel Jesus repeats, “…there is something greater than Solomon here…there is something greater than Jonah here.” Jesus is the sign we have been waiting for, if only we will let go of our self-centered needs and allow him to heal our hearts. He is the balm for our wounded, fragile self.

The Lenten footwork of repentance for those ways in which we have turned away from God in our arrogance or hard-heartedness is the preparation for a new life of the spirit. It is our pathway to God’s love. For God knows we are human and He loves us endlessly for it. It is only we who seek false perfection and wind up feeling beyond reproach and alone.

 

Nancy Nickel is director of marketing and communications at Catholic Theological Union in Chicago.

 

 

Scripture:

Isaiah 55:10-11
Matthew 6:7-15

Reflection:

The Lord’s Prayer has a way of triggering a memory in me.  One evening a long time ago – I was about four years old – I remember sitting at a sofa of our small home, watching my mother in the living room with a basket of clothes to be ironed.  It was just my mother and me.  My dad was working a night-shift; my baby brother was asleep in his crib.  I was quietly happy watching my mother at work.  I sat mesmerized as she carefully poured water into the iron.  She pressed a button and the iron hissed clouds of steam.  This was an amazing phenomenon.  Then, she moistened her finger and gingerly touched the iron.  At her touch, it hissed again.   I was dazzled.  Before going into the kitchen, she warned me: “Don’t touch the iron.”

What do you think I did?  That’s right.  In direct disobedience, I climbed a chair, reached for the iron – and gave it a “high-five.”  My whole palm pressed against the hot iron.  Lightning bolts flashing through my brain.  I screamed and jumped about in pain.  My mother rushed in, saw what I did and quickly grabbed some salve to rub on my burning hand.  Did she scold me or punish me?  No. She was too busy relieving my pain, wiping away my tears.

I’ve reflected on that moment years later.  I’ve gained two important insights – three actually.  First, don’t touch hot irons.

Second, Original Sin is a lot like what I did that evening.  As long as I remained in the realm of my mother’s obedience, I was indescribably and quietly happy in her presence.  But when I decided I knew best what was good for me and disobeyed, I felt the excruciating pain, like ejection from Eden.  Does God actually punish us?  No.  We are not so much punished for our disobedience, as we are punished by our disobedience.

Third, God must be a lot like my mother.  No doubt that is why Jesus says pray this way: “Our Father,” or in his Aramaic term, “Abba,” that is, “Daddy” or “Papa.”  He tells us that we are to love God with the intimacy a child has for its parent.   My parents knew me.  They knew my moods, my favorite dessert, and my best school subjects.  When I thought I was being sneaky, they knew that, too.  But they loved me anyway, sacrificed for me.  So too, God knows us as a parent, with all our imperfections and brokenness, our good intentions so often mixed with selfish motives.  But God loves us anyway, with tenderness beyond words.  God never stops calling us to do his will, warning us not to touch the hot iron, because he wants us to be truly happy with him.

That is why every now and then, when I pray Lord’s Prayer, I remember that moment long ago when, even in my burning disobedience, was I loved and rubbed with a healing salve – the balm of salvation, and my tears wiped away.  This great Lenten Season is the time to remember that God loves us as loving parent.  That is why God insists we call him Abba.

 

Deacon Manuel Valencia is on the staff at Mater Dolorosa Passionist Retreat Center, Sierra Madre, California.

Scripture:

Isaiah 58:1-9a
Matthew 9:14-15

Reflection:

In the Spirit of today’s Gospel reflection with regards to Jesus’ explanation as to why his disciples do not fast, it struck me that we are in the age when the “bridegroom is not with us,” so to speak. I truly have to prioritize my attention on His presence in the body of people who cross my path on a daily basis. So my fasting this Lent is to be a discipline of re-calling, re-covering, re-collecting, re-storing and reconciling with those whom, otherwise, I would  have no quality time. A Lenten resolution for me ( and this sounds very mundane, but it does address a real issue ), is to make an all-out effort to deliberately pay attention to the person or natural setting with which I am in immediate contact. Rather than rushing around here and there, I would be conscious of the person, or natural setting in closest proximity to me. How Jesus wants to use the personal, intimate presence of the bridegroom during these 40 days is entirely up to him.

I want to “surrender my priorities as best I can so as to be “present’ to the other.

The Pope’s observation about St. Francis in paragraph #10 of Laudato Si takes up in a fairly comprehensively manner what we are to be about during Lent. (St. Francis) was particularly concerned for God’s creation and of the poor and the outcasts. “He loved, and was deeply loved for his joy, his generous self-giving, his openheartedness. He was mystic and a pilgrim who lived in simplicity and in wonderful harmony with God, with others, with nature and with himself.” In this way, Pope Francis points out (#10) just how inseparable the bond is between concern for nature, justice for the poor, commitment to society, and interior peace.  I want to establish a simple discipline that I can follow in order to alleviate the so-called overconsumption which becomes a distraction in so many ways to building an intimate relationship with Christ.

Fr. Alex Steinmiller, C.P. is president emeritus of Holy Family Cristo Rey Catholic High School, Birmingham, Alabama.

Scripture:

Deuteronomy 30:15-20
Luke 9:22-25

Reflection:

“Whoever loses his life for my sake will save it”

What is the one thing we have in great abundance that God wants?  Indeed, God begs us to give this one thing to him because he doesn’t have it.  It is our weakness.  The Apostle Paul says it so eloquently.  “But he said to me, my grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:9).

Yesterday, with the simple ritual of ashes, we began our Lenten journey.  The ashes are not a sign of our holiness.  Rather, they are a symbol of our weakness.  They mean that if we want to follow Jesus, we must die to ourselves, lose our lives, our weakness, in his grace and power.  That is the journey of repentance, of metanoia.  Lent is the time to change our hearts, our minds – and our direction – in order to follow Christ.

But metanoia isn’t easy.  On the contrary, we are rather skilled at disguising our weaknesses as strengths, even as virtues.   Aren’t perfectionists virtuous at heart?  They’re just trying to make things right, to follow the rules.  And when someone breaks a rule, they are ready to correct them, to “improve them.”  It’s for their own good.  But watch out.  When the rule-breaker doesn’t listen, the perfectionist gets angry.  Or what’s wrong with someone who wants to love and care for us?  Nothing, unless they demand love – and recognition – in return.  When they don’t get it, then love becomes manipulative.  Ronald Rolheiser says those who demand that kind of love will carry our cross – and then send us the bill.

It is only when we die to ourselves and the ego that disguises our weakness for virtue, only when we lose our lives in the life of Christ that we will be truly strong.

During this Lenten season, we are invited to take up our cross.  It is the cross of our weakness.  We are called to follow Jesus.  It is the way of metanoia, when in grace we in change our direction.

Deacon Manuel Valencia is on the staff at Mater Dolorosa Passionist Retreat Center, Sierra Madre, California.

Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

Scripture:

Malachi 3:1-4
Hebrews 2:14-18
Luke 2:22-40 or 2:22-32

Reflection:

On today’s feast of the Presentation of Jesus in the Temple, we have a very personal and cultic set of readings.  “Cultic” means that the people, place and practices of the Temple are the setting for the young family which brings its first born to the Temple, to present him to the Lord.

The first reading, from the Prophet Malachi, anticipates the coming of Jesus to the Temple, as one sent by the Father.  It says:
And suddenly there will come to the temple
the LORD whom you seek,
And the messenger of the covenant whom you desire.
Yes, he is coming, says the LORD of hosts.

Although Jesus is only a few weeks old at the Presentation in the Temple, he is already acknowledged as the one who fulfills the longed-for expectation of a Redeemer for Israel.  This is what the two venerable old people, Simeon and Anna, intuitively see in the child being brought forth in the arms of his parents.  After lifetimes of hoping and praying at the Temple, Simeon and Anna give thanks to God for letting them hold in their arms the greatest sign of God’s love for humankind.

The reading from the Letter to the Hebrews reminds us that even in his incarnation and birth, Jesus is the Savior, whose human nature subjects him to all of human experience, and therefore makes His Passion meaningful for us because he willingly underwent His suffering on our behalf.  Because he himself was tested through what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.

Today is a good day to remember Simeon and Anna when we go to Church (although you will probably attend the Sunday vigil Mass, rather than the celebration of today’s Feast).  Look around, gaze a bit at the older parishioners.  Think of the years that they have faithfully “come to the temple”, paging through their well-worn prayer books for the comfort of their prayers; sitting in quiet silence; asking for special blessing and grace, probably not for themselves, but for a grandchild, a niece or nephew, a son or daughter.  Remember Simeon and Anna, who reached out to receive the Child into their own arms and for a moment were suffused with grace and blessing; remember them when you reach out with your hands to receive the self-same Savior, not just for a moment of blessing, but for the grace of the divine Eucharist in your own being.

Fr. Arthur Carrillo, C.P.  is the director of the Missions for Holy Cross Province.  He lives in Chicago, Illinois. 

Memorial of Saints Timothy and Titus

Scripture:

2 Timothy 1:1-8 or Titus 1:1-5
Mark 3:20-21

Reflection:

Uh-oh!  We have family issues.

I can’t help but smile when I hear today’s reading from Mark:  Jesus came home. Again the crowd gathered, making it impossible for them even to eat. When his relatives heard of this they set out to seize him, for they said, “He is out of his mind.” They had heard he was doing strange things like forgiving sins and healing a paralytic man.  This just isn’t right, they say to themselves.

Jesus even redefines “family.”  When told his mother and brothers are outside, Jesus replies, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking around at those seated in the circle he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

The gospel selection for today’s feast of Sts. Timothy and Titus captures the beginning of Jesus’ ministry.  He had just come down from the mountain-always where important things happen-where he selected his closest companions to share in his ministry.  From the outset of his ministry, Jesus gathers together a band of friends.  Perhaps not all the best trained, well-spoken or polished group of friends.  They didn’t always know what they were supposed to say or do, and they often tripped over themselves.  But they were Jesus’ friends and apostles.

Timothy and Titus were both first century bishops.  But first they were friends of St. Paul.  They knew each other and worked together.  Paul knew Timothy’s mother and grandmother by name.  He says of Titus, you are “my true child in our common faith.”  Paul is now writing from prison, but these two are like family to him.  He, like Jesus, has worked hard to develop another generation of ministers of the gospel who are sharing the Good News.

At the very beginning of Mark’s gospel at Jesus’ baptism, the sky opens and Jesus hears “You are my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”  That Father-Son relationship is deepened and tested as Jesus heads into the desert.  And when he emerges to begin his public ministry, he immediately gathers together his companions in ministry.  He invites these disciples to enter into an ever-deepening relationship, a relationship that is not always clear or easy for them.

It always begins in a relationship.  We live our faith in the context of family and friends, of parishes and schools, at work and at play.  The relationships are never perfect, but they are the place where the Good News is lived out first.  We don’t live our faith alone or among the fragments of broken relationships.  We first must be friends with Jesus, and then with our “families” – however they are defined.

 

Robert Hotz is a consultant with American City Bureau, Inc. and is the Director of The Passion of Christ: The Love That Compels Campaign for Holy Cross Province.

 

The Conversion of Saint Paul the Apostle

Scripture:

Acts 22:3-16 or 9:1-22
Mark 16″15-18

Reflection:

A few years ago, while ministering as Student Director in our formation house in Bhopal, India, I received a call from a young man called Yesuraj. He informed me that a few years ago he stayed in our Half-way home for ex-prisoners, men who just been released from prison in Bangalore, South India that we Passionists had established. One summer, during my own seminary formation years in Bangalore, I was asked to assist in that rehab center. Yesuraj, a teenager back then, was released from prison and entered the program.

Now he was calling me after many years. I asked him where he was and what he was doing for his living. He surprised me by saying that he was on a retreat preaching team at a Charismatic Retreat Center in Bangalore run by the Vincentian Fathers! I wondered what made this teenager change his life from whatever he did to land him in prison and then in our rehab center, to be a messenger of Good News, bringing many people to God! He could have easily returned to his former ways of living like many other ex-prisoners did if he had wanted to do so.

Today we are not celebrating the feast of St. Paul, but his conversion. We remember the conversion and the subsequent holy life of many saints on their feast day, like St. Augustine. But the Church wants us to remember the day Saul became Paul for a very specific reason -the movement and growth of the Church took a different turn after his Conversion.

Paul, known as Saul of Tarsus, was a Roman citizen though Jewish at birth. As a Jew he was sent to study under Gamaliel, one of the greatest scholars of his time. He learned the law and become a fanatic observer of law. He was present at Stephen’s stoning and also approved of it. After his conversion on the road to Damascus, the same charismatic and zealous leader who dragged people out of their houses and persecuted them, becomes a fearless preacher of the Word, established communities and churches, makes leaders out of ordinary people. He would write his thoughts in the most legible way and also intellectualize the Christian faith.

“Go out to the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature.” Paul would redirect his missionary activity towards the gentiles because of the obstinacy of the Jews. It was with single-minded determination that the ‘Apostle to the Gentiles’ preached Christ as the one universal Savior. This Savior he served passionately and selflessly. He let nothing stop him doing it, be it hard work, exhaustion, suffering, poverty or danger of death.

It is a scary thought for many of us that God can call us in our brokenness to be His messengers. ‘Who me?’ is our response. Familiar territory always seems very comforting. Yet when we look at the story of Yesuraj or Paul or many other ordinary people like us, we are encouraged to say, ‘Yes Lord, I can!’

 

Fr. Bruno D’Souza, CP, is on the staff at Mater Dolorosa Passionist Retreat Center, Sierra Madre, California.

Feast of St. Agnes

Scripture:

1 Samuel 18:6-9; 19:1-7
Mark 3:7-12

Reflection:

The recent power ball win of over one billion dollars, by three different parties, is an example of astounding good luck falling into the lap of three families, for no apparent good reasons that the rest of us can determine.    Of course, they were the envy of millions of other competitors for this prize.  As the prize grew in size, the odds constantly increased against any given individual ever succeeding in winning it.   When the grand finale occurred, the realization of what had just happened started moving toward a reflective stage.  And this will likely last a long time.

We have something like this in the gospel reading today, which recounts the stories of two individuals, similarly blessed with their “winnings”, though in presumably lesser amounts.  The gospel regales us with the story, first, of a farmer, or maybe just a bounty hunter, who stumbles on a treasure hidden in a field.  He furtively looks around to ascertain whether this stroke of good luck has been noticed by others, and, then, satisfied that it remains known to him alone, he buries it again so that he can proceed to purchase that field and gain legal possession of it.  And, in the same vein, there is the pearl discovered by a merchant dealing in pearls who stumbles on one of great value and does what he has to do to gain it.

The upshot of these stories highlights what is at stake as we live our lives, and see them ever shortening as we age—perhaps with goals and ambitions for ourselves remaining yet unachieved.  A couple of things to note here entail, first, like the scriptural examples just mentioned, the unlikelihood that we will gain what we want, since the element of stumbling upon our prized goal is rather bleak, comparable to the surprise that is very much part of today’s gospel stories.  And the second concern pressing on us is whether we can assemble whatever it is going to take in order to guarantee that we have the prize in hand.  What can we scrape together to strengthen our hope that we are winners—something, apparently, that the gospel implies is possible for us, unlike the recent power ball prize that hardly seemed to lay within the realm of possibility?

The church tries to soften the anguish of engaging in a losing proposition by discounting or at least diminishing the sinking feeling that we are engaged in an impossible venture, first, by citing St. Paul’s reflection on the unlikelihood  that we are in position to become a winner in our efforts to gain the prize of heaven.  For he seems to depict God at the card table of life, so to speak, holding a set of cards that appears to be a losing hand—really, a terrible one.  For what He has to deal with is ourselves: foolish, weak, lowly, unlikely players in the challenges of life.  And He is trying to win on our behalf.

And win He did, with the unlikely saint we commemorate today: Agnes.  Just thirteen years old, she seemed to have little going for her, with the odds stacked against in terms of the threatening demands that she abandon her faith convictions in view of the terrible forces bearing down on her: torture and death.  It was as unlikely that she could maintain her fidelity to God as winning the lottery, or finding the treasure hidden in the field, or discovering the pearl of great price, for she was facing the powerful, the wise, the strong described by St. Paul.  But she did, with God at the table beside her.  Dealt a bad hand, He proved to be the consummate player in the game of life, by endowing Agnes with an instinct of faith, a kind of spiritual cunning against which the forces marshaled against her were no match.  She proved to be the greatest kind of winner: a saint.

 

Fr. Sebastian MacDonald, C.P. is a member of the Passionist formation community at Catholic Theological Union, Chicago.