Pondering the Word (No. 3)

In today's Gospel reading at Mass (Luke 16:19-31), we hear about the rich man who was indifferent to the poor man Lazarus. Most of us are guilty of this at one time or another, to one degree or another. On a global scale, where "the good life" of so many seems to feed off the plight of the poor, surely we must acknowledge that something is terribly, terribly wrong. Justice demands that we all work together toward correcting that imbalance.

As important as relieving the physical sufferings of poor is, however, it doesn't end there. So many people are poor in so many ways--not just economically, but emotionally, spiritually, etc. And we don't have to travel to a Third World country to find them. They are right at our doorstep--in our homes, families, neighborhoods, parishes, workplaces, and communities. What is striking about today's Gospel reading is the phrase: "And lying at [the rich man's] door was a poor man named Lazarus." This is someone the rich man knew. He could not help but encounter him each day as he came and went. The poor man even has a name--Lazarus. The rich man not only declined to share his abundance with Lazarus. Most importantly, he failed to acknowledge him as a human being--created in God's image just like himself. He refused Lazarus his human dignity by ignoring him.

Michael Casey, O.C.S.O, writes in his book Seventy-Four Tools for Good Living that "the poor are always with us: those who seem to have little talent for anything, those with poor social skills, those burdened with mental or emotional disorders, those whose virtue and commitment seem slight. These are the poor in our midst. We are called on, not only to tolerate their weaknesses of body and behavior--as it were, to secure our own virtuousness--but even more to do what we can to make their lives happier and more wholesome."

So, in this wider context, let us ask ourselves: "Who are the poor lying at my door, and how may I help improve their lot?"

Pondering the Word (No. 2)

"If today you hear his voice..."

Psalm 95:7

"Hear the word of the Lord ... ," begins today's first reading at Mass (Isaiah 1:10, 16-20). "Listen to the instructions of our God..."

"Listen carefully, my child, to the master's instructions," writes St. Benedict in the very first sentence of his Rule for monks. "And  attend to them with the ear of your heart." (This saying is depicted in the image above, a window from the Chapter Room at Saint Meinrad Archabbey. The Latin inscription is Ausculta: "Listen.")

"Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear," Jesus says many times throughout the Gospels.

Are you listening with the ear of the heart? What is God saying to you? Whatever that word may be, are you prepared to welcome it and put it into practice in your daily life?

Pondering the Word (No. 1)

NOTE: Over the last year or so, I've thought about the possibility of posting occasional mini-reflections on the day's Mass readings or other suitable material. What I have in mind is something relatively short and simple, rooted in my own prayer and meditation, and offered up for anyone who may find it helpful in his/her own prayer and meditation. Lent seems as good a time as any to begin. I don't intend to post daily or to hold to any set schedule (at least for now). Rather, I will post when the Spirit seems to especially move me. I imagine the postings to be no more than a few sentences, or a couple paragraphs at the most. The goal is to truly make the Word flesh in daily life. Many posts may be reflections in the form of questions. Simply food for thought along the "Path of Life" upon which we are all journeying. We'll see how it goes. Here is the first:

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In today's Gospel (Matthew 6:7-15), Jesus teaches his disciples to pray by offering them (and us) the Lord's Prayer, or the "Our Father." It is a prayer with which all Christians and many non-Christians are familiar. In the monastery here, we monks pray it together five times each day (and likely several more times in private). Sometimes I wonder if we're a little too familiar with it -- merely mouthing the words without paying attention to their meaning or with any intention of putting them into practice. A couple times (usually while praying the Rosary) I have actually caught myself saying "my will be done" instead of "thy will be done." A slip of the tongue, perhaps. Yet, I wonder: Am I really seeking God and God's will? Or, am I seeking only what I believe God can do for me while doing what I want?

Thankfully, in the first reading (Isaiah 55:10-11), we have God's assurance (fulfilled in Christ) that his Word "shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it." May my will be one with Christ's, and may his will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.

Choosing the wise path

Just as Jesus is tempted by the devil in the wilderness (cf. Luke 4:1-13), each of one of us is tempted on a daily basis to choose the ways of the world over the ways of God. What are the ways of the world? Primarily, “worldly wisdom” teaches that health and wealth, success, and influence (or power) are the ultimate values in life. We want to be disease- and injury-free, prosperous, triumphant, and in control of not only our own destinies, but often those of other people and events as well.

It is neither wrong nor evil to have or experience such things. What really matters is to what extent these gifts are valued by us, how they’re obtained, and how they are put to use. Each of these things, depending on our interior motivations and attachments, can be either the means of honoring God or foolishly forsaking him by making them idols.

The truly wise one, according to our Christian faith, is the one who recognizes that “the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10). This is not a cowering, servile fear. It is grateful recognition of God as the Giver of all good gifts, and ourselves as his stewards and ambassadors responding in love to his divine goodness.

Choosing the wisdom of God also is not a once-in-a-lifetime event, but an ongoing struggle to discern and act rightly. As Scripture scholar and author Barbara Bowe pointed out in her book Biblical Foundations of Spirituality, “In the daily rhythms of life each one must choose between the ways of the wise and the ways of the foolish. In choosing the wise path, we choose the path of life.”

These choices are laid out in front of us every day in myriad ways. Each day, we must make constant choices as to whether to serve oneself or serve others out of love for Christ. Strengthened by that love, let us answer the temptation to act according to the world’s ways with the same words Jesus spoke to combat the devil in the wilderness: “Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.”

Excerpted from Grace in the Wilderness:

Reflections on God's Sustaining Word Along Life's Journey

by Br. Francis Wagner, O.S.B., Abbey Press, 2013

Lenten mercy

What the Christian should be doing at all times should be done now with greater care and devotion, so that the Lenten fast ... may be fulfilled, not simply by abstinence from food but above all by the renunciation of sin.

There is no more profitable practice as a companion to holy and spiritual fasting than that of almsgiving. This embraces under the single name of mercy many excellent works of devotion, so that the good intentions of all the faithful may be of equal value, even where their means are not ... The person who shows love and compassion to those in any kind of affliction is blessed, not only with the virtue of good will but also with the gift of peace.

--St. Leo the Great

More about the Jubilee of Mercy logo

The logo and the motto together provide a fitting summary of what the Jubilee Year is all about. The motto Merciful Like the Father (taken from the Gospel of Luke, 6:36) serves as an invitation to follow the merciful example of the Father who asks us not to judge or condemn but to forgive and to give love and forgiveness without measure (cf. Lk 6:37-38). The logo – the work of Jesuit Father Marko I. Rupnik – presents a small summa theologiae of the theme of mercy. In fact, it represents an image quite important to the early Church: that of the Son having taken upon his shoulders the lost soul demonstrating that it is the love of Christ that brings to completion the mystery of his incarnation culminating in redemption.

The logo has been designed in such a way so as to express the profound way in which the Good Shepherd touches the flesh of humanity and does so with a love with the power to change one’s life. One particular feature worthy of note is that while the Good Shepherd, in his great mercy, takes humanity upon himself, his eyes are merged with those of man. Christ sees with the eyes of Adam, and Adam with the eyes of Christ. Every person discovers in Christ, the new Adam, one’s own humanity and the future that lies ahead, contemplating, in his gaze, the love of the Father.

The scene is captured within the so called mandorla (the shape of an almond), a figure quite important in early and medieval iconography, for it calls to mind the two natures of Christ, divine and human. The three concentric ovals, with colors progressively lighter as we move outward, suggest the movement of Christ who carries humanity out of the night of sin and death. Conversely, the depth of the darker color suggests the impenetrability of the love of the Father who forgives all.

--From the Vatican's Jubilee of Mercy website

How do deal with difficult people

What NOT to do in the Year of Mercy (or any other time).

We all must deal with difficult people from time to time, or even regularly. They're in our families, workplaces, parishes and congregations. They're everywhere--even in monasteries! And, if we are humble enough to be honest, we'll admit that we each encounter one in the mirror every day. All of us are at least occasionally difficult, often due to factors such as stress, fatigue, or ingrained behavior patterns of which we're not even aware. There is a saying that circulates in the monastery from time to time, a reminder of each and every person's brokenness and need for mercy: "On the day you die, at least one person will be relieved." That is true, I believe, for us all.

However, it is also true that there are certain people among us who are chronically, notoriously, and especially difficult. And we have no choice but to find a way to live, work, or otherwise deal with them on a regular basis. Just how do we go about that? We're all pretty good at desiring mercy for ourselves, but it's much more difficult to extend it to others--especially when they seem so undeserving and like, well, total jerks.

The photo above depicts how we often feel about such a person, someone with whom we've simply had it up to here. And it's fine to feel that way. But don't act on that feeling! Either in actions or words. There's too much of that in the world already--either righteous or unrighteous anger begetting more anger and violence. As Scripture says, "Be angry, but do not sin" (Ephesians 4:26).

Instead, in this Year of Mercy promulgated by Pope Francis, let us take our cue from Jesus. He certainly had his share of difficult people with which to contend. Flip through the gospels, and you'll note that it wasn't just the Pharisees who proved a constant source of aggravation. The apostles and even his own relatives and friends could be quite difficult at times. In fact, the instances are quite numerous.

But how did Jesus respond? For this, I invite you to reflect on a wonderfully insightful -- yet short and concise -- article on the subject written by Sr. Theresa Aletheia Noble, FSP, titled "5 Ways Jesus Dealt with Difficult People." You can read it here. 

I suggest that what the author outlines would be an excellent Lenten exercise of extending Christlike mercy in ways that are very concrete and possibly life-transforming for all involved. I may incorporate them into my own Lenten observance.

Jesus shows us how to deal with difficult people. As a human being, he surely felt at times like whacking someone upside the head, screaming obscenities, or quietly seething while plotting revenge. But he didn't. As Son of God, he fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah (42), who wrote:

He will not cry out, nor shout, nor make his voice heard in the street. A bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench. He will faithfully bring forth justice.

What's more, he didn't run away and hide from all the difficult people, even when they badly mistreated him. Rather, he tried, firmly but gently, to engage all people he encountered--simply because he knew that all need healing. He is the Good Shepherd, who says, "I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly" (John 10:10). "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life" (John 3:16). He came to save, not destroy. He came to embody mercy.

As Pope Francis writes in his Lenten message this year: "God shows himself ever rich in mercy, ever ready to treat his people with deep tenderness and compassion ... Here is a true love story, in which God plays the role of the betrayed father and husband ... This love story culminates in the incarnation of God's Son. In Christ, the Father pours forth his boundless mercy even to make him 'mercy incarnate.' ... God's mercy transforms human hearts; it enables us, through the experience of a faithful love, to become merciful in turn." (To read Pope Francis' entire message for Lent, click here.)

Jesus, embodying mercy, engages others in all their obstinacy, brokenness, and difficulty. As Sr. Theresa Aletheia illustrates with specific passages from Scripture, he asks challenging questions, he stands his ground, he knows when to walk away, he does not "people-please," and he is flexible. What he does not do is retaliate or close himself off from others. He simply invites--but never forces--others to see the genuine love and concern he has for them. And once someone who is chronically, notoriously, and especially difficult comes to accept and believe in God's love for him or her, despite all acknowledged faults, then mercy has captured another heart. And there are a few instances of such conversions depicted in the gospels.

As Christ's Body, we are called each day to extend the same kind of mercy--even to the most difficult among us. Especially to the most difficult among us. The invitation goes both ways. It comes from the Holy Spirit, and promises life to all difficult persons. And remember, we're all difficult from time. This wonderful gift comes from a God who loves us so much that he literally reduces himself to the point that he literally places himself in our difficult human hands.

Bearing the Flame

Today’s feast of the Presentation of the Lord, while understated, is one of my favorites during the liturgical year. Recalling Joseph and Mary’s presentation of the child Jesus at the temple in Jerusalem 40 days after his birth while pointing toward the light of the Resurrection, the Living God manifests himself to the eyes of the faithful Simeon. Likewise, Christ comes to meet his faithful people today in the temple of the heart through the Holy Spirit conferred at baptism. Welcoming him in joyful prayer, praise, and perseverance, the life of Christ radiates out to the world.

We began our celebration at Mass this morning with the blessing and lighting of candles, which we then carried as we processed through the church (one reason the feast has the name Candlemas). The Gospel read during Mass for the feast, of course, is Luke 2:22-40, which contains the Nunc Dimittis, or Canticle of Simeon (Luke 2:29-31), which we chant every night at Compline (one of the reasons that office is probably my favorite):

Lord, now you let your servant go in peace:
your word has been fulfilled:

My own eyes have seen the salvation
which you have prepared in the sight of every people:
a light to reveal you to the nations
and the glory of your people Israel.

One reason this feast is special to me personally is because it was on this day (10 years ago, now!) that after a long period of prayer and discernment, I worked up the courage to tell my employers at The Blade newspaper in Toledo, Ohio, that I was seriously looking at leaving and taking up the monastic way of life (many were shocked!). It was an important step—but probably more so for me than for The Blade. On that day in 2006, commending myself to the Mother of God, I signaled in concrete form my intentions not only to my employer, but more importantly, to myself. Unless I did that, I probably wasn’t going anywhere. Though at that time I didn't know I was coming to Saint Meinrad, and still had a house, etc., seven months later I was here.

May each of us, in responding to God’s particular call for our lives, be encountered and enflamed by Christ, who is the Light of the World!