Happy, Happy

I spent last evening at my parents' home in Plattsburgh with three of my siblings (to round things out, I saw number four this morning) and my nieces and nephew.  The occasion?  Yesterday was my brother's birthday...and today is mine.  The festivities included lasagna, ice cream cake, and several games of Candy Land.  My nephew is sporting a not-so-festive face because he'd lost the last round on the game board (not because I generally have that effect on him).

His sister, on the other hand, was more than ready to strike a pose for the camera.  And my younger niece (daughter of the other birthday-boy) took the heavy drinker award at the party.  Chug-a-lug, chug-a-lug...

Now a big word of thanks to all of you, who just in time for the big day pushed the visitor ticker on this blog over the 1,000 mark!  Ah, shucks...you shouldn't have!

Second Decade, Same Mystery

It's hard for me to believe, but it was already 12 years ago today, October 7, 1999--on this feast of Our Lady of the Rosary (and my brother, Todd's, birthday)--that I was ordained a deacon.

As a seminarian of the Pontifical North American College in Rome, I had the unique privilege of being ordained with thirty of my classmates at  Saint Peter's Basilica in the Vatican.  The bishop who ordained us ought to look rather familiar to you, although he went by a different name back then: Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger.  Even before his 2005 election to the papacy, it was pretty intimidating that he was the one before whom I first made my promise of obedience!  I'll never forget the moment in the rite when he turned to the seminary rector (who's since become the archbishop of New York) and asked in his German accent, "Do you judge them to be worthy?"  All these years later, and I'm still trying to be--worthy, that is.

The future Pope's homily that joyful day--excerpts of which follow-- was (no surprise!) quite powerful, and still provides much food for thought for me today...

"We understand authority and service in the Church only in the light of the mystery of the incarnation and the Cross.  If we truly wish to be followers of the Lord and his ministers in the Church, we must seek to imitate his example of service, his example of self-emptying.  We must want to imitate the one who came not to be served but to serve, the Incarnate Lord who in the silence of Nazareth lived and worked as a humble carpenter, who at the Last Supper knelt as a servant before his disciples to wash their feet, and who dies on the Cross condemned as a criminal.  And that is why the credibility of the Church's ministers--that which makes them truly convincing to others especially in today's world--is found above all in the radiance of their desire to take the lowest place, to truly follow in the footsteps of Christ."

"It is profoundly significant that the practice of the Church from her beginning has been that those who will be ordained to the priesthood must first be ordained to the diaconate.  In a sense, it is the Church's way of emphasizing that all ordained ministry is diakonia, a self-emptying service lived out in different ways.  It is the Church's way of saying that only from among those who have proven themselves to be servants will she call men to live that service in the form of the priesthood."

Splendid, Indeed

I took some time late this afternoon to get out and about, climbing Elephant's Head Mountain, about a 10 mile drive south of here.  

There's an about a mile-and-a-half long access road (which is a bit overgrown, so I hiked it), and then the ascent to the summit.

The great views from the top are looking out over Lake Titus--a little gem here in the northern Adirondack foothills.

You see those silhouetted trees to the right?  The one toward the center of the shot had some graffiti carved into it's truck.  When I finally deciphered it (it's gotten a bit weather worn), it read: SPLENDOR.  

Aptly put...

Jobs Loss

Since this blog comes to you from my MacBook Pro (I'm a Mac convert only since June 2010), the death of Apple cofounder and recently retired CEO Steve Jobs has caught more of my attention than it might have otherwise.  For an interesting take on Jobs' contributions and what he might be able to teach us in the midst of our current economic woes, you may want to check out this pithy little article.

St. Bruno

I can't exactly be sure when or why I started becoming a dévoté of the saintly founder of the Carthusian order (1030-1101), but through the years I've visited (i.e. looked on from the outside, since you only get in if you plan to stay) Bruno's original Charterhouse--la Grande Chartreuse--in a stark mountain pass of the lower French Alps; toured the Chartreuse distillery nearby (with a taste test, of course); read a few books about him; collected a number of books by and about his monks; purchased and watched the stunningly beautiful film, Into Great Silence, documenting Carthusian life where it was born; made several hermitage retreats with the Sisters of Bethlehem (who follow a version of his Carthusian rule) in the Catskills; and keep his statue nearby.  I'm fairly certain I'm not cut out for the rigors of the Carthusian vocation...but the silence and wilderness solitude do have their appeal...and have been huge blessings for me in week-long doses.

Bruno was widely recognized for his great learning--having been a teacher of nobles, several future bishops, and even a pope.  But his smarts were not all.  Upon his death in Calabria, his brothers wrote:

Bruno deserves to be praised for many things, but especially for this: his life was always the same. That was typical of him.  He always had a smile on his face, always a prudent word. To the severity of a father he joined the tenderness of a mother. Great he was, but everyone found him gentle as a lamb. In truth, he was the Israelite praised in the Gospel [cf. Jn 1:47].

Bruno was never formally canonized; such honors are strictly shunned by humble Carthusian sensibilities.  But the devotion shown him by his brothers eventually spread through the whole Church.

Over the years, I've lifted a few quotes from the writings of Saint Bruno which have survived the near millennium since his death...all words to live by...

"Only those who have experienced the solitude and the silence of the wilderness can know the benefit and divine joy they bring to those who love them." 

"No act is charitable if it is not just." 

"In the solitude and silence of the wilderness..., for their labor in the contest, God gives his athletes the reward they desire: a peace that the world does not know and joy in the Holy Spirit." 

"If the bow is stretched for too long, it becomes slack and unfit for its purpose."

--Saint Bruno

St. Francis of Assisi

Today's saint really needs no introduction...although his reputation has been so expanded over the years that Saint Francis (1181-1226) might not even recognize himself.  I'm quite certain the poor man of Assisi would be a bit flummoxed by all the fuss.  (At least by all the birdbaths.)

While scholars debate whether the beloved Peace Prayer which bears his name was actually composed by Francis or not (seems it's hard to trace back before 1912), there's another prayer which we can be pretty sure he uttered before the crucifix of San Damiano--the ancient cross from which Christ famously spoke and gave Francis his mission: Rebuild my Church...

Most High, Glorious God,

enlighten the darkness of my heart.

Give me right faith, sure hope,

and perfect charity.

Fill me with understanding and knowledge

that I may fulfill your holy and true command.

Blessed Columba Marmion

Today is the feast of a man who should be much better known.  Joseph Marmion was born in Dublin (1858), ordained in Rome (1881), and became a monk of the Benedictine Abbey of Maredsous, Belgium (1886), where he took the name Columba, and would there be elected abbot (1909), holding the post until his death (1923).  He was beatified on September 3, 2000.

Blessed Columba was one of the most popular and widely read Catholic spiritual authors of the 20th century.  His writings--which were not exactly new or revolutionary, but took a refreshing, "back to basics" approach--were widely translated and distributed.  Blessed Pope John Paul II himself said, "I owe more to Columba Marmion for initiating me into things spiritual than to any other spiritual writer."  Now THAT'S an endorsement!  How unfortunate his books aren't more widely read now...

As if to prove his own saying that "if grace does not destroy nature, neither does it suppress our personality," today's Blessed is here seen--rather unusually--without his monastic robes.  It seems that he passed himself off as a cattle dealer in order to get some of his novices over to Ireland (and out of harm's way) during World War I.  Traveling without papers and hoping to make his way across the Channel, the English authorities denied him entry.  When asked for his passport, the abbot-in-disguise replied, "I'm Irish, and the Irish never need a passport, except to get into hell, and it isn't there that I am wanting to go."  Laughing, they let him through.

I was personally quite struck when I read Marmion's, Christ, The Ideal of the Priest, a few years ago.  The following passage in particular sticks with me:

You should always put on the priestly vestments with dignity.  We read a story in Genesis which may help us at this moment to raise our minds to the truths of faith.  In order that Jacob might venture to approach Isaac and receive his blessing, he was clothed by Rebecca in the garments of Esau.  Then he said boldly to his father: Ego sum primogenitus tuus: "I am your firstborn son" (Gen 27:19).  Our mother, the Church, says to us, "You are going to represent Jesus Christ, your elder brother": Primogenitus in multis fratribus [the Firstborn among many brothers] (Rom 8:29), "clothe yourself in Him": induimini Dominum Jesus Christum [put on the Lord Jesus Christ] (Rom 13:11-14).  Then you can freely approach the Father.  He will see in you, in spite of all your unworthiness, an alter Christus [another Christ].

--Blessed Columba Marmion, OSB (1858-1923)

Running Interference

I wonder if this is how my staff sees me...

Regime Change

With just a few other things going on around here lately, I somehow managed to miss that this Sunday was Respect Life Sunday--that is, until about 10 minutes before yesterday's vigil Mass. Ugh. October just snuck up on me. So it was back to the homiletic drawing board after supper last night to retool the message a bit. Below is the revised version. (I actually think it's better than the first one.)

Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time [A]

Readings

Out for a stroll on an autumn day,

a man found himself alongside a pumpkin patch,

standing beneath a mighty oak tree.

“Sometimes I just can’t understand God’s ways!” he thought.

“Imagine, letting tiny acorns grow on such majestic trees

while huge pumpkins grow on delicate vines!”

Which was right when an acorn dropped from the branches above

and hit the man square on the head.

“Forgive me, Lord!” he instantly prayed.

“If I’d had my way, that would’ve been a pumpkin.

Clearly you know better than I!”  (traditional Sufi story)

This is the third Sunday in a row

that we spend, not among the vines of a pumpkin patch,

but in the vineyard of the Lord.

Two weeks ago, Jesus told the parable of the workers hired late.

Last Sunday, it was the parable of a father

assigning chores to his two sons.

The vineyard was a familiar religious metaphor

for those who heard the preaching of Jesus--

already used, as our first reading reminds us,

by the prophet Isaiah more than seven hundred years before.

This Sunday, the vineyard--

what ought to be an image of peace and plenty--

is portrayed as a place torn apart by violence.

We hear a tale which could easily have been taken from the daily news.

It seems to be a story about “regime change,”

as one ruling class is brought down and replaced by another--

with much too much bloodshed in the process.

Hearing such a parable should give us pause--

as it did the chief priests and elders who first heard it.

Aren’t we the tenant farmers in the vineyard?

Amid all the fraud and corruption,

the apathy and laziness which mark the modern world,

is Jesus putting us on notice?

Of course, that interpretation would assume

that we are the center of the story.

Note how Jesus prefaces his three parables about the vineyard.

He makes it clear that he’s not describing the kingdom of man--

a reality with which we’re all too familiar.

No, Jesus is trying to get us to understand the kingdom of God--

a kingdom which operates

according to a very different set of principles.

You see, in Jesus’ description of the vineyard,

even in light of all the jealousy and greed,

even after rejecting the owner’s messengers and killing his son,

the vineyard will not be destroyed--

not torn down in vengeance by the landowner;

not left to be ransacked at the hands of his tenants.

The landowner stands his ground--

and he’s the center of the story.

There’s no change in regime!

God endures.  And God’s kingdom endures.

Despite the turmoil, despite the rebellion,

God is--and always will be--the only one who’s really in charge.

We’ve simply leased a small corner of the vineyard.

Yes, we’ve been promised a rich inheritance,

but that’s only by God’s free and gracious gift--

not something we can snatch up for ourselves,

by means either fair or foul.

I guess you could say that the three parables of the vineyard

are meant to put us in our place,

and to make sure we leave God his place--

to make sure we leave room for God to be God.

Today is Respect Life Sunday,

and that gives the message of these parables a particular urgency.

Offences against human life,

offences against the dignity of the human person,

come in countless guises:

an epidemic of illegal drugs, and the violence which accompanies it;

the horrors of war, whether inflicted on combatants or civilians;

poisoning the environment and impoverishing rural communities

through the unscrupulous use of earth’s resources;

viewing the elderly and the imprisoned,

the severally handicapped and the terminally ill

as just another expensive burden--

and one we might consider disposing of.

The offences may indeed take many forms,

but the same impulse is behind them all:

we put ourselves at the center;

we want to call all our own shots;

gasping for control even over human life and death,

we attempt to make ourselves God.

Talk about a story of regime change!

This reversal of roles is made oh-so-poignant when we realize

that the generous words of Jesus spoken at the Last Supper,

making sense for us of his self-sacrifice on the cross,

are the very same words so often used

to defend the selfishness of abortion:

“This is my body…but I won’t give it up for you.”

Our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI,

recently shared these thoughts on human progress:

A major examination of conscience should begin today. 

What really is progress? 

Is it progress if I can destroy? 

Is it progress if I myself can make, select,

and dispose of human beings?....

[There is] the claim that…whatever one can do,

one must be allowed to do.

Anything else world be contrary to freedom.

Is that true?  I think it is not true.

We see how enormously man’s power has grown.

But what did not grow along with it

was his ethical potential.  (Light of the World, p. 44)

We, the current tenants, have put a lot of time and effort

into developing the vineyard…

…but for our own gain and entirely according to our own plans.

We’ve been acting as if we’re the landowners.

The result?  A bumper crop of wild grapes--

a bitter vintage leaving many lives crushed in its wake.

For our own sake,

and for the sake of our most vulnerable brothers and sisters,

we must learn again to submit ourselves to God’s designs--

to let God be God.

When we resist the temptation

to take the central place for ourselves,

to imagine that we know better,

then we can live lives--as Saint Paul encourages--

free from all needless anxiety:

lives filled with that peace which surpasses understanding.

To put it in terms I once saw on a coffee mug:

For peace of mind,

resign as general manager of the universe.  (cf. L. Eisenberg)

My friends, that position is already taken,

and by One who’s infinitely more qualified.

We’ve spent three weeks exploring the Lord’s vineyard,

but it takes a lifetime--maybe an eternity--to learn its lessons.

Nourished by the Body and Blood of Christ--

by the fruit of the true Vine--

may we keep learning how to live under the Lord’s regime,

to produce the good fruit of the kingdom of God.

Oh, October

St. Thérèse of Lisieux

Today is the feast of the French Carmelite nun who is known (without hint of irony) as both the "little flower" and "the greatest saint of modern times" (Pope Saint Pius X).

"[Jesus] set before me the book of nature; I understood how all the flowers He has created are beautiful, how the splendor of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not take away the perfume of the little violet or the delightful simplicity of the daisy. I understood that if all flowers wanted to be roses, nature would lose her springtime beauty, and the fields would no longer be decked out with little wild flowers."

--Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus and of the Holy Face

A deceptively simple insight, that.  Guess that's how one gets recognized as a Doctor of the Church.

JC in NY

On this feast of Saint Jerome, the patron saint of biblical scholarship--and recalling that even the devil himself has been known to quote the scriptures--it seemed exceedingly appropriate that my dear friend Ximena should send me this picture she took on a NYC subway:

Saint Jerome once famously wrote, "Ignorance of scripture is ignorance of Christ."  Clearly, Jesus was not a New Yorker...but neither can New Yorkers ignore him these days!  Ha!

Defend Us In Battle

I spent much of the feast of the holy Archangels on "pilgrimage" in the city of Montréal.  Traveling with Fr. Martin Cline, we spent some time in prayer at Saint Joseph's Oratory atop Mount Royal, visiting Brother André Bessette (whose canonization I was privileged to attend just over a year ago).  After a delicious dinner at Le Pois Penché, we reached the true goal of our journey: the Bell Centre, to watch the Montréal Canadiens take on the Tampa Bay Lightning in a preseason game.

Not a bad view, eh?  It somehow seemed fitting to mark the memorial of mighty Saint Michael by watching strong men in helmets and pads swinging sticks in each other's general direction.  Of course, the Canadiens could have used a divine defender--maybe even a multitude of the heavenly host: they lost 4-0.

But we had a great time nonetheless, and recalled that we were keeping up a venerable tradition of priests from the Diocese of Ogdensburg rooting for the Habs.  It seems that one of them--a predecessor of Fr. Cline in his current post--was once treated by his parishioners to a mock funeral down main street, complete with a jersey-draped casket, when his beloved Canadiens narrowly lost the Stanley Cup.  Let's hope for a better ending this year.  Saint Michel, priez pour nous!

Out Loud

Yesterday's Confirmation Retreat for our 10th graders was simply stupendous, thanks in no small part to my dear friend, Michelle Watkins, who was presenter/facilitator.  What a great group of young people!  They were even given a chance to guide their blindfolded pastor through a sort of obstacle course...which included several raw eggs...and which had us all LOL.

Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings

We had a retreat day yesterday for our Confirmation students.

I shared this story with them during the closing Mass

and—since it comes from their world—

I’m not surprised that they liked…

…but I suspect that you will too.

Some time ago I heard a true story about a father and son.

Luke was 12 or 13 and starting to spend a lot of time in his room,

a lot of time on his cell phone and on his computer.

Dad was beginning to feel a bit disconnected from his son,

so he asked Luke to teach him how to text,

figuring this might be a good way for the two of them to communicate.

Luke taught his father all of the mechanics,

and some of the many abbreviations that are part of texting,
like GTG, “got to go,” and BRB, “be right back.”

But there was one abbreviation Luke didn’t have to teach his Dad

since he thought it was so obvious: LOL—

obvious—Dad thought—that it means “lots of love.”

The father saw LOL often at the end Luke’s messages

and was quite touched.

For example, he’d send his son a somewhat stern text

about doing his homework or cleaning his room,

and Luke would reply, “OK, whatever you say Dad, LOL.”

“How sweet,” thought Dad. 

“Even when I discipline him he tells me that he loves me.”

And so, for about sixth months,

Luke father’s sent LOL not only to Luke,

but to nearly everybody he knew.

He thought of it as a virtual hug coming over your cell phone.

When his sister was going through a bitter divorce

on the other side of the country, he texted,

“We’re all here to support you!  LOL!”

When his own father lay sick in the hospital, he texted,

“Get well soon!  LOL!”

The last straw came when Dad was traveling for work—as he often did.

Feeling a bit guilty and homesick, he texted Luke from the airport:

“I really hate being away so often,

but I only work so hard to take care of you.  LOL.”

Which is when he got a reply from Luke entirely in capital letters:

“WHAT IN THE HECK DO YOU THINK LOL MEANS?”

“Lots of love, of course.”

“No Dad,” Luke answered.  “It means laughing out loud.”

And in that instant he realized:

I have six months of texts for which to apologize.

(This father has since gone on to reflect

that the whole mix-up is actually a lot like raising teenagers:

parents keep sending their kids lots of love,

while kids keep laughing out loud at their parents…

…who don’t generally even realize

that their kids are doing it.)  (cf. Adam Gopnik, The Moth Radio Hour, 2009, PRX)

In the gospel, Jesus tells the story of a father and his two sons.

In this case, however, it’s the father who communicates clearly,

but the sons who do not.

“No, I won’t do it,” says the first…

…and then he heads out to the vineyard anyway.

“Yes, I’ll get right to work, Dad,” says the second…

…but he doesn’t go.

It would be easy to conclude from this brief parable
that actions speak louder than words.

And—of course—we know that they do.

A promise isn’t good for very much

until one starts taking steps to bring it about.

But we can take the notion a bit too far

if we start to believe that only our actions really matter,

while our words matter little—or not at all.

In Jesus’ parable about the two sons,

neither son is being held up as a particularly positive example.

The first son may have done his father’s will…

…but only after being incredibly rude to him.

Both sons respond to their father imperfectly;

both sons show that they have some room for improvement.

The big difference is that the first son—

like the sinners who heard John the Baptist—

has begun to make a turn for the better.

He’s taken a crucial step in the right direction.

His change of mind and heart is showing in his deeds;

now he needs to start using words which back them up.

As Luke and his Dad prove so clearly: words matter.

We American Catholics

are spending a lot of time reflecting on words these days

as we prepare for the upcoming changes in the text of the Mass.

In the midst of all the brochures and new music

and bulletin inserts and educational programs being offered,

there’s one question that I keep hearing:

“Why?  Why are they making these changes?

All this trouble, for what?  They’re only words!”

Much of what we say in the liturgy,

we so easily take for granted.

We often speak our responses without a lot of thinking.

A priest was once having trouble with his microphone

at the very beginning of Mass and said,

“There’s something wrong with this mic,”

to which the congregation automatically responded,

“And also with you.”

We can go on for quite a long time

assuming we know what something means…

…only to discover that we don’t really know at all.

I had a friend who made it well into her twenties

thinking that a Christmas manger scene

was called an “activity set”…

…and it took quite a while to convince her otherwise.

The forthcoming changes in the English texts of the Mass

will force all of us—priests at the altar and people in the pews—

to stop and think about what we’re saying.

Even though there are many other good ones,

I think that would be reason enough to make the switch.

Words matter.

And the words we use in worship especially matter

because these words shape our faith,

and our faith shapes our actions,

and our actions shape the world.

In Christ Jesus,

our heavenly Father has sent us a message—

a message filled with lots of love;

a message repeated in every Mass

as Christ opens the scriptures for us

and breaks the bread.

May we be ready to make whatever changes are necessary

to respond wholeheartedly to that love—

both in word and in deed.

The End

I spent this last day of summer enjoying the beauty of Lake Bonaparte (an hour-and-a-half away in northern Lewis County, on the edge of the Adirondacks).  I took a few pictures to share with you...but somehow managed to erase EVERY photo from my camera while connecting to my computer tonight.  Oh well...  I guess you'll have to take my word for it that it was truly lovely.

Happy Fall, y'all!

Get to Work

This is coming to you a few hours later than usual because I spent the afternoon working not in the vineyard, but in the harvest--our parishes' annual Harvest Festival, that is.  (I'd hoped to have some photos for you--and even brought my camera along with me--but never managed to take a single shot.)  Spectacular weather, top-notch volunteers, scrumptious food, playful kids, and dancing seniors all came together to make it a real treat.  And we'll all sleep pretty well tonight, too!

Twenty-Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time [A]

Readings

I want to see a show of hands:

How many of you think that’s the very best parable Jesus ever told?

Just as I suspected…

Now, why do you think this parable isn’t generally very popular?

Because it’s not fair.

I don’t know if I can improve this parable’s standing in the polls…

…but I certainly want to see if I can help you better understand

what Jesus was getting at.

To begin with, we need to realize that Jesus didn’t tell this story

to make a point about fair labor practices.

What’s he teaching his disciples about?

The kingdom of heaven—God’s rule, God’s reign,

God’s breaking-into our daily lives, on earth as it is in heaven.

Now, since this is a parable,

we have to reckon who the characters really are.

The landowner is…God.

His vineyard is…as we just said, the kingdom.

And all those workers?  They’re us—disciples trying to follow Jesus.

But which workers are we?

Those hired at dawn? at noon? at five o’clock?

Oh…that makes a difference, doesn’t it?

If I think of myself as a laborer who’s worked all the day long,

then what’s my gut feeling toward that landowner?

You cheated me!

But if I was hired just before quitting time

and still got a full day’s wage?

Wow!  This is the best boss ever!

So as we take this parable apart,

we see that it’s going to tell us something important

about ourselves.

Who am I?

First: I’m not God.

That landowner asks his grumbling employees,

“Am I not free to do as I wish with my money?”

Am I gonna tell God what to do?

No, we workers—no matter when we were put on the job—

don’t get to call the shots in this vineyard.

Right off the bat, I can tell I’m not in charge

because I need to be hired.

I’m not the boss.  I don’t own the company.

I don’t have what it takes to get by all on my own.

I lack the necessary resources to make my way through this life,

leave alone find my way to the next.

And so the landowner comes out in search of me

and brings me into his vineyard.

So we’re hired workers.

Now—to be honest—are we all putting in a full day’s work?

Oh, I may faithfully show up every Sunday to punch my timecard,

but what about all those days and hours in between?

There are very few people in this world—leave alone in this church—

who can march up to God and demand overtime pay!

Most of us try to squeak by, don’t we?

What’s the least I need to do?  What are the minimum requirements?

When will this homily, this Mass be over with?

Give my full day—every day—to God?  Well…um…uh…

But even if I’m now working full days in the vineyard,

shouldn’t I be able to remember how things were

when I didn’t have the job?

I don’t have to imagine what it was like to be in those shoes.

I’ve been there!  I might even end up there again.

Can’t I at least muster a little sympathy for those hired late?

“There but for the grace of God go I.”

And that’s the secret right there, isn’t it?

That’s the key to understanding this parable: grace!

Our gut—in one sense—is right: God’s way is not fair.

And thank God it’s not fair!

If God gave me just what I deserve,

then I’d be in mighty big trouble.

I once found these three fundamental Christian concepts—

justice, mercy, and grace—defined in this clever way:

   1.   justice: when you get what you deserve;

   2.   mercy: when you don’t get what you deserve;

   3.   grace: when you get what you don’t deserve.

We’re not being cheated at all, are we?

In fact, God is being much more than just, more than fair.

God has put us all on equal footing,

making no distinctions whatsoever,

loving us in a way that’s perfectly unconditional.

Which brings us to another piece of the parable:

the paycheck at the end of the day.

It isn’t really a wage, is it?

It’s only a wage if we think we can earn it.

No, what God wants to give us isn’t the salary of the laborer,

but the inheritance prepared for his sons and daughters.

And by inheritance, I don’t just mean some distant, future heaven;

God’s offering us the free gift of his grace

to get us through each and every day here on earth.

So, who are we?

We’re hired workers, who don’t always get their work done,

and who get so, so much that they don’t deserve.

But this parable doesn’t only tell us something

pretty important about ourselves;

it tells us something pretty important about God.

Who is God?

God is generous beyond measure.

He’ll never run out of capital to invest in his workforce.

There’s no corporate ladder to climb in the kingdom,

no need to fight your way to the top.

Unlike the human economy, where there’s only so much to go around,

in the divine economy, there is no scarcity of resources.

Let’s consider again those workers who get hired at five o’clock.

Why were they still hanging around in the marketplace?

Because no one hired them.

If they were just lazy,

I suspect that they would’ve gone home by then.

But even so late in the day, they’re out looking for work.

They needed the job—to pay the rent, to put food on the table.

So, what if they’d only been paid for an hour or two?

Would’ve hardly been worth it, right?

But God doesn’t tease us like that.

The landowner gives every laborer

enough to provide for himself and his family for another day.

Those who were hired first worked longer and harder, it’s true…

…but they’ve had the security of a just wage all day.

Those who were hired last didn’t know until the eleventh hour

how they were simply going to survive.

Instead of envy, what joy there ought to be

when all the workers realize that each of them

is given exactly what he needs!

I hope this scratch beneath the surface

has softened your feelings just a bit

toward this rather unpopular parable of Jesus.

Maybe I haven’t quite been able to move it

from last place to first.

But that doesn’t matter one lick

as long as I know that God’s generous grace can do so

for a late-hired laborer like me.

Desperate

Those who know me well know that I'm a long-time dévoté of Henry David Thoreau.  But I didn't really expect to run into him (at least, not like this) over my breakfast this morning...

Go West

I heard Christopher West speak to a group of priests, deacons and their wives, and religious from our diocese in Massena today on Blessed John Paul II's "Theology of the Body."  I know Mr. West has his critics...but you won't find me among them, at least not based on the very fine four-hour presentation to which I was privileged to listen today.  Most folks who speak about the Church's vision of human sexuality somehow manage to make sex... well... boring.  Not Christopher!  His blend of learning, reverence, humor, and hope--in my opinion--strike just the right chord for our times.

Among the many points to ponder with which I came home this evening was this gem: "We are only bitter toward the law when we desire to break it."  Think about that a bit...

Thanks a bunch, Christopher!

In My Place

I little loving vocational smack down from my morning meditation...

God, indeed, has no need of any of us. Preacher, priest, worker, rich and poor, old and young may try to do their best; but all that they achieve their whole life through, God could have effected by the single act of His decree. Yet He has allowed me the high privilege of partaking with Him in the continuance of the world’s history. He has allowed me to become a partner, a member of His firm, a helper in His voluntary aid society.

Perhaps I long to be this or that, to feel powers within me that are clamorous for expression, yet find no opportunity to put them to their full advantage. I become miserable, discontented, perhaps bitter. Can I never learn that to wherever God calls me, the road must always lie open? If I cannot do what I would like, it is because what I would like is not what He likes. There may be obstacles that I must endeavor to surmount, but do not let me become impatient of them. Perhaps my vocation is only to struggle, never to achieve. As a model husband, citizen, parishioner, nay, as a model Catholic, I have a vocation sacred and unique. I can imagine a higher vocation than I have, but, for myself, it is certain that there is not a holier one. 

--Fr. Bede Jarrett, O.P. (1881-1934)

Thanks.  I needed that.

Our Lady of Sorrows

Perhaps someone will say: "Had [Mary] not known before that [Jesus] would die?" Undoubtedly.  "Did she not expect him to rise again at once?"  Surely.  "And still she grieved over her crucified Son?"  Intensely...

...He died in body through a love greater than anyone had known.  She died in spirit through a love unlike any other since his.

--St. Bernard of Clairvaux (1090-1153)