I'm striving to be a "good person"

 

We hear a lot today about “profiling”—ethnic, criminal, athletic and so on.  In reading some of the Book of Wisdom today [Wisdom 2:1, 12-22], there was a “profiling” of sorts of the “just one” (“good people”)—as opposed to those who are wicked.

Just about every day as I read the newspaper, I spend a little time looking at the obituaries and eulogies of the recently deceased.  Some of them characterize the deceased as a “good person.”  The resume of the person’s life will then mention such accomplishments as: the CEO of some company, a Board member of the University, a member of the City Council, always the life of the party, and facts of that nature.  These characteristics might be laudable, but do they make the deceased a “good person?”

I think it’s a far cry from the individual the Book of Wisdom considers to be a “good person.”  In Scripture the “good person” is described as the one who fights against evil, reproaches lawlessness, advocates justice, condemns hypocrisy, avoids impurity, exposes false reasoning and champions the truth.

Wisdom also predicts that the “good person” will be rejected.  He’s a reproach to the wicked.  He puts them to shame.  So they’ll test him with suffering and torture to see how good he really is.  Isn’t that exactly the way they tested Christ?

In John’s Gospel, the people profile Christ and find He lacks the credentials to be the Messiah.  They knew His origins.  But the Scriptures state that no one knows from where the Messiah comes [John 7:1-30].  Of course, the people are judging on physical evidence and even that’s faulty.  He’s definitely the son of Mary.  They’re unwittingly wrong when they think He’s the son of Joseph.  Jesus sets them straight by letting them know that He is from God who is His Father.

This presents a great lesson for us.  It’s the lesson of being judgmental and overly critical of others we know well.  The more we know about someone the more we’ll be aware of their faults and weaknesses.  And if we’re not careful, we’ll focus in on those qualities rather than on the good qualities God wants us to see.

This is what happened with Jesus.  He didn’t have any actual bad qualities.  He was perfect.  But there were most likely many parts of His life that invited the false judgment and criticism of others.  His self-confidence, the authority He manifested in His teaching, the extraordinary compassion He had toward sinners, etc., were all exceptional qualities that some couldn’t (or wouldn’t) understand.  And, as a result, they chose to be critical.  “We know where He is from,” they said.  In other words, they didn’t think that someone they knew could be filled with greatness.

What about those around us?  What do we think about those closest to us?  Are we able to see beyond any apparent weakness they have and see the hand of God at work?  Are we able to see beyond the surface and see the value and dignity of their lives?  When we can see the goodness of others, we must point it out, and be grateful for it; we’ll actually be seeing and loving the manifest goodness of God.  God is alive and active in every soul around us.  It’s our responsibility to see that goodness and love it.  This takes true humility on our part but, in the end, it’s a way of loving God in our midst.

We're never alone

 

Before my retirement from management, I was sometimes (often) frustrated by those under my supervision who didn’t appear to listen.  Despite my best efforts and repeated instructions, suggestions and admonitions, my subordinates would take a different path, turn in the wrong direction or make a dumb mistake.  They knew what they should do, but they didn’t do it.  I frequently found myself sighing loudly and rolling my eyes over their bullheaded behavior that could have, and sometimes did get them into some real trouble, even the loss of their jobs, if I hadn’t “put in a good word” for them with my bosses.

That kind of behavior resonated with me as I was reading my Scriptures today, where Moses interceded for those who had built the molten calf to worship it.  Moses asked God to relent from punishing those who had strayed, who didn’t listen to God and Moses. God listened to Moses and relented [Exodus 32:7-14, Psalm 106:19-23]. In a Gospel reading from John, Jesus seemed exasperated that people didn’t listen or if they did listen, they didn’t hear.  He told of people searching the Scriptures to find eternal life, yet they didn’t want to come to Jesus to have that life [John 5:31-47].

My reflection on these readings made me realize that this lack of listening, or perhaps it’s listening and not really hearing, also characterizes my relationship with God.  I have instructions, suggestions and admonitions, but I sometimes stray away from what I should do and who I should be.  I don’t hear.  I may listen to the Gospel, but I’m easily swayed by my own bullheadedness.  I pray that I really hear God and that I listen with an open heart and a mind and a will that are open to God’s way, not just my way.

Jesus says, “Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and he will give you everything you need.”  [Matthew 6:33]

I’ll be the first to admit that, from time to time, I’ve found myself ignoring God when things are going well.  But when something happens that’s not good — BAM — I start to pray.  I suspect that it’s safe to say that there are many people who will turn to prayer only when something’s gone wrong, or someone is ill, or is in need.

But I’ll also be the first to admit that when I keep a strong, connected relationship with Jesus through prayer, it keeps me grounded when the storms do arise.  It helps me to act as a better person, to forgive, to love.  Rising from whatever tomb I find myself in at the moment isn’t nearly as impossible as it seems when I let Jesus guide me through what have been the toughest times of my life.

He carries us when we can’t walk.

I know how busy we all are.  Believe me.  But there are so many opportunities for prayer we might overlook…  What about driving in traffic, or perhaps while we do our work?  What about praying before our meal in a restaurant, even though everyone can see?  Even pulling weeds or doing our laundry or washing dishes can be beautiful if we can remember we’re accompanied by Christ in every step.

We’re never alone.

The Lord is kind and merciful

 

The last couple of years (especially) have been really tough on a lot of people in our world.  What a great reason then, to reflect Psalm 145! The Lord is Kind and Merciful . . .  And yet, we’re not people of kindness and mercy.  How can we be of the Lord, and yet not be like the Lord in mercy and kindness?  What have I done lately to become kinder and more merciful? The Lord is Kind and Merciful . . .  We’re  bombarded with stories and accounts of injustices and atrocities and hurt and pain from around the world, and we wring our hands in worry and compassion.  What else do we do? The Lord is Kind and Merciful . . .  We hear of problems in our local communities - people without food or shelter or clothing, and we shake our heads in sympathy.  What else do we do? The Lord is Kind and Merciful . . .  We know of relatives - immediate family, extended family - who are hurting from physical or emotional or psychological pain, and we truly feel the pain they endure.  What else do we do? The Lord is Kind and Merciful . . . Kindness and mercy aren’t spectator sports, and Lent isn’t the only time of year in which we’re called to be kind and merciful.  I pray today for the strength to be kinder and more merciful.

Excuses, excuses

As I thought about the little bit of John’s gospel I read today [John 5:1-16], I concluded that it’s a call for a tough challenge this Lent—in fact, for every day of the year.

I can picture the man in this gospel, languishing in the porticoes around the healing pools of Bethesda.  For 38 years he’s been an invalid.  Because Jesus "knew that he had been ill for a long time," He offers him healing by asking a pointed question: "Do you want to be well?"

As I read the man's response, I wondered if the man really wants to be healed.  Perhaps he’s thought of himself as an invalid for so many years that he isn't sure how to answer.  Instead of a "yes" or "no," the guy has an excuse: “No one will help me.”

Jesus doesn’t even acknowledge the excuse.  Instead, He offers an abrupt challenge: "Rise, take up your mat, and walk."

 Wow.  Jesus just tells the guy to stop messing around, stop looking for excuses, start walking.  What happens?  The guy's off for a stroll, his first in 38 years, because Jesus said do it.

It boils down to an emphasis on the word “want”.  "Do you want to be well?"

If Jesus knows where my heart is (He does), where my desire is (He does), then He also knows my capabilities.  He must grow weary of excuses.

"Do you want to be closer to Jesus?  Do you want time with Him?"

I am so busy . . .

"Do you want to care about others?"

I have to take care of myself . . .

"Do you want to feed and clothe the poor, defend the widow, protect the child?"

I'm only one person, and I have this job and my family . . .

There’s no end to my list of reasons why I can’t get off my backside and start walking the Gospel talk right this very minute.  And, Jesus knows, there’s no good reason why I can’t start walking, right now. 

A time of signs and wonders

 

We live in a time of signs and wonders, yet we don’t act as if we believe.  It’s frustrating at times.  And if it’s frustrating for me, a sinner, I can’t even imagine how frustrating Jesus must feel.

John's Gospel rightly notes that a prophet has no honor in his native place [John 4:44].  Since the world has become so interwoven through the wonder of modern technology (as reflected in our ability to view war in real time, with embedded reporters, and combatants able to email family via wireless technology, to see just one wonder), the world really is the "native place" for each of us.  If this is true, then prophets can arise anywhere in the world.  Are there prophets among us now?  Have there been prophets in our recent memory?  Are we paying attention to the prophets among us, or are we giving them no honor?  Do we look only to our own tribe for prophets, or do we look to the rest of our “native” land?

Jesus expressed just a hint of frustration that His own “tribe” didn't believe in what He had to say, and the truth of His prophecy, unless they saw signs and wonders.  If we truly believe, do we need signs and wonders?  Do we need to see, like the royal official, a cure of a sick child to believe in Christ's message [John 4:43-54]?

Well, yes, we probably do.  Our faith is weak, and when we see and understand signs and wonders, we believe in them.  What are signs and wonders?  Many of the examples in the gospels are miracles, but are signs and wonders something besides the extraordinary?  If we have true awareness of God's presence in our lives, and we make an authentic response to that presence, then isn't every aspect of life a sign and wonder?  If our faith should slip, if our response should falter, contemplating life as signs and wonders again can shore up the foundation of our relationship with God.  Signs and wonders can help us feel God's presence and reassure us.  Jesus understood this human weakness, and so used signs and wonders.

But signs and wonders won't help us unless we understand and accept them.  It’s our response to the signs and wonders that is important.  We can see modern signs and wonders, yet what impact does it have on us?  Are we acting as if we believe?  When modern prophets interpret signs and wonders for us, are we paying attention?  Do we use signs and wonders consistent with God's purposes, or for our own?  When we observe the great blessings that modern signs and wonders can provide, do we share them freely or hoard them selfishly?  The most fundamental message from Jesus is to love one another unselfishly. 

Signs.  I don't ask for them, but I've seen them.  And most of them are profound, yet subtle.

Some that I remember are so profound that I can’t stop thinking about them and meditating on them.  As profound as they were, they were also very subtle, and I'm sorry to say that I failed to act on them.

A dozen years or so ago, Marilyn, our daughters, and I were in New York for a short sightseeing trip and to see a couple of Broadway plays.  As we were walking along 5th Avenue in the morning on the way to Mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, we passed by a young man who was obviously cold.  I thought, “Dear God, if this guy is still out here when we pass this way again, I’m going to give him my gloves.”  But by the time Mass was over, I had already forgotten to look for him on the way back.  Later on in the day, we were walking back to the hotel for the evening after a long day of sightseeing, and I saw a woman bundled up against the cold, looking almost dead lying on the sidewalk.  Many people were walking by very quickly, appearing not to notice her.  It was like she was just part of the landscape.  For an all too fleeting moment, I thought I should see if she was all right and maybe buy her a cup of soup or something. I didn’t, though.  Instead, I picked up my pace to try to catch up to the girls, who were crossing the street about 50 feet in front of me.  From that point on in the trip, I really felt bad about my obvious lack of compassion. For all of my noble thoughts of loving my neighbor as myself, I showed a complete disdain for what Christ called the Greatest Commandment.  I think that both of these unfortunate people (signs?) were placed in my path for me to recognize as Jesus, and I failed our Lord’s test.

God, please forgive me - I live in a time of signs and wonders, yet I don’t act as if I believe.  Please strengthen my faith so I can act on my beliefs.

The tenderness of mercy

 

Jesus’ narration of the story of “a man with two sons,” which is probably more commonly known as the story of the Prodigal Son, never loses its power to move me deeply, no matter how often it’s repeated [Luke 15:11-32]. 

Among the many images and lines of text in the story, the scene of the meeting of the father and his repentant son draws me in a particular way.  There the text reads: “He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him.”  This scene has been captured numerous times in great works of art, perhaps most notably in the quietly dramatic rendition by Caravaggio.  Both text and image remain far from suggesting a mere “distant forgiveness” or even a simple “reconciliation.”  The weary son receives more than he could have imagined from his father who has waited patiently for this moment.  Not waiting for any words from the son, and already knowing the sorrow that was in the young man’s heart, the father reaches out with a deeply tender embrace.

Pope Francis, who often narrates his own powerful experience of going to confession as a young man, knows the power of the Father’s mercy and desires that the whole world come to know it.  Some years before his election, in words that say much about this personal knowledge, then-Cardinal Bergoglio went so far as to say: “Only someone who has encountered mercy, who has been caressed by the tenderness of mercy, is happy and comfortable with the Lord . . . I dare to say that the privileged locus of the encounter [with God] is the caress of the mercy of Jesus Christ on my sin.”

The “tenderness of mercy,” the “caress of the mercy of Jesus Christ on my sin.”  The Father of our Lord Jesus Christ desires that we know and experience that.  Where do I need that tenderness, that caress? The call of the gospel is to permit ourselves to be there, to rest there and to ask that we might receive this great grace.

I am reminded of a particular confession I made years ago.  I confessed to what I consider some pretty serious sins and I was taken aback a little by the penance I was given.  I was told to say one “Our Father”.  I thought to myself “That’s it?  Wasn’t Father listening?”  But then again, I was relieved that it was only saying a prayer and not some other penances I’ve been given in the past—like pulling out the prayer of St. Francis when I get angry at others.  That was actually one of the hardest penances I’ve ever received—I later realized how hard it is to remember to pull up a prayer on the smart phone or out of a wallet when I was more focused on anger.  Let’s just say I had to confess to not completing my previous penance once when I went the next time.  My penance for that was a bit tougher, but worth it.

For me, the experience of confession hammers home the fact that we can all share in the same mercy and forgiveness shown the Prodigal Son by his father that was earned for us by Christ on the Cross.  We just have to ask for it and act on it. 

Our holiness comes from God alone

So often in St. Luke's gospel two people are juxtaposed to teach us some truth—the two men who built their house on different foundations [Luke 6:46-49], the two sisters Martha and Mary [Luke 10:38-42], the rich man and Lazarus [Luke 16:19-31], two criminals at the crucifixion [Luke 23:32-55], and in the parable I reflected on today about the Pharisee and the tax-collector [Luke 18:9-14].  “Two people went up to the temple area to pray; one was a Pharisee and the other was a tax collector.  The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself, ‘O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity—greedy, dishonest, adulterous—or even like this tax collector.’”

Jesus gives credit to the prayer of the tax collector and spurns the self-righteousness and contempt of the Pharisee but doesn’t simply see the two in complete and radical opposition.

What Jesus cherishes in the tax collector is the recognition of his sin and his simple trusting stance before God's love and mercy in spite of that sin.  What Jesus doesn’t make clear, at the risk of subverting the importance of this principal message, is that God loves the Pharisee as well and takes note of the fact that he also is making an effort to follow the Law and is praying, even if it’s in a manner that’s blind and even harmful to his spiritual life.  The Pharisee might be a lost sheep, but he remains one of the flock, and one of those whom Jesus is trying to reach.

But how does this touch us personally in our prayer, our actions, and in our growth in God?  In one sense we float between these two positions, sometimes close to one in our feelings and the ways that we act and sometimes closer to the other, yet in another sense we’re always both.  Like the Pharisee we’re yearning to be justified before God, and especially justified by our own efforts, and at the same time we recognize that even such a yearning is at root ungodly: our holiness comes from God alone, as the tax collector realizes.

In this situation, about the only thing that we can do is to be attentive to the problem, to concentrate on our desire for God (responding to His great desire for us), and to pray like the dickens that He has mercy on us and lifts us out of our spiritual poverty.  And that He helps us realize that it’s precisely in that poverty, and only there, that we can be open to receive His forgiveness, healing, and life. 

We all share a common thread....

 

There were so many entry points for prayer and reflection in my Scripture study today for the Solemnity of the Annunciation.  “A sign from God”, “Here I am Lord I come to do your will”, “the will of God”, “the Word of God became flesh and made his dwelling among us”, “do not be afraid”, “the Holy Spirit will come upon you”, “nothing is impossible with God”—these are just some of the threads that jumped out at me as I read and reflected [Isaiah 7:10-14; 8:10, Psalms 40:7-11, Hebrews 10:4-10, Luke 1:26-38].  I couldn’t decide where to focus my attention.  Finally, I decided to try and discover what they all might have in common.  Where I landed was the concept of being chosen and my belief that we’re all chosen by God simply in our being created.  Don’t we all wish to have a sign from God, to know if we’re doing the right thing or doing God’s will?  Isn’t this just another way to say that we’d like to know that we’re chosen?  And yet, we are.  “The Word of God became flesh and dwelt among us” and continues to dwell among us as we each carry Christ to the world.  What an awesomely big responsibility.  But we hear, “do not be afraid, nothing is impossible with God!”  St. Teresa of Avila said it so well when she wrote:

“Christ has no body now but yours.  No hands, no feet on earth but yours.  Yours are the eyes through which he looks compassion on this world.  Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good.  Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world.  Yours are the hands, yours are the feet, yours are the eyes, you are his body.  Christ has no body now on earth but yours.”

Since we’re bringing Christ to the world, maybe it’s important to take a minute and ask ourselves some questions as we pray with Mary: Who is she?  Why was she chosen?  What was special about her?  Today is also a great day to spend some time contemplating how we’re called, each of us, individually and uniquely to bring Christ to the world.  Who am I?  Who has God created me to be?  What’s special about me?  How am I gifted – we all are – uniquely called?  Why was I chosen?  How am I called to bring Christ to the world?

Again, we’re all chosen, created in the image of God, to bear Christ.  How will that manifest in us today?

We WANT to be obedient, but....

 

On different occasions when reading God’s Word, I’ve had this awareness of a strong personal connection to the people whose stories are being told in the readings.  The connection I think comes as I place my trust that I’m listening to “my” God in the readings, who was “their” God, and so He’s “our” God [Psalm 95: 1-9].  I share with them in listening to the instruction, and somehow the connection as family is made.  These people are my relatives in the sense they’ve gone before me.  I sit and learn about their day-to-day life, a life filled with moments of glory and moments of sadness.

I felt this connection today to the people while reading passages in both Jeremiah and Luke.  I found myself relating to the actions of these people from so long ago; I too had wronged my neighbor and then went on about relating to God as if nothing had happened, walking into Mass saying, “Hi Lord, aren’t you glad to see me?  I’m really glad to be here.”

Early in the 7th chapter of Jeremiah, the Lord asks all the people who enter the temple to worship the Lord, to reform their ways and their deeds, and then He lists some of the reform for which He’s calling: “if each of you deals justly with his neighbor; if you no longer oppress the resident alien, the orphan, and the widow; if you no longer shed innocent blood in this place, or follow strange gods to your own harm, will I remain with you in this place” [Jeremiah 7:5-7].  And further on, “Are you to steal and murder, commit adultery and perjury, burn incense to Baal, go after strange gods that you know not, and yet come to stand before me in this house which bears my name, and say: ‘We are safe; we can commit all these abominations again?’” [Jeremiah 7:9-10]

Then, starting with the 23rd verse [Jeremiah 7:23-28], we hear the Lord say, “Listen to my voice; then I will be your God and you shall be my people.  Walk in all the ways that I command you, so that you may prosper” [Jeremiah 7:23].  This was the simple instruction He had given their ancestors when they were led out of Egypt.  In our terms God shows His frustration, when He goes on to say to them (and to us), “but you obeyed not.”  The Lord says we’ve turned our backs, stiffened our necks, and done worse than our fathers (in obeying Him).  And finally, in the 28th verse, God tells us through Jeremiah, “…this is the nation which does not listen to the voice of the Lord, its God, or take correction.  Faithfulness has disappeared; the Word itself is banished from their speech.”  During Lent the Church reminds us to check our slate for all the ways we’re not listening to God.  To come forward and be reconciled, so that we may come to His House and worship the Lord having done all the things He’s asked of us first.

In the gospel of Luke, Jesus had just driven out a demon from a man who was mute, and the man began speaking.  Some in the crowd were amazed and some of the people asked Him if He had done it by the power of Beelzebul, and some asked Him for a sign from heaven.  I’d probably be standing in this last group, because I always seem to need proof.  Jesus reasoned that the devil wouldn’t be expelling the devil out of the man.  He talked to them about kingdoms falling if they’re divided using this example of Satan expelling Satan.  And then He told them the kingdom of God is upon them, since it was the finger of God that had driven out the evil one.  Jesus went on to say “Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters” [Luke 11:14-23].

We want to be obedient Lord, but sometimes we’re so distracted from hearing Your voice.  We thank You for this time during Lent, where some of our TV’s are turned off, and we’ve tried to quiet our lives of other distractions so that we might hear Your call to be reconciled, and thus be able to follow You in Your ways.  We pray for the wisdom to know should the kingdom of God be upon us.   Amen.

Teach your children and your children's children

 

As humans we really like to have some aspects of our lives as clear as possible, especially such things as our debts and our responsibilities.  Matthew’s Gospel addresses that desire and puts it in its place, a place which is not the one which we would ordinarily ask for [Matthew 5:17-19].

Jesus speaks of how He doesn’t plan on abolishing the Law, of how every letter and every smallest part of each letter must be fulfilled; our duty should be clear then, since the laws (or the Law) of the Old Testament are written fairly clearly and have been carefully interpreted by rabbis and scholars over the centuries.

But is our role actually that clear? As it happens, the Church simply doesn’t follow the laws or Law of the Old Testament in the way that Jesus seems to imply that we should—far from it.

I suspect that Jesus curiously insists on the letter of the Law but actually means what seems to be the contrary, the spirit of the Law—the spirit of the Law is not the contrary or opposite of the literal meaning but simply what gives life to the written and explicit form.  I would say that the letter and the spirit (Spirit) are in what can be called a “creative tension” that gives life to those who seek God in a true, serious, and real manner.

During Lent each of us must have that same struggle: is our religious life, our relationship to God, a matter of clear and specific obligations that we can accomplish and dismiss, becoming satisfied and justified by our own efforts?  Or is it a matter of embracing the Spirit, of always going further, seeking a greater light and life in God, yearning for a more personal, ongoing, and interactive relationship, and always getting to know, love, and serve Him more generously and perfectly?

I believe that this is what Christ calls us to here.  Perfect fulfillment of the Law means that we need to follow the Spirit with prayer, fasting, humility, and a readiness to do not only more but better.

Forgive without counting

 

God, in His mercy, has given each of us the gift of being forgiven.  Not only that, but God, in His mercy, has given each of us the ability to forgive.

Actually, we’re given not just the ability but also the responsibility to forgive.  Sometimes we may treat that responsibility as a burden, viewing the act of forgiving as the price we pay so that we can be forgiven.  We do it grudgingly, sparingly.  We reserve the right to rescind that forgiveness if the offending party offends again.   Like Peter, we ask, “Lord, how many times?”  When Jesus responds, He says in essence, “You’re asking the wrong question because you don’t understand.  Don’t count.  Don’t sit in judgment, determining if the number or the severity of transgressions exceeds the limit of what you’re to forgive.  You’re being called to forgive far less than God has already forgiven of you.” [Matthew 18:21-35]

Our being forgiven is inextricably linked to our forgiving others.  These are two sides of the same coin.  Jesus must really want us to know this because He states it more explicitly in two of His most famous teaching episodes.  His Sermon on the Plain states, “Forgive, and you will be forgiven” [Luke 6:37].  In the Sermon on the Mount, He includes “forgive us . . . as we forgive others” in the Lord’s Prayer, then immediately follows the prayer with: “For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses” [Matthew 6:14-15].

Forgiveness is an all or nothing enterprise.  Jesus told Peter (and us) not to bother with counting.  Just forgive, and keep forgiving, never partially or with limits, but repeatedly and endlessly.  We can’t dole out forgiveness case by case or person by person.  We’re either someone who forgives or we’re not.  Forgiving partially or conditionally is not an option.

Don’t count because that conflicts with forgiving.  Jesus commanded us to love one another as He has loved us [John 13:34], and love keeps no record of wrongs [I Corinthians 13:4-6].  As long as we keep track, we still hold onto the first (and second and third) wrongs done to us, and they’re festering, ready to hurt us over and over.  The mere act of counting, of adding to the list, dredges up painful memories.

So forgiving, instead of counting, is an act of obedience that yields immense benefits.  Being able to forgive fully and completely isn’t a burden, it’s a blessing.  When we’re able to forgive, we’re freed from feelings and forces that harm us and those around us.  We can let go of anger, hatred, bitterness, hurt, even judgmental self-righteousness.  Letting go frees us from those pains (and from the chore of keeping count), and it allows us to change our focus away from what was done to us so that we can recall the many good things done for us.  We may not feel that the person who offended us deserves to be forgiven – but we deserve the blessing of being able to forgive.

Simple solutions, extraordinary results

 

One of the biggest complaints we had in my 25 years with U-Haul was the long wait times to be served.  The “higher ups” would try to solve the problem with what they called “labor-saving” devices—like electronic hand-held devices, or programs that involved a lot of training—yet the complaints still kept coming.  The managers who had to take most of the “heat” from the customers grew weary and disillusioned.  I was one of those.  One day, my boss came up with what I thought was the dumbest idea I have ever heard.  “Why don’t you just lift your head from the computer screens once in a while, make eye contact, and acknowledge the customers in line with a smile or a “Be with you as soon as I can!”?  He said what bothered customers the most while waiting to be served was the uncertainty that they had even been seen.  I, and a lot of my peers thought “What does he know?  He doesn’t have to deal with these people!”  "It can't be that simple!"  Because my opinion is that I should follow the direction of a superior who signs my paycheck, I taught my team to do as he suggested, anyway.  We cut our “long wait” complaints 90% in 2 weeks’ time!  All those years, and a simple answer was the most effective.

Sometimes we make our lives and our relationship with God more difficult than it has to be.  This idea is illustrated perfectly in Jesus’ words in the Gospel, “No prophet is accepted in his own native place [Luke 4:24-30].”  Sometimes we only hear what we want to hear, or we think what we need to do must be more complicated.  Naaman, in a passage from 2 Kings, went to the prophet Elisha, looking for a cure for leprosy [2 Kings 5:1-15].  Elisha gave him a simple answer: “Go and wash seven times in the River Jordan”.  But Naaman didn’t buy it.  In fact, he got angry.  He was certain the answer had to be more complicated.  It was his servants who had the answer to his skepticism: “My father,” they said, “if the prophet had told you to do something extraordinary, would you not have done it?  All the more now, since he said to you, ‘Wash and be clean,’ should you do as he said.”

Sometimes we seek a complicated solution, a bargain with God that will let us do what we want to do.  What we have to realize is that what God wants from us is extraordinary and simple.  We have to learn to be quiet so we can really hear our own heart.  I pray that I can open my heart and listen, even if the answer seems simple.  Let me see what is extraordinary in the everyday, in the people around me.

Burning Bush moments

 

When I read from the book of Exodus today,  I was struck by the fact that Moses’ life and vocation were changed forever because he was aware of what was happening around him, he took the time to investigate, he was open to God, and he was willing to engage and listen. Sure, a burning bush that doesn’t consume itself is a curiosity, but still, a burning bush is not utterly unique, and if he had been wrapped up in his own problems or thoughts, or in a hurry, he could have easily passed by, assuming the bush would soon burn up or that someone else would be along to tend to it. How often do we pass by someone or something that could transform us, if we were open to them or it? Would God necessarily speak to us directly and give us a message as important as the message God gave Moses? Maybe not, but maybe. God does have desires and plans for each of us, just as God had desires and plans for Moses. I think each of us can think back to special people and happenings in our lives that have changed us forever and brought great blessings into our lives. Fresh out of high school, my plan was to get a college degree in Police Science, go into law enforcement, and maybe, after twenty years or so, run for political office. One person that made an enormous impression upon me and changed the course of my life was a co-worker I met while working at McDonalds earning money for my tuition; but my heart wasn’t in it, and I was ready to quit.  My co-worker was a man whose only responsibilities were chatting with customers and bussing their tables after they left.  If it was my job, I would have been sad and angry, and bored.  Not Dennis!  He amazed me with his ability to show up on time, in uniform, and cheerful every single day—despite the fact he lived alone and had no driver license.  You see, he was severely physically and mentally handicapped.  We became pretty good friends, and he invited me out for drinks after work one evening.  He explained that his car stalled on some railroad tracks some years earlier, and he was struck by a train going an estimated 60-70 miles an hour.  He said that he was in a coma for over a year, but through the grace of God and great doctors he learned how to walk, speak, and function again, albeit in a diminished capacity.  He had been perusing a career in mathematics, but he felt no regrets!  I feel that he was definitely a messenger from God, and he taught me many things about life and faith, even without being aware he was doing so!  His story, and the impression he made on me made me realize that I could make this restaurant business a career, instead of law enforcement and politics, and I stayed with McDonalds.  If not for that decision I would not have met my wife and have the greatest family a man can ask for!   Each of us have many special encounters like these, and more, if we’re open and responsive to the Lord.  Let us pray that we use the remaining time in Lent to reflect upon the many times God has spoken to our hearts throughout the course of our lives, and to ask for a renewed sense of the Divine here and now, and in the days and years to come.

A special bond with a very special man

When Marilyn and I found out she was pregnant with Alicia, I was elated!  More than that, though—I was Scared, with a capital “S”! 

How was I ever going to live up to the expectations of my child?  I didn’t even know her yet, but I knew she’d expect a lot from me growing up.  You know what?  She did.  Both of my daughters expected a lot from me.  Not material expectations, but love.  I hope I’ve been able to live up to their expectations.

I know the feeling of helplessness and wonder about how to raise a child.  And while my children are gifts from God that I am charged with teaching life’s lessons, I can’t imagine what it must have felt like to know that the child I was raising IS God!  I’m sure Joseph knew.  I believe God gives fathers (and of course mothers-even more so!) the grace to instinctively know their children’s strengths and weaknesses and how to teach them to reach their full potential.  What a daunting task for Joseph!  What could he possibly teach Jesus?

The answer is—everything Jesus needed to learn in His human Nature.  He humbled Himself to be born as a helpless baby, in a stall, surrounded by animals and the “poorest of the poor”, the few shepherds that were present.  And, like any other human child, He needed His mother’s milk, and His stepfather’s protection and guidance growing up.

Today, the Church celebrates the Solemnity of St. Joseph, the husband of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

While we don’t know many details of St. Joseph’s life, we do know that he was a skilled craftsman, a carpenter by trade.  We also know that he was a righteous man, a just man.  He took his calling of husband very seriously, and along with Mary, his wife, taught the child Jesus about God, goodness, compassion, fidelity to tradition and generosity to those in need.

Joseph underwent many struggles as the husband of Mary and the father of Jesus.  His happiness at the prospect of taking Mary into his home as his wife was shattered when he discovered that Mary was pregnant.  He wasn’t the father.  He must have spent many sleepless nights wrestling with the best way to deal with what he thought was Mary’s infidelity.  We can image how he must have felt: betrayed, devasted, uncertain of his future and broken-hearted.  He was a man of faith, a man of justice, a man who knew the law and who wanted to live according to God’s Law.

But Joseph was also a man of God, formed by his deep faith in the living legacy of the Hebrew scriptures and traditions.  His faith helped him accept the God who broke into our human story time and time again, to bring freedom and grace, dignity and hope, a new beginning and a new creation.  He believed in a living God, who speaks to us in loving ways, even as God gives us the strength to endure many hardships.

God spoke to Joseph and said to take Mary into his home.  He heard and he obeyed.  He did the right thing because he was a righteous man.

Joseph was not only Mary’s loving husband, but he was also Jesus’ loving parent.  Along with Mary, Joseph taught Jesus well.  Under their care, Jesus grew “steadily in wisdom and age and grace before God and men.” [Luke 2:51]

Jesus, Mary and Joseph didn’t live during the best of times.  They lived in an occupied country that was ruled by a cruel Roman empire and by a puppet Jewish governor, Herod.  Their religious leaders were divided and fighting each other.  At any given time, these authorities could disrupt the lives of the people of Israel.  Joseph, head of the family, saw his role as keeping Mary and Jesus safe and secure in the midst of the chaos and confusion that was part of everyday life.

We, the Church (and especially fathers), honor and celebrate the life of St. Joseph this day because he’s such a good example for us in the world we live in today.  More than ever, we live in a world that lacks a moral compass, where good and evil aren’t recognized as social conditions, and leaders are no longer respectful and committed to the common good.

We celebrate St. Joseph’s fidelity to the traditions of his ancestors.  We celebrate his openness to God’s voice in his life.  We celebrate his love for his wife, Mary.  We celebrate his parenting of his son, Jesus.  We celebrate his sense of justice and his integrity.

It’s nice to know that as a father, I share a special bond with Joseph, and that I have examples I can draw from when I feel overwhelmed in my role.

St. Joseph, husband of Mary and father of Jesus, pray for us! 

Don't overlook the cornerstones

 

As I reflected during my Scripture reading today, I could almost hear Paul Harvey, a radio voice from the past, intoning, “And now you know the rest of the story.”

In Genesis, Joseph, the last son of Jacob, seems a person easy to hate.  It's easy to see why Joseph's brothers, Reuben and the rest, hated him so much.  After all, here was the youngest, the least productive, the smart aleck kid who was the apple of his father's eye.  No matter how hard the other brothers worked, they would never be doted on like Joseph!  He got the fancy coat; he had his father's ear; he was the favorite.

The brothers, green with envy, wanted to kill the boy.  But Reuben, the eldest, the one who charged with protecting all the brothers, the one who had most to lose in Jacob's preference for Joseph, had a twinge of conscience.  And so, selling Joseph into slavery, the brothers moved on with their lives [Genesis 37:3-28].  Probably for some years the brothers thought, "Well, it was tough to see Old Jacob grieve but, geez, that kid was a royal pain!  He was just so obnoxious!  It's good we're rid of him."

We KNOW that Joseph eventually became powerful and rescued his brothers.  

In Matthew, Jesus tells the chief priests and Pharisees the parable of the tenants.  The landowner sends his servants to the tenants at harvest time to collect the fruit of the vineyard.  One servant is beaten, another killed and another stoned.  The landowner sends other servants with the same results.  Finally, the landowner sends his son, thinking they will respect his son.  The son is murdered [Matthew 21:33-46].

We KNOW that Jesus died at the hands of His enemies and eventually triumphed.  

It’s hard not to instinctively finish the stories mentally.

We have to remember that Joseph’s brothers didn’t expect to see him again and that the Pharisees couldn’t have imagined that Jesus would be worshiped worldwide 2000 years later.

“The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” [Psalms 118:22]

This says something important to us about our dealings with other people, especially those less powerful than ourselves. Our words and actions can have unimagined and unintended repercussions for years to come.

For example, our company for the last 10 years or so gave every team member an opportunity to evaluate their immediate supervisors anonymously and without fear of reprisal.  I usually had a team of anywhere from 10-25 persons who would comment on my interactions with them.  While most remarks were kind, I was chagrined to find out that throw away remarks during the course of a workday could inadvertently hurt feelings, or that I came off as insensitive, unfair – you name it.  It wasn’t intentional but it happened.  Mea culpa.

We need to remember that the “stones” we’re inclined to reject because they’re irritating, slow, pompous, misguided etc. might well “become the cornerstone.”  Like Joseph’s brothers and the Pharisees, we just don’t know.

However, we can never go wrong by being saying something encouraging when someone looks downcast and taking extra time to reach out and help.  Even small things may have unknown impact for the good.  One more thing to work on during Lent!

A punch to the gut

 After my brother Tom passed away too early (at age 44), I started to write down things that affected me so that I could use them a) for an examination of conscience, and b) as a sort of therapy to deal with my grief.  My ‘journal’ eventually evolved into this blog.  Every once in a while, I’ll go back through my ‘journal’ entries and look for personal experiences that might help me in edifying the Gospels as I reflect on them.  Today, I came across this entry, which (through the Holy Spirit?) I think happens to tie in perfectly with the Gospel I chose to reflect on (it was originally written on July 24, 2004):

I went to the service station this morning to gas up the Pathfinder.  As I was pulling up, I noticed a man doubled over in pain, and obviously drunk.  My heart was torn, because although I wanted to walk up and talk to him to ask him how he was and if he needed any help, I didn’t.  I should have, but I didn’t.  Not very Christ-like.  I’m ashamed. 

I’m also disturbed that when I went inside to pay for the gas, the kid behind the counter was LAUGHING about the man’s discomfort.  He said he had called the POLICE, when what the man needed was obviously an ambulance.

All of the parables in the gospel are packed with meaning, but a few of them carry a punch to one’s gut. One such parable is in Luke’s gospel, when Jesus asks us to consider something shocking [Luke 16:19-31].  How could a man who has everything allow another man, whose only possessions were the sores covering his body, to die right before his eyes?  How could a man who feasts fabulously everyday not budge to share even the scraps from his table with the starving neighbor sitting at his gate?

It seems absolutely unthinkable—and irreparably scandalous—but we know it happens all the time, like it apparently happened on my ‘watch’, in my memory above.  Like the rich man in the gospel story, we can use wealth and luxury to insulate us from the intolerable sufferings of others.  We can become so accustomed to making self-satisfying pleasures the driving desire of our lives that we become comfortably oblivious to the afflicted and destitute among us, the many who, like Lazarus, are so grievously deprived of what any human being needs to survive that they die a little more each day.

Of course, there’s a fatal misperception at the core of the rich man’s life.  Nestled in the plump security of his life, he fails to see that he, not Lazarus, is the one truly in trouble.  He’s so stupendously deceived that he’s genuinely surprised when death takes him not to the comforting bosom of Abraham, but to the “abode of the dead” where he, who had tortured Lazarus by his casual indifference, is now “tortured in these flames.”  There, in the kingdom of the dead, no love can reach him, no mercy can soothe him, because, as Jesus sternly declares, there is now an unbridgeable abyss between the rich man in his torment and Lazarus who, upon dying, was “carried by the angels to the bosom of Abraham.”

This parable’s punch shows us that when we fail to help a neighbor in need, intentionally distancing ourselves from them, we likewise distance ourselves from God.  After a while, that distance becomes an abyss.  As the rich man belatedly discovered, this truth may surprise us, but it will also condemn us.

Lord of true riches, please free me from my selfishness.  Help me, instead, to remain focused upon the dignity of all people and to pour myself out in their service.  May I discover in the poor, the broken and the humble, an image of You.  And as I discover Your presence in their lives, may I love You, in them, seeking to be an instrument of Your mercy.  Jesus, I trust in You.

Leadership is challenging

 

As someone with decades of experience in management and leadership, I can say that leadership is demanding.  It might also be said to be an ‘art’ and a subtle one at that.  It’s far easier in those times when a group or organization is growing and progressing; such times are exciting, the groups have high energy and leaders, and members can see the results of their efforts – often before their very eyes.

In times of trial, disappointment, struggle, or persecution leadership is equally vital, but it takes on a different character.  Leadership in difficult times, especially when hostility is directed at leaders themselves, is deeply challenging.  At such times validation must come not from external success or adulation and approval, but from deep within.  In times of persecution especially leaders must draw on a well of deep resources; hope, trust, and faith to persevere and to lead.  In times of persecution or trial ‘good’ can seem to be repaid with evil [Jeremiah 18:18-20].

Jesus was all too aware of such dynamics.

“Can you drink the chalice that I am going to drink?” He asked those who followed and sought to hold office and authority [Matthew 20:17-28].

Power, position, privilege, and prestige are often associated with leadership – and they can be seductively alluring.  To seek only these aspects is to be led astray and instead of leading one is being led – and the mission suffers.  If one only sees leadership in the light of its associated aspects then one misses the mark completely.

In the vision of Jesus, leadership goes beyond mere titles and even position in a group structure.  For Jesus leadership might have trappings, but they weren’t His concern, rather He spoke to the essential dynamic of leading – service.  “Whoever wishes to be great among you shall be your servant; whoever wishes to be first among you shall be your slave”.

While Jesus saw that leading entailed witness and was observed to entail ‘seats’ of office – He was more concerned to stress that a leader must also be able and prepared to endure betrayal, restriction of liberty and even death.  He spoke openly of His ‘chalice’ as symbolic of these realities.

It’s my opinion that greatest leaders also know when to step aside and let their followers shine.  We have the finest of leaders to follow.  “The Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

Humility enables us

 

Humility seems like such a contradiction.  We’re easily tempted to think that the way to greatness involves letting everyone know all that we do well.  There’s a constant temptation for most people to put forward their best face and to hope others will see that and admire it.  We want to be noticed and praised.  And we often try to make that happen by the little things we do and say.  And often we tend to exaggerate who we are.

On the flip side, if someone criticizes us and thinks ill of us it has the potential of being devastating.  If we hear that someone said something negative about us we may go home and be depressed or angry about it the rest of the day, or even the rest of the week, because our pride is wounded, and that wound can hurt.  It can hurt unless we discover the gift of humility within our hearts.

Humility is a virtue that enables us to be real.   It enables us to cut through any false persona we may have and simply be who we are.  It enables us to be comfortable with our good qualities as well as our failures.  Humility is nothing other than being honest and true about our lives and being comfortable with that person.

Jesus gives us a wonderful lesson in Matthew’s Gospel that’s very hard to live but is absolutely key to living a happy life: “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled; but whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” [Matthew 23:1-12]   He wants us to be exalted!  He wants us to be noticed by others.  He wants our light of goodness to shine for all to see and for that light to make a difference.  But He wants it done in truth, not by presenting a false persona.  He wants the real “me” to shine forth.  And that’s humility.

Humility is sincerity and genuineness.  And when people see this quality in us they’re impressed.  Not so much in a worldly way but in an authentic human way.  They won’t look at us and be envious, rather, they’ll look at us and see the true qualities we have and enjoy them, admire them and want to imitate them.