Easter
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Betrayal, Prayer, Grace: The Way To Easter

Today is the last day of Lent; tomorrow, we begin the Triduum – Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday. These are the holiest days of the year for Catholics, as we enter into Christ’s last days, the institution of the Eucharist, His example of washing the feet of the Apostles, His Passion and Death. They are somber days, quiet, contemplative. They are days of mystery and wonder, prayer and longing, peace and unrest.

Those themes (mystery, wonder, prayer, longing, peace, unrest) are outlined for us in the Mass readings for today.  In the first reading, Isaiah seems to be celebrating the gifts he’s been given in his prophetic office: a well-trained tongue, ears to hear God. But this passage is also about betrayal: those who oppose his words beat him,  spit on him, pull hairs out of this head. Yet, in spite of this, Isaiah remains faithful and grateful.

The psalmist cries out, “Lord, in your great love, answer me!” He is assured that God loves him and will answer him. He praises God in song, glorifies Him in thanksgiving. Yet again, we see betrayal: his own brothers have cast him out. They make his food inedible and give him vinegar to drink. Like Isaiah, the psalmist remains stalwart in his faith: “You who see God, may your hearts revive!:

Finally, and saddest of all, is the Gospel. Judas has put into motion his betrayal of Jesus. Jesus is well-aware of this, yet He includes his betrayer to dine with the group that night. He blesses the bread and wine – pronouncing them now His own Body and Blood – and Judas partakes. The most stunning sinner in history still has a place at the table.

It is hard to imagine the magnitude of pain Jesus felt by this betrayal. Here was a man in whom Jesus had seen great potential, a man fit for building the Kingdom of God. Jesus walked and talked with this man, ate with him, laughed with him, taught him. Judas was a brother in faith, until … he wasn’t.

Have you ever been betrayed? Most of us can relate, in at least a small way. Some of us have known the pain of infidelity in marriage, or learning that a beloved child has been stealing from us to feed a drug habit. Maybe a dear friend destroyed a confidence and hurt our reputation. Some of us remember being befriended by someone in school, but the only intention of that person was to get close enough so as to make us look foolish with their friends standing by, laughing at our expense.

Being human means you’ll get hurt. Our emotions are a gift from God, just like everything else about us, save sin. We say and do hurtful things. We get drawn into gossip. We harbor resentments and lash out. But for all our experience, we still do not know the depth of Christ’s pain.

It was not just the betrayal of Judas, however great a sin that was. It was the denial of Peter. It was the fact that all of His Apostles (except for John) fled when He needed them the most. It was the humiliation of being stripped, and His Father mocked. It was the weight of the Cross – a burden so large no man could lift it. The appalling weight of the Cross: made oppressive by our sins.

It is easy, sitting in our clean churches, our tidy homes, our coffee shop, to judge Judas. Yet, do we not betray Christ every day? We sin. We reject the life God has given us, in essence saying, “I know this is wrong, but I want it. I choose this action over the life God offers.” It is why, on Palm Sunday, it is so easy for us to cry out both “Hosanna!” and “Crucify Him!” Theologian Romano Guardini:

And yet, aren’t there many days in our lives on which we sell him, against our best knowledge, against our most sacred feeling, in spite of duty and love, for some vanity, or sensuality, or profit, or security, or some private hatred or vengeance? Are these more than thirty pieces of silver? We have little cause to speak of “the traitor” with indignation or as someone far away and long ago. Judas himself unmasks us. We understand his Christian significance in the measure that we understand him from our own negative possibilities, and we should beg God not to let the treachery into which we constantly fall become fixed within us.

We cannot save ourselves from betrayal. Our only hope is Christ. Over the next few days, our most fervent prayer should be one of contrition for our sins and for the whole world.

Today’s Mass begins with the priest praying on our behalf: “O God, who willed your Son to submit for our sake to the yoke of the Cross, so that you might drive from us the power of the enemy, grant us, your servants, to attain the grace of the resurrection.” May our Holy Week begin and end with this prayer, so that we may know the mystery, wonder, prayer, longing, peace, unrest of today’s readings, and thus enter fully into the joy of Easter morning!

 

EH headshotElise Hilton is an author, blogger and speaker. Her role at Diocesan Publications is Editor & Writer with the Marketing Team. She has worked in parish faith formation and Catholic education for over 30 years. A passionate student of theology, Elise enjoys sharing her thoughts on parish communication, the role of social media in the Church, Franciscan spirituality and Catholic parenting. To enquire about booking her as a speaker, please contact her at ehilton@diocesan.com.

 

betrayal
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The Denial of Peter And Judas

How often do we take advantage of God’s merciful nature to say one thing and do another? We intend to say that Rosary each morning, but, well, God will understand if I just stop at a Hail Mary. At least I did that! We promise that we will not gossip, but then let a tidbit out and rationalize that we are only venting to a friend. We race through our day and fail to appreciate a blue sky, a field of flowers, or a healthy child, only to complain if something inconveniences us. We tell little “white” lies, cheat when “no one” will get hurt, and give only out of our surplus.

Every time we choose not to follow His commands, we betray His love for us, and we deny His authority.

Sometimes we like to use the examples of Judas and Peter to justify our own sinfulness. “Well, if he did that, and Jesus still forgave Him, then I’m not that bad.” Judas, unfortunately, relied upon his own understanding, and turned completely away from God. Peter, on the other hand, repented and found His new life in Christ.

So you have a choice: Do you continue to justify your own understanding of how you should live your life and betray what Jesus has asked of you, or do you deny your pride and your “old” self to find your new life in Him? Are you a Judas or a Peter?

And in the end, would you rather die because you ran away from Christ, or die because you followed Him?

Make a list. How do you betray or deny God, even in the smallest way, by your words, actions, or omissions?

Lord, please grant me the grace to be morally courageous in every way, never denying You in my thoughts, words, actions or omissions.

 

After marrying her husband, Jim Roberts, in 1980, Cynthia Millen graduated from law school and practiced in Ohio for a short while. Excited about having a large family, Jim and Cindy were blessed more quickly than expected with the birth of five children in four years (two set of twins). Her love for reading and writing grew into the publication of several children’s books (under the name C. M. Millen), poems and short stories (including a 2014 Tuscany Prize winner). Millen earned her Masters in Literature from Trinity College, Dublin, and relishes the teaching (and learning) of reading, writing, and grammar with middle school students at Christ the King School in Toledo, Ohio. Most of all, she treasures attending Mass there with wonderful parishioners and truly marvelous priests. [This reflection is used by permission of CatholicMom.com.]

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The Paschal Mystery And Divine Failure

 Failure.  Suffering.  Defeat.  Loss.

We work so hard to avoid these things.  We’re pushed to achieve and succeed in a world that seems divided between winners and losers.  We internalize these messages when we do not measure up to society’s expectations, or worse, our own expectations for ourselves.

Defeat and failure is where we find the prophet Jeremiah in today’s first reading.  Jeremiah is having an interior crisis.  We often think of the prophets as those who have the fixed vison of God before them always.  Sometimes they are granted this vision, such as Isaiah’s mystical revelation of God’s glorious throne. (Is 6)  But often, their vision is obscured and they are plunged down into the discouragement and despondency of failure.  Read Jeremiah’s entire prayer in chapter 20, where his suffering has reached the point that he rues the day of his birth and wishes that he had been aborted in his mother’s womb.  His is deep spiritual anguish.

Failure. Over and Over.

We see this pattern often in scripture.  John the Baptist is given vision, “Behold the Lamb of God . . . I saw the Spirit come down.” (Jn 1:29-34)  Later, jailed facing death, he is denied this vision and sends his disciples to Jesus to ask if he is indeed the One or should they look for another. (Mt 11:2-6)  At Caesarea Philippi, Peter proclaims Jesus, “The Christ, the Son of the living God.”   He immediately followed this divinely-given insight by tempting Jesus to turn away from the road of suffering and death. (Mt 16:13-23)  Many of the same people who chanted “Hosanna to the Son of David!” on Palm Sunday roared “Crucify him!” only days later.  Even Christ himself, the quintessential Prophet was not spared.  On the road to Jerusalem to face his destiny, Jesus is transfigured and hears the words every son longs to hear, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”  In Gethsemane and on the Cross, he feels the full weight of divine abandonment: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Hearts of Stone

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is confronted by his ministry’s failure to penetrate the hearts of his own people.  Their hearts have become as hardened stone, and now they physically pick up rocks to violently stone him.  It seems strange to call Jesus’ ministry a failure, but what else could we call it from a worldly perspective?

After a promising beginning, full of signs and wonders, Jesus loses followers, from the rich young man through those who could not accept his Eucharistic teaching.  One of his inner circle betrays him, and his chosen leader and Rock, Peter, denies him.  Only a handful had the devotion to stand at the foot of his cross.  In the eyes of the world, Jesus and his ministry are a failure.

But this is our entrance into the heart of Christ’s Paschal Mystery.  Why do we call it a mystery?  God is Life. He is the Source and Ground of all Being.  God cannot die.  Yet God does die on Calvary’s Cross.  God is All-Powerful.  He has no weakness. Yet he is delivered up, defenseless, to the politically and religiously powerful to be scourged, mocked, abused, killed.  The ultimate sin, human beings murdering their God, becomes the act of ultimate love and redemption.  Defeat and death become the triumph of eternal life. We cannot intellectually reconcile these things.  We can only enter into the Paschal Mystery sacramentally.  Theologian Romano Guardini: “There are profound questions that return after every proposed solution, mysteries whose intrinsic meanings, not solved but lived, increasingly clarify the faith of those who live them.”

Success Is Not a Gospel Category

Perhaps your Lent has been like mine.  A failure.  Scuttled, intermittent prayers.  Lost opportunities to generously give, serve, and stand in solidarity with the poor and vulnerable.  Self-indulgent in food and drink.  Broken promises to God and those close to me.  Still struggling and committing the same sins that I repented of on Ash Wednesday.

Fortunately, success is not a Gospel category.  In light of Christ Crucified, failure may be more beneficial to our spiritual growth than success. We can see ourselves as we truly are, wounded and in need of a Redeemer.  As C.S. Lewis wrote, “How can we meet (the divine) face to face till we have faces?”  All false fronts must drop before God if we are to enter into a real, holy, intimate relationship.  He desires hearts to become fruitful, not paragons of individual achievement, even spiritual achievement, not “self-made” women and men.

We approach God through the liturgies Holy Week as St. Therese of Lisieux did, “with hands emptied for your love . . . more and more emptied that they may be filled with You.”  Our own successes and achievements (which we owe to God anyway,) our own failures and defeats, mean little standing within the Paschal Mystery of Christ’s death and resurrection.

God’s forgiveness, grace, peace, and love are abundantly available to be received this blessed week, if we only die to our obsessions with success and failure, winning and losing, and enter the divine mystery of our redemption.  If we open ourselves up to filled with the love flowing from the heart of God, he will accomplish his saving work through us, making us fruitful beyond our imagining.

 

John Graveline, MTS, is a husband and father of three small children.  He has worked for almost twenty-five years as a catechist and ministry coordinator specializing in the evangelization of young adults, adults, and families.  He is currently on the pastoral staff of St. Luke University Parish at Grand Valley State University as the Faith Formation Director.  

 

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Biblical Soap Opera: Lies, Deceit, And … Sacredness

The two readings in today’s liturgy might be episodes of a video series entitled “Lies and Deceptions.”  The two are short stories that represent reprehensible behavior on the part of people who are up to no good, like the old fools who conspire to do harm to the beautiful Susanna in the Book of Daniel and the mob who are intent on stoning the “woman caught in adultery,” from the Gospel of St. John.

Both stories have people who blow the whistle on the lying and the deceitfulness: Daniel and Jesus.  They call the offensive actions for what they really are and prevent further harm.  Daniel stops the violence by confronting the mob intent on harming Susanna even further than she already was and Jesus shows us the proper relationship with sin and sinners by an unusual way. Jesus’ message is that we should not judge one another; to leave judgment to God.  He dramatizes this kneeling down and writing something in the dust of the earth.  What did he write?  No one knows; the gospel story doesn’t elaborate.  However, the dramatic effect of this odd writing exercise was to quiet the mob.  No one dared to carry through on the intended violence towards the woman.

Let the one who is sinless cast the first stone!  The good news here is that they understood Jesus’ message; yet later on in John’s gospel they were about to stone Jesus, but he slipped away from them.  What a mixed bag of conflicts we humans are!

There are a variety of lessons for here; let’s look at two of them.  First, we need to realize that we are sinners and have no right to invade others with our negative judgments.  That we need to leave judgment to God alone and trust in God’s love and care for us and other sinners like us.

Second, we are called to treat others as sacred.  Clearly the “elders” did not treat Susanna with respect, but saw her only as an object of their lust.  Daniel saved the day by standing out from the crowd and calling them to account for their wicked intentions to carry out the original lies and deceptions of the elders.

What is there here for our experiencing life and its relationship with both God and neighbor?  To risk the courage to stand up to the evil intent of the mob like Daniel did.  And to learn to love and care for the sinner while avoiding her sinfulness as Jesus does.  These are indeed difficult tasks and we engage them neither easily nor lightly – they are God’s gifts to us and do not flow simply from our own strengths.

Loving God, as we come to know you more intimately in our lives, help us not to flee the calls for justice and peace that abound in our world.  Keep us close to you and strengthen our resolve to follow you in service of others in their seemingly impossible situations, not unlike the two women in today’s scripture.

biblicalFr. Tom Shanahan, SJ has been at Creighton University since the early ‘70’s teaching in the theology department. “I teach in the Christian Spirituality Master’s Degree Program, a summertime program which focuses on preparing persons to be active in the apostolate of spiritual direction and retreat work. I serve as the chaplain for the men’s and women’s intercollegiate basketball teams.” [This reflection is used with permission from Creighton University’s Online Ministries.]

birth Christ
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Advent: Born That Man No More May Die

TODAY’S ADVENT REFLECTION FOR THE 4TH WEDNESDAY OF ADVENT, 2016

He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross.—1 Peter 2:24

I arrived at a car accident the other day before the police did. As I walked past the wreckage I fully expected to see someone dead, or nearly. The side of the car was split open, its parts spilled everywhere, the axle exposed and wheel far from the wreck, a pool of gasoline forming on the ground.

Thankfully (and maybe miraculously) the passengers looked like they’d be okay. The driver, a young man, was sitting beside the car bleeding heavily from the head, but he was stable. The girl who had been in the passenger’s seat was okay, too, aside from minor lacerations and obvious shock.

Witnesses said he had been going 80 in a 45, and had almost killed someone in the oncoming lane before he swerved into a wall.

As cops, ambulances, and firemen arrived at the scene, I wondered what caused such recklessness? That kind of driving is usually an expression of something wrong in the heart.

Was he driving like a maniac to impress a girl? Was he in a fight with her? I wondered if he was willing to risk his life that day because he’s angry, or places a cheap price tag on his own life. Maybe because he’s angry at his dad. Maybe he’s angry at his dad because his dad was distant, perhaps because his grandpa was abusive to his dad, perhaps because his great-grandpa was an alcoholic, and maybe that’s because . . .

And it struck me: the generational impact of sin, the web of pain we all weave through our self-centeredness, is staggering. Maybe in two hundred years some young man will end up swerving into oncoming traffic because I yell at my kids too much. No sin is committed in isolation. And anyone who flaunts the fact that they have “no regrets” is either ignorant of their connectedness with humanity or doesn’t care if they hurt others.

So how do we look straight on at the weight of sin, humanity’s sin and our own, and not crumble?

When Jesus was crucified we saw all that is worst about the human condition converging on one man. Political factions, shirking of responsibility, good ol’-fashioned bloodlust, manipulation in the name of religion.

“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.”

Look closer. Look into the center of the wreckage. In midst of the dust and the blood there are open arms. The tenderness of Bethlehem completed in the self-giving love of the cross. The antidote for sin: Mercy. And more, we see the example for how we’re to embrace the brokenness in others, and in ourselves.

Chris Stefanick - Guest AuthorChris Stefanick  is an internationally acclaimed author and speaker, who has devoted his life to inspiring people to live a bold, contagious faith. Archbishop Charles J. Chaput, OFM Cap calls Chris, “one of the most engaging young defenders of the Christian faith on the scene today.”  Chris is also the founder of Real Life Catholic, a Denver-based non-profit which operates as the headquarters for Chris’s various initiatives. Above all, Chris is proud to be the husband to his wife Natalie and father to their six children. To learn more about Chris’s work, please visit: www.RealLifeCatholic.com.

Highway
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Advent: Get On The Holy Way Highway

Today’s Advent reflection for the 2nd Monday of Advent, 2016

Doesn’t it seem like that one time you really need to get someplace (say, a job interview or a hospital), traffic is completely jammed up? Bumper-to-bumper. Taillights as far as you can see. Your heart is pounding and your thoughts are racing.

Today’s readings are for just this occasion. (Not that you should pull this up on your smartphone while you’re stuck in traffic.) In the first reading, the prophet Isaiah stands in a dry and parched desert. There might not be a traffic jam here, but there is no water either; this place is dead. But Isaiah sees with the eyes of faith: The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. “Fear not!” Isaiah proclaims: God will make a way for you in the desert: A highway will be there, called the holy way.”

In the Gospel today, a group of men have a problem. Their friend is ill; paralyzed in fact. They know that Jesus is in their village and they know He has the power to cure. But these men cannot get anywhere near Jesus; the crowd is too large. They are stuck, essentially, in a traffic jam.  But these guys were not going to give up. They hauled their friend, who was on a stretcher, up onto the roof of the house where Jesus was, tore a hole in the roof, and lowered their friend down. Jesus forgave the man’s sins, and then cured him. Clearly, these men knew about the Holy Way Highway.

In our spiritual lives, we often get stuck. We are in a dry, deserted place. God feels a long way from us. We cry out, “Help! God: where are You? I need you!” Or, like the men in the Gospel today, there are such huge obstacles in front of us it seems as if it would be easier to just turn around and go back home. We don’t see a way to get to where we need to go.

We need to get on the Holy Way Highway. It’s there – it’s always a choice. However, God will not force us onto it; we have to get on ourselves. And there are a few “tolls” that have to be paid:

No one unclean may pass over it,
nor fools go astray on it.
No lion will be there,
nor beast of prey go up to be met upon it.
It is for those with a journey to make,
and on it the redeemed will walk. 

We have to be prepared to do the work that God asks. We have to acknowledge our sinfulness and ask for forgiveness. We have to seek out wisdom and counsel. If we are striving to be closer and closer to God, then the highway is open to us.

This Advent, if you’re in a dry and deserted place, if you do not see a way to get closer to God, read the Mass readings for today. Pray over them. Ask God to help you see what you need to do during this holy season to prepare for the Coming of the Lord. Ask God to lead you onto the Holy Way Highway.

[Throughout the 2016 Advent season, we will be bringing you posts from a variety of writers. Our hope is that each of these will be a meaningful way for you to slow down, pray well, and prepare for the coming of our Lord. Today’s blogger is Elise Hilton, who regularly writes the“Living the Good News” blog for Diocesan Trinity Publications. Hilton is a writer, speaker and former educator, who now serves in the Marketing & Communications Department for Diocesan Trinity Publications. She is also an avid reader, mom of five and passionate about music. Today’s Mass readings may be found here.]

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Finding Blessing In Brokenness

There is not one person among us who is not broken in some way. We carry with us the scar of original sin, which weakens us in every aspect of our lives. It is true that some of us carry heavier burdens than others, but we can not judge another’s trials  for brokenness can be deeply hidden. For some, our brokenness is right there for everyone to see: a woman in a wheelchair or a veteran struggling to walk with a prosthetic leg. But, for others, the woundedness is hidden; the girl standing next to us in the checkout line is reeling from her parents’ announcement of divorce or the dad standing handing out snacks at his son’s soccer game is dealing with a diagnosis of cancer. We can look at every single person that we brush by daily and acknowledge: we all share in this brokenness.

One of the hardest thing that Christians must do is to find blessing in our brokenness. No, our reaction to brokenness is blame: “This would have never happened if he’d only agreed to counseling!” We get angry – at others and at God. We may feel shame: “I don’t want anyone to know my family’s issues; I’m so embarrassed.” So quietly, with great care, we tip-toe through our day – unable or unwilling to not only acknowledge the blessing in the brokenness.

Fr. Henri Nouwen is well-known for pondering questions such as, “How can I possibly find blessing in this mess? In the diagnosis? In this tattered relationship? In this time of loss?”

The great spiritual call of the Beloved Children of God is to pull their brokenness from the shadows of the curse, and put it under the light of the blessing … The powers of the darkness around us are strong, and our wold find is it easier to manipulate self-rejecting people than self-accepting people. But when we keep listening attentively to the vice calling us the Beloved, it becomes possible to live our brokenness, not as a confirmation of our fear that we are worthless, but as an opportunity to purify and deepen the blessing that rests  upon us … (Life of the Beloved: Spiritual Living in a Secular World)

However devastating a situation we may be in, Christ walks with us. Our God is not a distant or far-off god, who  like a child bored with an old toy, has abandoned us. Our God is not a god who favors one person over another, Nor does God, like a beggar at a banquet, try to snatch a bit our happiness to keep for himself.

No: our God calls us Beloved: you. Me. That kid picking  his nose on the bus. The snooty waiter at the coffee shop. The mom struggling with a toddler and a grocery cart at the store. We are all Beloved. And it is this quality alone (this gift, this grace!) from God that allows us to drag our brokenness into light from darkness. We show it to everyone, and they allow us to see theirs. We acknowledge our sinfulness, the part we play in our brokenness and the brokenness of others. Then, our brokenness no longer frightens us or brings shame. Why? Because our brokenness – which has been known by God for all eternity – was carried on His back and nailed to that cross as He suffered and died or His Beloved. It was redeemed both in beauty and brokenness, and that redemption is ours by our heritage, by baptism and by living a life worthy of the Beloved Children of God.

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One Step Away From Mercy

As a Church, we continue to celebrate the Year of Mercy. What a blessing this year has been to so many of us: a time to reconcile, a time to find peace within ourselves and with God. Pope Francis continues to use the theme of mercy to teach us about the ways of God, our Father.

This past Sunday, in the pope’s Angelus address, he spoke of the parable of the prodigal son.

Pope Francis said that what is most striking about the parable of the prodigal son is not the sad story of a young man who left his father and fell into sin, but his decision to “arise” and go to his father.

“The way back home is the way of hope and new life. God awaits to forgive us out on the road, waiting for us patiently, he sees us when we are still far away, he runs towards us, embraces us, forgives us. So is God! So is our Father! And his pardon erases the past and regenerates us in love,” the Pope said.

“When we sinners convert,” he continued, “we do not find God waiting for us with reproaches and hardness, because God saves, he gathers us home with joy and partying.”

Still, we all know how hard it is to make that decision to “arise” and ask forgiveness. We want to, but we are afraid. What if we are not met with open arms and joy? What if our Father is still angry with us? What if we are just too far gone to ever get back home?

The Christian band, Casting Crowns, answers this last question in their newest song, “One Step Away.” The song reminds us that no matter how far we have traveled, how big a mistake we may have made, we are still only one step away from our Father’s forgiveness.

It doesn’t matter how far you’ve gone
Mercy says you don’t have to keep running down the road you’re on
Love’s never met a lost cause

“Love’s never met a lost cause.” Every one of us has spent some time thinking we are a lost cause. Whether it is because of our own sin and arrogance, a loss in our life that we can’t seem to get over, or the pain and hurt we’ve felt when we are betrayed by someone we love, we’ve all said to ourselves, “This is a lost cause.”

But God has never met a lost cause. He has never looked at any of his children and thoughts, “There is not hope there.” No, God is nothing but hope, love, mercy … and he is always willing to forgive and gather us home.

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Betrayal, Despair And Salvation

Surely, it is not I, Lord?

Christ begins the Passover celebration with the Apostles by telling them that one of them will betray Him, their Lord and Master. There is denial and consternation among them: Surely, it is not I, Lord?

The Gospels clearly record Judas’ betrayal – selling out Jesus for thirty pieces of silver. We know, too, that Peter betrays Christ by denying he even knows Him, three times. Because the other ten Apostles were human, we know they betrayed Christ in some way. We betray Christ.

Sin is an ugly thing. It always damages relationships. Sometimes the slights are small: we are brusque with a co-worker or raise our voice to a small child. Other times, the sins are quite damaging: an abortion, an affair, theft from an employer. We betray God, each other and we betray the person God created us to be.

Despite his betrayal, Peter was chosen by Christ to lead the Apostles and the first Christians. How can that be? It is the mystery of salvation: Christ took those sins, and ours, with Him to the Cross and won for us our salvation. Peter knew He needed Christ and the salvation He offered.

What of Judas? Was his sin of betrayal so much greater? Some believe Judas’ fault lies elsewhere:

Perhaps Judas’ greatest sin was not in betraying Jesus; rather, it was in allowing himself to be consumed by a prideful despair after the betrayal. Unlike Peter and the rest of the apostles, Judas failed to repent; he failed to find hope. Like us at times, Judas could not see past his owns sins and his feelings of unworthiness. Instead of turning outward toward the Lord with a repentant heart that could have been filled with hope, Judas regrettably looked inward and saw only his own despair. Lacking the courage to begin his life anew, Judas ends his life by hanging himself.

Poor Judas despaired. He thought his sin was far too great to be forgiven. He lost hope; he failed to accept the salvation Christ offered.

There is not one of us who can stand and say, “I have no sin.” And no one of us can judge another. We even stumble when we judge ourselves, as Judas did. The Church has wisely given us the Sacrament of Reconciliation, so that a priest (acting in persona Christi) can counsel us and give us absolution. Otherwise, we could despair as well. Pope Benedict, speaking of this, said, “Let us remember two things. The first: Jesus respects our freedom. The second: Jesus waits for us to have the disposition to repent and to be converted; he is rich in mercy and forgiveness.”

This Tuesday of Holy Week, as we prepare to celebrate the Triduum, let us ponder our own need to repent, and the abundance of God’s mercy and forgiveness.

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Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

One of the most controversial aspects of Catholicism is the Sacrament of Penance. The majority of the people outside the church don’t understand it, but neither do many inside the church. Why do we have to tell a priest our sins? Can’t we just tell God directly?

According to Fr. Eamon Tobin at Catholic.com, the Church requires us to go to confession, because despite our best efforts and the grace of baptism, we continue to sin against God and each other. But the most important reason

why the Catholic Church asks her members to confess their sins to a priest is simply because the Church has always believed that sin, however private, is a community affair. Every sin, however small, wounds the Body of Christ, the members of the Church. . . . When any of its members sin, they all suffer. Moreover, because my sins wound the community and diminish its effectiveness, reconciliation must include the community and not just God. In the confessional, the priest is the representative of God and of the community. In the confessional, the priest represents the whole Christ, the Head (Jesus) and the members (the Church).

We would like to think that our sins go unnoticed or are unseen. We are like the child who steals a piece of candy from a store, sure that no one will ever notice. Or we become the rationalizing adolescent who thinks to herself, “Hey, it’s a big store – they have lots of money. They won’t miss one pair of earrings.”

What we must realize in order to mature in our faith life is that each of our sins – even if they go unnoticed, unseen, hidden away – still harm us and others. That girl who makes a habit of shoplifting becomes an untrustworthy friend and employee. A man addicted to porn in private ends up distancing himself from his wife and family. Imagine the wounds of the Body of Christ: not necessarily the grave wounds of the cross, but the millions and millions of tiny wounds we inflict upon the Body of Christ every day because of our sin.

Lent is the perfect time to got to confession, especially if you have not been in awhile. (Even if “awhile” is years. Or decades. It’s okay.) The Unites States Conference of Catholic Bishops have given us this guide to the sacrament and instructions on how to go to confession.

Remember that no matter what you are feeling, God is waiting for you with great joy. He wants the opportunity to unburden you. He longs to hear that you are sorry for misusing the gifts He’s given to you, and most of all, He wants to tell you, “You are forgiven. Go and sin no more.”

stronger than our scars
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Stronger Than Our Scars

You have bent down over our wounds and have healed us, giving us a medicine stronger than our scars, a mercy greater than our fault. Thus, even in sin, in virtue of your invincible love, served to raise us up to divine life. (Ambrosian Rite prayer)

A medicine stronger than our scars. That is profound. During Lent, many of us take the time to examine our weaknesses and our scars. But do we ponder the wondrous medicine that is the Cross?

Most of us have scars that are hidden, and we prefer it that way. We perceive our scars as weakness and failure. Sometimes they are: we sin. We do evil and fail to do good. We need the Sacrament of Reconciliation to heal our sin.

But some of our scars are ones life has left us with, through no fault of our own. We weep for our dead friends and family; we miss them and their loss is a scar on our heart. Perhaps our scars are borne from the addictions of others; we fear for the health and safety of loved ones who cannot seem to overcome their addictions to drugs or alcohol or pornography. Maybe we are in a marriage where one party is trying so very hard to be faithful and loving, and the other person wants out. And maybe we bear actual scars from disease, illness or accident – scars that cause us significant physical pain.

We think there is no medicine for these scars – no doctor can fix a broken heart or a parent’s tears. But Christ is the Great Physician, one who heals through the medicine of the Cross. Jesus was also a Man who Himself knew pain.

He was spurned and avoided by men,
a man of suffering, knowing pain,
Like one from whom you turn your face,
spurned, and we held him in no esteem.
Yet it was our pain that he bore,
our sufferings he endured.
We thought of him as stricken,
struck down by God and afflicted,
But he was pierced for our sins,
crushed for our iniquity.
He bore the punishment that makes us whole,
by his wounds we were healed. – Is. 53:3-5

By his wounds we were healed. That is the radical truth of our faith: God became Man, took our sins and scars upon Himself, and saved us. Yes, we sin and we must acknowledge our sin, but sin no longer means death. Indeed, we are stilled scarred, but Christ provides us a medicine stronger than our scars. There is nothing and no one who is greater than this truth, this Good News, this Christ.

Today, take some time to thank Jesus for the medicine He has provided you. Rejoice in the fact that – despite our afflictions – we are healed through Christ our Lord.

tomb
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Heading Into The Tomb

During the season of Lent, we are acutely aware of death, it seems. The readings seem to have a sense of foreboding to them; we know we are getting closer and closer to Good Friday. In some of our churches, the holy water fonts are empty. The decor changes: instead of fresh flowers, there are cacti or simple, empty pots or even stones. We limit our feasting; we are on watch for death. We are, in a sense, headed for the tomb.

Catholic writer Heather King, in her book Redeemed: Stumbling Towards God, said this,

… I remember a homily that Father Jarlath at St. Thomas the Apostle once gave about the time Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead: he said we all have things in us that are from the tomb – old rotting resentments, griefs, sorrows – and when it is time to look at them, it’s a good idea to bring Jesus in with us.

Lent is about heading into the tomb. It is certainly about Christ’s Passion, Death and Resurrection (the Paschal Mystery, the Church calls it) but it’s also about acknowledging our own tomb. As King puts it, we all have that place in us where things are left to die. Maybe it’s a relationship that should have been mended a long time ago. Perhaps what is dying in us is our faith; life has worn us down and we wonder if God has forgotten us. Our tomb may be a place where we struggle with an addiction; we’ve buried our true self behind the rocks of alcohol or drugs or pornography.

Many people choose to remain in their tombs. They become embittered, they lose faith, they “die,” in a way. Some of us want to get out, but we don’t know how. After all, who can roll that huge stone out of the way so that light can stream in?

The only way out of the tomb is through Christ. He alone has conquered death and sin. He alone can raise us – as He did for Lazarus – from the grave. For some of us, it may be a matter of simply recognizing this and falling to our knees in thanksgiving. The vast majority of us need the Sacrament of Reconciliation to acknowledge our own sinful part of the tomb. And some of us will need professional help (a psychologist, a spiritual director) in order to sort out how we ended up in the tomb and how we can live our lives outside that tomb.

In John 11, Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. When Lazarus’ sister Martha expresses some doubt about Jesus command to remove the stone from the tomb’s entrance, He says, “Did I not tell you that if you believe you will see the glory of God?”

A tomb can be a frightening place. But if we bring Christ with us, we will see the glory of God. Jesus promised us, and so it will be.