In Good Time

   Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time   B 

Readings

So you’ve gone off to college and fallen in love

with a girl who just happens to be from the next town.

You come home for winter break and tell your family all about her—

certain she’s the woman you’re going to marry…

…even though you’re not really even going out yet.

Along with some other friends from school,

you invite her over to your family’s house.

And that’s when it happens:

Your kid brother—wearing one of those grins—

comes bounding in and asks,

“So is this the girl you’re gonna marry?”

And as you drag him down the hallway to lock him in his room

(all the while contemplating doing something much, much worse),

he just keeps saying,

“Why?  I was only telling the truth!”  (cf. R. Veras)

He did tell the truth.

But what your little brother didn’t do

is allow you the time necessary to develop the relationship

on which your heart was set.

Jesus drove out many demons,

not permitting them to speak because they knew him.

Saint Mark’s gospel is full of lines like these:

Jesus telling talkative evil spirits,

the numerous people he’s just cured,

and even his own apostles

to keep a lid on what they know (or think they know)

about his true identity.

It’s not that Jesus fears groupies and paparazzi;

on the contrary, he seems surprisingly at ease

even with the whole town gathered at the door.

But what’s at stake here is allowing for a loving relationship

to mature as it should—all in good time.

Imagine if Jesus had arrived on the scene

boldly introducing himself by saying,

“Hi!  I’m the Son of God, and I’ve come to save you!”  (cf. R. Veras)

That probably wouldn’t have been a winning strategy.

Ever understanding of our human nature,

Jesus puts actions before words.

He speaks to the crowds with a healing touch

before beginning to preach to them.

Jesus knows they have some preconceived notions

about what kind of Savior God would send them.

(You can be quite sure they weren’t expecting a Messiah

who’d claim victory by dying on a cross!)

So Jesus is careful not to get the cart before the horse.

People will have to trust him,

to know for sure that he loves them,

before they’re willing to follow

and start living the new life he’s come to teach.

If that’s the pattern of how Jesus operated

in seaside Capernaum and throughout the towns of Galilee,

then why should we expect it to be any different today?

Jesus touches our lives in different ways at different times.

Sometimes his presence is strikingly obvious;

other times, it seems more like he’s absent.

Sometimes, we can practically feel his hand,

helping us up as he did Peter’s mother-in-law;

other times, we’re ready to commiserate with Job:

“Isn’t life on this earth a drudgery?”

It could seem that Jesus is simply playing hard to get.

And yet,

if we’re only prepared to recognize the Lord and his action

under one set of circumstances—

if we’re only ready for him to save us on our own terms—

then haven’t we, like a mouthy kid brother,

risked killing a potentially long and beautiful relationship

before it even has a chance to get off the ground?

As with any two people who fall in love,

the relationship Jesus longs to have

with each one of us, his disciples,

takes time—sweet time—to develop.

We often want to race to the finish—

to jump ahead to “happily ever after.”

(Just consider how drastically dating and courtship

have changed in recent years—and the effect on society—

and you can see what I mean!)

But growing in trust, growing in love,

is something which must be cultivated and best grows only slowly.

And no one understands that process better

than the One who invented it

while setting up the rest of the universe.

As Saint Paul would later try to imitate,

in Jesus the almighty God became weak

to win over us who are beset by so many weaknesses;

he’d probably have scared us right off if he’d come on too strong.

Yes, the truth is that Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God,

has set his heart on you,

and wants to take you to live with him forever.

Among other things,

he keeps inviting you here,

to the family house, to the family table,

to get to know one another better.

Allow the Lord to always be the one

who guides the course of this deepening relationship.

Trust him, and it will mature as it should—

all in good time.

Barbarians on Main St.

Today Malone revived a long dormant local tradition: it's annual Winter Carnival Parade.   Folks from Old Forge know that this would be a hard thing for me to resist, since I love a parade!  Of all groups to march with, I got drafted by a group of marauding Vikings (long, long story--don't ask).  Of course, I already owned the appropriate headgear (doesn't everyone have such a helmet?) and a long black cape, but what in the world could I carry as a weapon?  So I grabbed the scariest thing I could find around here, the sight of which strikes deep fear in every good Catholic's heart...

Here are a few of us on Main Street, near the end of our raiding and pillaging--which included (gentle) attacks on the Franklin County Dairy Princess and Liberty Tax Service:

As you can clearly see, this group desperately needed a chaplain.  (There was also both a doctor and a lawyer in the group, so we had all our bases covered.)

Funny thing is, those carrying axes and swords kept trying to "shake down" the people watching the parade from the sidewalks ("Arrrr!  What's in your wallet?")...but I was the only one who actually got any money: $2.00!  (It's going in the poor box, by the way.)

Let it...snow?

You know something's not quite right when they're getting almost as much in Rome as I'm seeing here in the North Country...

The Presentation of the Lord

For those who complain that February only has lame holidays, I say: Au contraire!

While much of the nation (OK, folks here in the northeast, anyway) focused it's attention on a groundhog's shadow, today we Catholics focus instead on the Light...

It is interesting to take a close look at this entrance of the Child Jesus into the solemnity of the temple, in the great comings and goings of many people, busy with their work: priests and Levites taking turns to be on duty, the numerous devout people and pilgrims anxious to encounter the Holy God of Israel. Yet none of them noticed anything. Jesus was a child like the others, a first-born son of very simple parents. 

--Pope Benedict XVI, Homily, February 2, 2011

I guess the Light is often found shining gently, quietly right there in the shadows...we've just got to hold still long enough, eyes wide open, to see it.

Happy Candlemas, everyone!
 

Conscience?

The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services' recent ruling on "conscience protections" (or better, the lack thereof) in private health plans has caused a lot of concerned chatter in American Catholic circles for the swipe it takes at both the First Amendment and our moral values as a Church.




You know that something pretty serious is up when you read similar reactions from commentators at both the Wall Street Journal and Crisis Magazine.  Each of these articles (neither of them too long) are well worth your time.

But if time is short, then just watch this brief clip from my friend, Cardinal-designate Timothy Dolan, to get the lowdown.

And--whatever you do--call or email your elected representatives in Congress to let them know what you think.

Get informed...and involved!

St. John Bosco

"How much God has done through us!" the ever humble St. John Bosco (1815-1888) used to say.  "But how much more he would have done if my faith had been stronger."

Setting a high bar for himself (and the rest of us), this tireless priest and friend of youth was also of the opinion: "Let us work now; in heaven, we shall have rest.  How can I be idle while the devil is working?  I did not become a priest in order to take care of my health. Anyone who dies from overwork will attract hundreds to fill his place."

For Goodness' Sake

Without a doubt, the first time I've cited Bart Simpson in a homily...

   Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time   B 

Readings

There are some catchphrases

that just seem to spread like wildfire—

or, better yet, to infect our way of speaking like a virus.

Slogans are picked up from advertisements, movies, music,

and once they take hold, they seem to hang on—

even if we forget where they came from.

 “Here’s looking at you, kid,” comes to us from…Casablanca.

 “I’ll be back,” from…the Terminator.

 “Good grief!” from…Charlie Brown.

 “Don’t have a cow, man!” from…Bart Simpson.

One catchphrase that I’ve heard quite a lot in recent years—

although no one seems to know where it came from—

is, “It’s all good.”

You hear it all over the place.

“It’s all good.”

It sounds nice—very encouraging and optimistic.

The sentiment aims to keep you smiling in the face of any difficulty.

“It’s all good.”

But the trouble is…it’s not.

You don’t have to look very long or very far

to see that it’s not all good.

Sickness and pain are not good.

Death and despair are not good.

Poverty and hunger are not good.

Selfishness and wrath are not good.

Oh, some good can be and often is drawn out from any of these…

…but, no—they aren’t good in and of themselves.

It’s not all good out there in the world,

and it’s not all good here in this sinner’s heart,

and it can be downright dangerous to try and fool ourselves

into thinking otherwise.

Ruins of the Synagogue in Capernaum

Jesus’ encounter with the unclean spirit

in the synagogue at Capernaum

is just one of many episodes in his life and ministry

where he confronts the not-goodness in the world.

And if driving out evil was such an essential part

of what Jesus came to do among us and for us,

then how do we propose to carry on that same battle today?

English author C. S. Lewis—

who returned to the Christian faith in middle age—put it this way:

Enemy-occupied territory—that is what this world is.

Christianity is the story 

of how the rightful king has landed,

you might say landed in disguise,

and is calling us all to take part 

in a great campaign of sabotage. 

When you go to church you are really listening-in

to the secret wireless [communications]* 

from our friends:

that is why the enemy is so anxious 

to prevent us from going.

He does it by playing on our conceit and laziness

and intellectual snobbery.

I know someone will ask me,

‘Do you really mean, at this time of day,

to re-introduce our old friend the devil—hoofs and horns and all?’

Well, what the time of day has to do with it I do not know.

And I am not particular about the hoofs and horns.

But in other respects my answer is ‘Yes, I do.

I do not claim to know anything about his personal appearance.

If anybody really wants to know him better

I would say to that person. ‘Don’t worry.

If you really want to, you will.

Whether you’ll like it when you do

is another question.’  (Mere Christianity)

Now, to think of evil only in terms of devils and demons

does tend to keep the whole matter at a respectable distance.

And the evil, the not-goodness, with which we’re more familiar

is of a rather less-overtly-diabolical sort:

the personal evils of greed and of lust,

the societal evils of discrimination and of apathy,

of warfare and famine, addiction and disease.

“The devil made me do it”

can seem a rather too convenient excuse for these or any other ill.

But I don’t suspect the Son of God

would have wasted so much time and effort

facing off with a mere figment of our imaginations.

As was once so wisely observed:

The greatest trick the devil ever pulled

was convincing the world he didn’t exist.  (cf. C. Baudelaire)

Much like certain catchphrases eventually spread far and wide,

we human beings have long understood

that contact with the bad can infect the good—

that one rotten apple can spoil the whole bunch.  (cf. B. Stoffregen)

A fear of uncleanness, of becoming spiritually defiled,

preoccupied the Jewish religious leadership of Jesus’ times.

But it clearly didn’t preoccupy Jesus.

Notice how he reacts in this Sunday’s gospel.

In the synagogue—a holy place—

and on the Sabbath—a holy day—

an unclean spirit dares to enter and to speak.

But Jesus does not flee—just as he won’t flee

from the lepers or the prostitutes or the caskets of the dead.

Jesus isn’t worried that he’ll catch a fatal case of evil.

No—Jesus knows that his goodness is even more contagious.

He is the Holy One of God, and his holiness rubs off.

The miracles and exorcisms of Jesus

not only challenge the laws of nature, but the laws of society

which tend to keep the sick and the sinner safely at arm’s length.

Jesus, instead, keeps reaching out to the outcast, the untaouchables,

and pulling them back in.

The people of Capernaum recognized

a particular power, a particular authority in Jesus:

his words matched his actions;

what he said came to pass.

He would not be controlled or intimidated by the unclean spirit—

or anything else, for that matter.

It should be likewise for us who follow him.

We do not have to be controlled by the forces of evil—

whether they emerge from within us or without.

Like Jesus, we can—we must—take firm command,

for he has shared his power, his authority, with his Church.

Before ascending to the Father, Jesus tells the Eleven:

These signs will accompany those who believe:

in my name they will drive out demons,

they will speak new languages.

They will pick up serpents with their hands,

and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not harm them.

They will lay hands on the sick, and they will recover.”  (Mk 16:17-18)

Do we really believe this?

Are we ready to rely totally on Christ’s divine authority

rather than any human power?

Do we trust that, by staying in close contact with Jesus,

we can catch a strong case of the all-goodness of the Holy One of God?

Yes, the devil is real…

…but that should be no cause for anxiety.

By his own dying and rising,

Christ has conquered him once and for all…

…it’s just that evil has a terrible time admitting defeat.

It’s claimed that Helen Keller once wrote,

It is wonderful how much time

good people spend fighting the devil.

If they would only expend the same amount of energy

loving their fellow men,

the devil would die in his own tracks of [boredom].**

How true!

If, then, in Jesus, God was sneaking behind enemy lines

(behind the lines, I might add, of a particularly sneaky enemy),

then maybe our best plan of attack is not to charge in head on.

Is not the work of sabotage best accomplished through the back door?

So let us combat the evil found around and within us

by increasing the amount of goodness there

until that day when, at last, we can truthfully say,

“It’s all good.”

*I added "communications " to the Lewis passage 

since "wireless" means something rather different now 

than it did when written back in 1952.

**The quote credited to Keller actually says "ennui,"

which is a really great word...just not used much in these parts.

Goldiblogger

Earlier this week, without any fanfare, this not quite 7-month-old blog passed its 5,000th visit.  (Not too bad for a small town priest sharing a few scattered ideas, if I do say so myself.)  To mark the milestone, I put on a lovely new T-shirt I got for Christmas...

...only to discover it contained a secret message, revealed when I saw it reflected in the mirror:

I think this blogging business suits me just right!

Thanks for visiting...and come back soon!

Outdoors, In God

I'm pretty sure I was 18 when I first read Walden and entered into my most fervent "outdoorsy" phase...so I was both chuckling and deeply touched when I read this during my morning meditation:

Only the person who contemplates the beauty of nature in God and is accustomed to regard it as his voice, his sphere, the mirror of his countenance, can, even in his mature years, experience nature as naïvely and ecstatically as in his eighteenth year, without a drop of melancholy.

--Fr. Hans Urs von Balthasar

I think I hear the woods calling...

I heard it on NPR

This seems particularly appropriate on today's feast of the patron saint of journalists...but let me just warn you: if you're not a total NPR junkie (like me), then don't even bother, because you probably won't find it the least bit funny.  I--on the other hand--think this is absolutely hysterical!  (Please don't be alarmed by the title.)

St. Francis de Sales

Ever both practical and wise, 
the gentle bishop St. Francis de Sales (1567-1622)
once advised: 
"Each Christian needs 
half an hour of prayer each day, 
except when we are busy; 
then we need an hour."

The Power of Words

This may be an advertisement...but it still shares an important truth.



Choose your words wisely.

A Widow's Weeds

How cold was it?

It was so cold in Chasm Falls this morning (still -1º F when I got there a little after 8:00am), that when I picked up the Book of the Gospels from the altar, it felt noticeably frosty in my hands...and when I'd finished reading the Gospel, I was worried my lips might stick as I kissed the page.

Stay warm!

Ordinary?

What we consider to be "ordinary" has a tendency to change with the times, doesn't it?

Once upon a time, the ordinary way to get around was on foot, maybe on horseback. Nowadays, we think nothing of getting in the car to go to the other end of the block. Once upon a time, the ordinary way to make a call was to use the telephone down at the corner store--the one the whole neighborhood used. Now most of us carry a cellphone in our pocket. (Sometimes, one in each pocket!)

39 years ago today, the U.S. Supreme Court made a decision which legalized abortion in this country. Since then, it's become a fairly commonplace procedure--one which has resulted in more than 50 million innocent human lives ended before even having a chance to be born. But let us never, ever come to think of this as something "ordinary." Let us recommit ourselves to working and praying together for an end to abortion and all its tragic causes.

   Third Sunday in Ordinary Time   B 

Readings

Pondering the greatness of God, a man once asked,

“What is a thousand years like for you, God?”

“Oh,” said God, “for me a thousand years is like…one second.”

“Hmm,” thought the man.

“So, God, what’s a million dollars like for you?”

“Well,” said God, “for me a million dollars is like…a penny.”

“Hmm,” thought the man

“Then, God, could you spare a penny?”

“Sure,” said God.  “In just a second.” 

Time.

It’s certainly a central theme of our readings this Sunday:

Forty days, says Jonah, and Nineveh shall be destroyed;

I tell you, writes Paul, the time is running out;

This, announces Jesus, is the time of fulfillment.

It’s long been a human hobby
to mark and record time.

Various cultures have developed calendars

based on the natural cycles
of the sun and the moon.

We measure time with units
from millennia down to milliseconds.

And as careful as we are to keep track of time,

we nonetheless relish
breaking the regular rhythm of things

both with public holidays
and private anniversaries.

It should come as no surprise, then,

that the Church has a calendar of her own.

At its center is Sunday—the Lord’s Day—

a day to be kept holy,
according to the Third Commandment.

Early Christians adopted the Jewish week of seven days,

transferring their Sabbath rest to the week’s first day—

gathering for Eucharist on the day of Christ’s resurrection.

(In case you didn’t know,
in the Jewish tradition

a new day doesn’t begin at midnight,
but at sunset;

that’s why you can go to Sunday Mass 

late on Saturday afternoon!)

Not only does every week
begin with a special observance,

but two principal annual feasts
arose rather quickly:

first Easter and then Christmas,

each one growing to include 

a season of preparation beforehand

and a season of ongoing celebration to follow.

That covers 18-19 weeks.

But what distinguishes the rest of the year?

Once upon a time, the period we’re in right now

was known as the Sundays after Epiphany.

Before Lent begins, we keep basking in the light of Christmas

as its great mystery continues to unfold:

the Word became flesh and dwells among us still,

even as we await his return in glory.

And also once upon a time, the summer and autumn months

were known as the Sundays after Pentecost.

Until the start of Advent, we keep attending to the work of the Spirit

and looking forward to our own resurrection—

all the while, the risen Christ remaining with us,

as he promised, to the end of the age.

But since 1970, these in-between times have been renamed:

in Latin, the tempus per annum—literally, “time through the year,”

and in English usually rendered as Ordinary Time.

That word, ordinary, can be a little problematic.

In popular usage, to describe something as ordinary

means that it’s regular or plain, uninteresting—

maybe even tedious and dull.

(Just try telling a lady, “You look very ordinary today,”

and you’ll see what I mean.)

That could give the impression

that these 33-34 weeks—the bulk of the year—

are basically unimportant:

a boring lull between the fasting and feasting of other seasons.

As you might well guess:

nothing could be farther from the truth.

The “ordinary” in Ordinary Time

doesn’t mean “common” time,

but “numbered” or “counted” time;

we might do better to call it Well-Ordered Time.

This may not be a period for focusing in

on a particular episode from the life of Jesus

or a certain aspect of the mystery of our salvation,

but this is time for looking at the big picture

and making sure everything is progressing as it should.

So the Church wears green during this well-ordered time.

The color of orchards and forests, of gardens and grass,

green is the color of growth,

the color of hope—especially for us living here with cold and snow.

Ordinary Time is a time for us to mature—

to come out of the deserts of Advent and Lent,

to come down from the mountains of Christmas and Easter,

and to graze heartily in the level, green pastures of the Lord.

You can lead a horse to water,

but you can’t make it drink.

And God can put us in lush meadows,

but he can’t make us eat.

As a member of the Lord’s flock,

what am I doing to feed my faith

during these weeks of Ordinary Time?

Are my heart and mind already filled up with junk food?

Or are they starving for lack of nourishment?

As with our bodies, so with our souls:

they can’t grow or be strong without a regular, healthy diet—

not to mention the exercise of putting our faith into daily practice.

As he did with the fishermen Simon and Andrew, James and John:

Jesus calls us away from what the world considers “ordinary.”

This is the time of fulfillment, he says.

Repent and believe in the gospel.

We mustn’t wait
for some extraordinary occasion—

to find some “greener pasture.”

Jesus echoes the prophet Jonah:

now is the time to repent,

to change the things in our lives
that most need changing.

And now is the time to believe:

not as some sort of mental exercise
or purely emotional affair

but, as St. Paul encourages,
to make faith spring into action—

yes, in how we think and how we feel,

but even more in our words and our deeds.

If we choose to follow Jesus,

then we no longer belong
to this passing world;

we belong to the eternal Kingdom of God,

and that Kingdom challenges us

to leave the old behind

and live in an entirely new way.

I suspect that we human beings

are so careful about measuring time

because we know it’s a limited resource:

we can never be sure just how much of it we’ve got,

and yet we know that, with every moment, we have less.

With the strength this Eucharist gives,

let’s make sure our time is well-ordered.

With Christ, none of it can ever—really—be ordinary…

…and we haven’t a second to spare.

Model Child

What a cute kid...and inspiring story...

                                   

                                         

St. Anthony of Egypt

The St. Anthony commemorated today isn't the one who helps us find our lost things.  That St. Anthony (of Padua) is most generally depicted holding a lily in one hand and the Child Jesus in the other; this St. Anthony...well...depictions of him tend to be a bit more colorful.  We generally either see him being "tempted" (attacked?) by a motley crew of rather fantastical demons...

...or with...a pig.

Yup: he's usually got a little piggy peeking out from under his robes or hot on his heels.  Whence his constant porcine companion?  Well, that's a little complicated...

Around the age of 20, Anthony (251-356) sold his property and gave away his inheritance, opting for the life of a hermit in the desert wilderness.  In this solitude he wrestled with the devil (hence the first picture), attracted numerous admirers and disciples (earning him the title "Father of Monks"), and gained a reputation for healing the sick...which leads us to porky.


It seems that Anthony--even from heaven--proved particularly adept at healing those with skin diseases.  And, once upon a time, certain skin diseases were treated with--are you ready?--applications of pork fat to reduce itching and inflammation.  (Maybe Lady Gag was onto something with that--yuck!--infamous meat dress.)

Anyway...this connection between cures and cured meat began to be depicted in art by means of a little porker snuggled up close to good St. Anthony.  Of course, they could have just shown him with a box of this very creative addition to your medicine cabinet...

Who knew?  Bacon has its very own patron saint.  And being a poor, (likely vegetarian) desert hermit, he probably never even touched the stuff.

Making Tracks

                     

A belated Christmas visit from my dear friend Michelle got me out XC skiing in the new snow midday yesterday.  What a treat!

We checked out the trails at the Malone Fish And Game Club, which were wonderfully groomed and well marked.

It was much warmer than the -12 degrees F of the night before...but the wind was a bit more brisk than I had bargained for, hence my red ears.

As to the red on my chin: that's just my "winter coat."  (For those who only generally see me online, I started that little project on Christmas Day.)

Thanks to Michelle for sending me these photos!  (I'm still amazed how you can take such good shots without ever loosing your stride.)

Come & See

Wherever Jesus is staying, I hope it's warm. Brrrrrr...it's sure cold out there!

   Second Sunday in Ordinary Time   B 

Readings

“What would you like?”

That’s a common enough question, isn’t it?

In fact, I find that I ask it fairly often of Fr. Stitt around the rectory—

usually in the kitchen.

“What would you like?”

His frequent answer: “World peace and Christian unity.”

And I was expecting something simple like,

“A cup of coffee,” or, “A little more meatloaf”!

What would you like?

Lots and lots of people are expressing

their big-picture, long-range desires at this time of year.

Turns out that Fr. Stitt isn’t the only one looking for Christian unity;

next Wednesday is the start

of the 104^th annual Week of Prayer for Christian Unity.

Also quite dear to Fr. Stitt’s heart,

that’s hot on the heals of the National Vocations Awareness Week.

Which directly coincided this year with National Migration Week.

Of course, tomorrow we have a holiday

commemorating the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.,

challenging us all to work for an end to racism and bigotry.

Then a week from Monday, on the sad anniversary

of the Supreme Court’s decision in Roe v. Wade,

we’re asked to pray and do penance for an end to abortion.

And in the midst of all these important January observances,

a quick look through my email inbox

reveals messages drawing my attention  

to the dangers of “fracking” for natural gas,

to clergy sexual abuse, to bullying, to homelessness,

and to the tragedy human trafficking.

So very many causes worthy of our time and attention!

What would you like?

A dangerous question, indeed!

Beyond wanting just another glass of orange juice,

the list goes on and on and on…

In the gospel,

two disciples who heard John the Baptist

begin to follow Jesus.

So Jesus turns and asks them,

“What are you looking for?”

Or, to put it another way,

What do you want?  What would you like?

A deceptively simple question!

And they give a deceptively simple reply:

“Rabbi, where are you staying?”

They wouldn’t be following if they believed Jesus

to just be one more teacher like all the rest…

…so they’re probably not looking

for a private tour of his accommodations.

Show us—they’re asking—the place where you dwell,

show us where you can be found—

where we can get near to you,

where we can remain and abide with you.

“Come,” Jesus responds, “and you will see.”

Which could, I suppose, mean, “Come and check out my really cool pad!”

But it more likely means,

Come to where I dwell—come to dwell with me—

and I’ll open your eyes so that you can truly see—

see me and see everything else in my light.

Especially during the current, seemingly endless presidential campaign,

when the candidates’ religious convictions—along with so much else—

are carefully scrutinized and repeatedly picked apart,

we can begin to think that being a person of faith

is essentially about espousing a long list of important causes.

But notice that the invitation extended by Jesus

is not to come and sign a petition,

not to come and join a movement,

not to come and rally for change.

No, Jesus says, “Come and see. 

Come and stay awhile. 

Come and get close to me.”

The late Archbishop Oscar Romero of El Salvador—

who was himself, in fact, killed for his efforts

in defense of human rights—

once said in a sermon,

How I would like to engrave this great idea 

on each one’s heart: 

Christianity is not a collection 

of truths to be believed,

of laws to be obeyed, 

or prohibitions. 

That makes it very distasteful. 

Christianity is a person, 

one who loved us so much,

one who calls for our love. 

Christianity is Christ.  (November 6, 1977)

That our Catholic faith is centered on a person—

not an idea, not on a moral code, not even on a sacred book—

makes our approach to everything else so very different.

To be pro-life, or to be concerned about the environment,

or to build bridges between people of different cultures

is virtuous and noble in and of itself.

But it’s not enough for us to be good humanitarians;

our motivation must be truly Christian.

We must look at things through the eyes of faith—

and, seen through the eyes of faith,

the sweatshop worker, the unborn child,

the family without clean water, the immigrant without health care:

these are not problems to be solved, but people to be loved;

they’re not “issues” deserving of our attention,

but Jesus…in disguise.  (cf. Catholic Relief Services)

When we’re ready to right a wrong we’ve perceived

and climb atop our soapbox,

it’s wise of us to ask, Is this what God wants?

The answer is something best discovered sooner than later.  (cf. P. Cameron)

But we must not forget that, in Christ, God has also asked us,

What do you want?  What would you like? 

What are you looking for?

Certainly, we keep answering with our personal needs.

And certainly, we keep rattling off that long list of requests

on behalf of the whole human race.

But before we express our desire for world peace and Christian unity,

let’s take a cue from those very first disciples and remember to ask,

Where, Lord, are you staying?

Where can I get near to you?

Where can I find you in the midst of the world?

in the midst of my daily life?

Come—Jesus still says—

come to me in the Sacraments and the Scriptures;

come to me in the life of my Church;

come to me in its outreach to hurting, troubled people;

come and you will find me;

come and you will see.

Memory Lane

Blogging to you from a snowy Plattsburgh today, were an afternoon walk through the back fields and woods of Dad's farm took me right through some childhood haunts.  Just me, the falling snow, and a flock of fat turkeys (who were too shy to appear on camera).