Tag: Sr. Kathryn

“Every day he was teaching…all the people were hanging on his words” (Luke 19: 47-48).

Jesus, the Word who became flesh and dwelt among us, is our Teacher and Master.  Every day we need to hear the Lord speaking. Every day we need the direction only Jesus can give. Every day society needs to be reorganized and renewed according to the words of life from the Lord of Life. Every. Day.

“Every day he was teaching…all the people were hanging on his words.”

Some days might seem to be too busy or too crazy to take time to read God’s Word in the Bible. But every day that Jesus was on this earth he taught us. God himself learned to speak in our faltering language about our very creaturely struggles, addressing our profound weakness and glaring needs for healing. He whom the angels praise with song and glory humbled himself to become a man in order to teach us, to save us, to reconcile us with the Father that we might live forever in heaven. 

When Jesus ascended into heaven 2000 years ago, did his teaching end? Were we to hear his voice no more? That beloved voice that spoke to us the truth, that comforted and challenged, that proclaimed words of healing and forgiveness and courage? That voice that touched individual lives in ever so profound ways. Where can we encounter Jesus today in order to hear his voice as he speaks to us personally? 

Pope Francis, in his document Desiderio Desideravi, wrote that every word, every gesture, every glance, every feeling of Jesus reaches us through the Eucharist, through the celebration of all the sacraments. It is in the Eucharist and the sacraments that we encounter Jesus. It is there that we hear him. It is there that we experience how he sees us, what he thinks about us, what he feels toward us (cf. n. 11). 

It is when we receive Jesus in Communion that the events narrated in the Gospel become present to us today. When we have received Jesus in the Eucharist, when we are before him in adoration, Pope Francis helps us understand how Jesus and his teaching become present. There in prayer in the real presence of Jesus, we can each say: “I am Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at the well, the man possessed by demons at Capernaum, the paralytic in the house of Peter, the sinful woman pardoned, the woman afflicted by hemorrhages, the daughter of Jairus, the blind man of Jericho, Zacchaeus, Lazarus, the thief and Peter both pardoned. The Lord Jesus who dies no more, who lives forever with the signs of his Passion continues to pardon us, to heal us, to save us with the power of the sacraments. It is the concrete way, by means of his incarnation, that he loves us” (n. 11). 

St. Ephrem helps us reflect more deeply on this when he says: “O Lord, we cannot go to the pool of Siloam to which you sent the blind man. But we have the chalice of your Precious Blood, filled with life and light. The purer we are, the more we receive.”

“Every day he was teaching…all the people were hanging on his words.”

A friend once told me about her young nephew asking her why the people in the Church were processing to the altar. He wanted to know what it was all about.  She explained that they were receiving Jesus himself in the Eucharist. He thought about that for a few moments and then he asked her, “If that is really true, then why doesn’t everyone look happy?”

These words come back to me often. As a Daughter of St. Paul I have received holy Communion and made an hour of Eucharistic adoration every day for the past 49 years. There are times when I’m distracted, tired, preoccupied, or just “not present.” It is at these times that we can recall that the people of Judea were hanging on Jesus’ every word! And I, we, have the immense privilege to be able to receive the gift Jesus gave us at the Last Supper: himself. He wanted to stay with us always: to teach us every day, to love and forgive us, heal and transform us. The Eucharist is real, it is really the body and blood, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ. In receiving the Eucharist we receive from Jesus healing and health. He teaches us and heals our sins and our ills and feeds our body and our soul. The Eucharist is life. The Eucharist brings us eternal life. 

Let us, therefore, hang on Jesus’ every word. Let us approach the altar with joy and thanksgiving. Let us reserve our hearts for him through a gentle asceticism which makes room for his glory in our lives. Let us keep Jesus company in the Eucharist whenever we are able. Even if we can’t pray in a Eucharistic chapel, in spirit we can always prostrate ourselves before Jesus in the Tabernacles of the world in adoration and thanksgiving, ready to hear what he desires to say to us. 

Let us hang on Jesus’ every word.

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“Jesús enseñaba todos los días en el templo… [y] todo el pueblo estaba pendiente de sus palabras” (Lucas 19: 47-48).

Jesús, el Verbo que se hizo carne y habitó entre nosotros, es nuestro Maestro. Todos los días necesitamos escuchar al Señor hablar. Todos los días necesitamos la dirección que solo Jesús puede dar. Cada día la sociedad necesita ser reorganizada y renovada según las palabras de vida del Señor de la Vida. Cada. Día.

“Jesús enseñaba todos los días en el templo… [y] todo el pueblo estaba pendiente de sus palabras.”

Algunos días pueden parecer demasiado ocupados, demasiado locos, para tomarnos el tiempo de leer la Palabra de Dios que se encuentra en la Biblia. Pero cada día que Jesús estuvo en esta tierra nos enseñó. Dios mismo aprendió a hablar en nuestro lenguaje vacilante acerca de nuestras propias luchas como criaturas, abordando nuestra profunda debilidad y nuestras evidentes necesidades de sanación. Aquel a quien los ángeles alaban con canto y gloria, se humilló a sí mismo haciéndose hombre para enseñarnos, para salvarnos, para reconciliarnos con el Padre a fin de que vivamos para siempre en el cielo.

Cuando Jesús ascendió al cielo hace 2000 años, ¿terminaron sus enseñanzas? ¿No volveríamos a escuchar su voz? ¿Esa voz amada que nos habló la verdad, que consoló y desafió, que proclamó palabras de sanación y perdón y valentía? Esa voz que tocó vidas individuales de maneras muy profundas. ¿Dónde podemos encontrar a Jesús hoy para escuchar su voz cuando nos habla personalmente?

El Papa Francisco, en su documento Desiderio Desideravi, escribió que cada palabra, cada gesto, cada mirada, cada sentimiento de Jesús nos llega a través de la Eucaristía, a través de la celebración de todos los sacramentos. Es en la Eucaristía y en los sacramentos que encontramos a Jesús. Es allí donde lo escuchamos. Allí experimentamos cómo nos ve, qué piensa de nosotros, qué siente por nosotros (cf. n. 11).

Es cuando recibimos a Jesús en la Comunión que los acontecimientos narrados en el Evangelio se nos hacen presentes hoy. Cuando hemos recibido a Jesús en la Eucaristía, cuando estamos ante él en la adoración, el Papa Francisco nos ayuda a comprender cómo Jesús y su enseñanza se hacen presentes. Allí, en oración, en la presencia real de Jesús, podemos decir cada uno: Yo soy Nicodemo y la Samaritana, el endemoniado de Cafarnaún y el paralítico en casa de Pedro, la pecadora perdonada y la hemorroisa, la hija de Jairo y el ciego de Jericó, Zaqueo y Lázaro; el ladrón y Pedro, perdonados. El Señor Jesús que  inmolado, ya no vuelve a morir; y sacrificado, vive para siempre  [2], continúa perdonándonos, curándonos y salvándonos con el poder de los Sacramentos. A través de la encarnación, es el modo concreto por el que nos ama.” (n. 11).

San Efrén nos ayuda a reflexionar más profundamente sobre esto cuando dice: “Oh Señor, no podemos ir al estanque de Siloé al que enviaste al ciego. Pero tenemos el cáliz de tu Preciosa Sangre, lleno de vida y de luz. Mientras más puros somos, más recibimos”.

“Jesús enseñaba todos los días en el templo… [y] todo el pueblo estaba pendiente de sus palabras.”

Una amiga me contó una vez que su sobrino joven le preguntó por qué la gente de la Iglesia se dirigía al altar. Quería saber de qué se trataba. Mi amiga le explicó que estaban recibiendo al mismo Jesús en la Eucaristía. Pensó en eso por unos momentos y luego le preguntó: “Si eso es realmente cierto, ¿por qué no se ven felices todos?”

Estas palabras vienen a la mente con frecuencia. Como Hija de San Pablo he recibido la Sagrada Comunión y he hecho una hora de adoración Eucarística todos los días durante los últimos 49 años. Hay momentos en los que estoy distraída, cansada, preocupada o simplemente “no estoy presente”. En estos momentos podemos recordar que la gente de Judea estaba pendiente de cada palabra de Jesús. Y nosotros tenemos el inmenso privilegio de poder recibir el don que Jesús nos dio en la Última Cena: él mismo. Quería estar siempre con nosotros: enseñarnos todos los días, amarnos y perdonarnos, sanarnos y transformarnos. La Eucaristía es real, es realmente el cuerpo y la sangre, el alma y la divinidad de Jesucristo. Al recibir la Eucaristía recibimos de Jesús sanación y salud. Nos enseña y sana nuestros pecados y nuestros males y alimenta nuestro cuerpo y nuestra alma. La Eucaristía es vida. La Eucaristía nos trae la vida eterna.

Por lo tanto, aferrémonos a cada palabra de Jesús. Acerquémonos al altar con alegría y acción de gracias. Reservemos nuestro corazón para él a través de una suave ascesis que haga lugar a su gloria en nuestra vida. Hagamos compañía a Jesús en la Eucaristía siempre que podamos. Aunque no podamos orar en una capilla eucarística, en espíritu siempre podemos postrarnos ante Jesús en los Tabernáculos del mundo en adoración y acción de gracias, listos para escuchar lo que Él desea decirnos.

Aferrémonos a cada palabra de Jesús.

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In the seventh grade, I did my first large paper on the weather. To this day I can recall how to forecast the weather from simple observation. Before the days when we could switch on the morning news to find out the weather or check a weather app, our ancestors used their senses. For example, the leaves of maple and oak trees react to the sudden increase in humidity prior to heavy rain and often turn upward. When the wind is switching back and forth, leading clouds to move in different directions across the sky, we can be sure that weather changes are on the way. 

Of course, we all know the rhyme: “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in morning, sailor’s take warning.” 

Despite the fact that we often bemoan how inaccurate the weather reports can be, we still check the weather regularly and make our decisions about travel and clothing accordingly.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus spoke some direct and challenging words to the crowds. “You know how to interpret the appearance of the earth and the sky, why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”

Was Jesus trying to shake up the crowd so they would learn more and think about things more clearly? Even though I remember some of that science paper from seventh grade, I am famous for going out ill prepared for the weather. I forget to bring an umbrella. I put on a sweater instead of a coat. You get the idea. Is this because I don’t have any idea how to look out the window, check an app, or find the 10-day weather forecast online? I know how to do all these things. I’m just lazy and don’t really care that much about the effects of the weather on my plans. 

Jesus, in the same way, didn’t diagnose the crowds as not understanding what was happening “in the present time.” It’s not that the people couldn’t figure out that Jesus was the Messiah, that all the prophecies pointed to him, that he spoke with an authority that even the religious leaders didn’t have. Instead, Jesus called them “hypocrites.” We call someone a hypocrite who knows what is right or true but lives in denial of what they know to be right and true. Jesus was saying to them that just as they could interpret the signs of the earth and sky and forecast the weather, they did understand that he had come from God (so much so that the leaders determined very quickly they needed to kill him). They understood, but they were not willing to acknowledge and to accept he had been sent by God. To accept Jesus as the Messiah, to sit at his feet as Mary, to follow him closely as the Twelve, to be personally transformed by his parables and teachings and invitations to conversion like Zacchaeus would change them forever. This they could not accept.

There is certainly not much damage from walking in the rain without an umbrella or getting chilly because I didn’t check out how cold it really was outside. More serious, however, is not living what I know, acting on what I believe, choosing what has been chosen by God for me. The rest of this Gospel reading clearly lays out the risk of hypocrisy, of being too lazy to care about living the Gospel, of being too absorbed with the things of this earth that the Lord takes second place in our interests and in our love.

I don’t believe Jesus spoke these words to the crowd with harshness or anger. The heart of the Master was too great, his love for them and for us was a love that led him eventually to the cross for our salvation. I hear in his words a determined effort to make them see what is right before their eyes. How many times Jesus has to shake us up, remind us of what we know, and then prod us forward to accept what he is revealing to us that we might allow our lives to be changed. 

Jesus, I commit my entire self to you, every moment of my life, every breath, every thought, every desire, every word, every action. Break through my ignorance, my blindness, my unwillingness. Attract me so strongly to yourself that in a short time I will find myself renewed, created anew, transformed in surprising ways. Amen.

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En séptimo grado, hice mi primer ensayo largo sobre el clima. Hasta el día de hoy puedo recordar cómo pronosticar el clima a partir de la simple observación. Antes de los días en que podíamos ver las noticias de la mañana para averiguar el clima o consultar un app meteorológica, nuestros antepasados ​​utilizaban sus sentidos. Por ejemplo, las hojas de los arces y los robles reaccionan al aumento repentino de la humedad antes de las fuertes lluvias y, a menudo, se vuelven hacia arriba. Cuando el viento cambia de un lado a otro, haciendo que las nubes se muevan en diferentes direcciones a través del cielo, podemos estar seguros de que los cambios climáticos están en camino.

Por supuesto, todos conocemos la rima: “Cielo rojo en la noche, alegría del marinero. Cielo rojo por la mañana, advertencia para el marinero”.

A pesar de que a menudo nos lamentamos de lo inexactos que pueden ser los informes meteorológicos, seguimos comprobando el tiempo con regularidad y tomamos nuestras decisiones sobre viajes y ropa en consecuencia.

En el Evangelio de hoy, Jesús pronunció algunas palabras directas y desafiantes a la multitud. “Si saben interpretar el aspecto que tienen el cielo y la tierra, ¿por qué no interpretan entonces los signos del tiempo presente?”

¿Estaba Jesús tratando de agitar a la multitud para que aprendieran más y pensaran las cosas con más claridad? Aunque recuerdo algo de ese trabajo de ciencia de séptimo grado, con freceuncia salgo mal preparado para el clima. Me olvido traer un paraguas. Me pongo un suéter en lugar de un abrigo. Entiendes la idea. ¿Se debe a que no tengo idea cómo mirar por la ventana, consultar un app o encontrar el pronóstico del tiempo de 10 días en línea? Sé cómo hacer todas estas cosas. Soy floja y realmente no me importan mucho los efectos del clima en mis planes.

Jesús, de la misma manera, no diagnosticó que las multitudes no entendieran lo que estaba sucediendo “en el tiempo presente”. No es que la gente no supiera que Jesús era el Mesías, que todas las profecías apuntaban a él, que hablaba con una autoridad que ni siquiera los líderes religiosos tenían. En cambio, Jesús los llamó “hipócritas”. Llamamos hipócrita a alguien que sabe lo que es correcto o verdadero pero vive negando lo que sabe que es correcto y verdadero. Jesús les estaba diciendo que así como podían interpretar las señales de la tierra y el cielo y pronosticar el clima, entendían que él había venido de Dios (tanto que los líderes determinaron muy rápidamente que tenían que matarlo). Ellos entendieron, pero no estaban dispuestos a reconocer y aceptar que había sido enviado por Dios. Aceptar a Jesús como el Mesías, sentarse a sus pies como María, seguirlo de cerca como los Doce, dejarse transformar personalmente por sus parábolas y enseñanzas e invitaciones a la conversión como Zaqueo los cambiaría para siempre. Esto no lo podían aceptar.

Ciertamente, no hay mucho daño por caminar bajo la lluvia sin paraguas o tener frío porque no verifiqué el frío que realmente hacía afuera. Más grave, sin embargo, es no vivir lo que sé, actuar según lo que creo, elegir lo que Dios ha elegido para mí. El resto de esta lectura del Evangelio expone claramente el riesgo de la hipocresía, de ser demasiado perezosos para preocuparse por vivir el Evangelio, de estar demasiado absortos en las cosas de esta tierra que el Señor toma un segundo lugar en nuestros intereses y en nuestro amor.

No creo que Jesús haya dicho estas palabras a la multitud con dureza o enojo. El corazón del Maestro era demasiado grande, su amor por ellos y por nosotros fue un amor que finalmente lo llevó a la cruz por nuestra salvación. Oigo en sus palabras un esfuerzo decidido por hacerles ver lo que está justo delante de sus ojos. Cuántas veces Jesús tiene que sacudirnos, recordarnos lo que sabemos y luego impulsarnos a aceptar lo que nos está revelando para que podamos permitir que nuestras vidas cambien.

Jesús, te entrego todo mi ser, cada momento de mi vida, cada respiro, cada pensamiento, cada deseo, cada palabra, cada acción. Rompe mi ignorancia, mi ceguera, mi falta de voluntad. Atráeme tan fuertemente hacia ti que en poco tiempo me encuentre renovada, creada de nuevo, transformada de maneras sorprendentes. Amén.

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Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth?

The angels sang at Jesus’ birth: “Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (Luke 2:14). When we celebrate the Feast of Christmas, the birth of the Incarnate Word, God-with-us, we depict it with beautiful nativity scenes, a lone star radiant in the peaceful night sky, simple shepherds worshipping the newborn King of kings and Prince of Peace laying in a manger. It is only those who participate at Mass on weekdays who immediately get plunged in division. Starting on December 26, the Mass celebrates a number of individuals who paid the price for their faith in Christ with their very life. Saint Stephen is martyred, the Holy Innocents are silent witnesses with their death to the birth of the Son of God, and Saint Thomas Becket who engaged in conflict with Henry II, King of England, over the rights and privileges of the Church is murdered by followers of the king in Canterbury Cathedral.

To be a disciple of Jesus is to be invited to martyrdom either through the giving of one’s life for one’s belief in Christ or through the living of one’s life out of one’s belief in Christ and adherence to his teaching. 

Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.

This word of the Savior is foreboding. This division sets people against one another. It certainly is easy to brush this aside as we hear the examples given by the Lord himself: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother and so forth. Someone who has followed her faith at the cost of acceptance within her own family, however, will not read those lines so glibly. I’m thinking of Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton. 

Elizabeth Ann Bayley was born in New York City to a prominent Episcopalian family on August 28, 1774. After seven happy years of marriage to William Magee Seton, her husband became very ill with tuberculosis. She travelled with him to Italy hoping to find a cure, but he died there in 1803. While in Italy, Elizabeth discovered Catholicism through the kindness of friends who offered her comfort as she grieved her husband’s death, inviting her to Mass with them. A year later in New York, Elizabeth officially converted to Roman Catholicism. Her choice to convert resulted in three years of financial struggle and social discrimination. She opened a boarding house for boys, but when the students’ parents discovered that she was Catholic, they removed their sons from her house. Two years later, she was invited to move to Baltimore with her family and to open a school for girls. Women began to join her work and, after moving to Emmitsburg, Maryland, she founded the Sisters of Charity of St. Joseph, the first congregation of women religious in the United States. 

Do you think that I have come to establish peace on the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division.

Each of us is called to this living martyrdom, for the Lord we follow died, out of amazing love for us, on the Cross. We are worth that much in God’s eyes that he calls us to a heroic living (and sometimes dying) in imitation of our Savior. This division to which Jesus calls us may be as simple as not contributing to slander or it may be as consequential as walking away from a potential financial windfall that is at the expense of some group “on the peripheries.” It could be quiet decisions made in private or could entail very public statements. I think of Saint Francis of Assisi who renounced his wealth and his inheritance to follow the call of God to rebuild his Church. Summoned by his father before the Bishop to account for bolts of cloth he had sold for the poor, Francis famously removed his garments and gave them to his father saying, “Until now I have called you my father on earth. But henceforth I can truly say: Our Father who art in heaven.”  Francis renounced the considerable wealth of his family to embrace the life of poverty and joy to which he was called.

Today you may wish to consider: Where does the division established by Christ cut through your career? Your relationships? Your life as a Christian? 

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¿Piensan que he venido a establecer la paz en la tierra?

Los ángeles cantaron en el nacimiento de Jesús: “¡Gloria a Dios en el cielo, y en la tierra paz a los hombres de buena voluntad!” (Lucas 2:14). Cuando celebramos la fiesta de Navidad, el nacimiento del Verbo Encarnado, Dios-con-nosotros, lo representamos con hermosos belenes, una estrella solitaria que brilla en el cielo nocturno pacífico, simples pastores adorando al recién nacido Rey de reyes y Príncipe de Paz recostado en un pesebre. Son solo aquellos que participan en Misa entre semana los que inmediatamente se sumergen en la división. A partir del 26 de diciembre, la Misa celebra a un número de personas que pagaron el precio de su fe en Cristo con su propia vida. San Esteban es martirizado, los Santos Inocentes son testigos silenciosos con su muerte del nacimiento del Hijo de Dios, y Santo Tomás Becket, quien se enfrentó a Enrique II, Rey de Inglaterra, por los derechos y privilegios de la Iglesia es asesinado por seguidores del rey en la Catedral de Canterbury.

Ser un discípulo de Jesús es ser invitado al martirio, ya que sea dando la vida por la fe en Cristo o viviendo la vida por la fe en Cristo y la adhesión a sus enseñanzas.

¿Piensan que he venido a establecer la paz en la tierra? No, te digo, sino más bien división.

Esta palabra del Salvador es premonitoria. Esta división pone a las personas unas contra otras. Ciertamente es fácil dejar esto de lado cuando escuchamos los ejemplos dados por el mismo Señor: padre contra hijo e hijo contra padre, madre contra hija e hija contra madre y así sucesivamente. Alguien que ha seguido su fe a costa de la aceptación dentro de su propia familia, sin embargo, no leerá esas líneas con tanta ligereza. Estoy pensando en Santa Elizabeth Ann Seton.

Elizabeth Ann Bayley nació en la ciudad de Nueva York en el seno de una familia prominente episcopal el 28 de agosto de 1774. Después de siete años de un matrimonio feliz con William Magee Seton, su esposo se enfermó gravemente de tuberculosis. Viajó con él a Italia con la esperanza de encontrar una cura, pero se murió allí en 1803. Mientras estaba en Italia, Elizabeth descubrió el catolicismo gracias a la amabilidad de amigos que le ofrecieron consuelo mientras lloraba la muerte de su esposo, invitándola a Misa con ellos. Un año después, en Nueva York, Elizabeth se convirtió oficialmente al catolicismo romano. Su decisión de convertirse resultó en tres años de lucha financiera y discriminación social. Abrió un internado para niños, pero cuando los padres de los estudiantes descubrieron que era católica, sacaron a sus hijos de su casa. Dos años más tarde, la invitaron a mudarse a Baltimore con su familia y abrir una escuela para niñas. Unas mujeres comenzaron a unirse con ella en su trabajo y, después de mudarse a Emmitsburg, Maryland, fundó las Hermanas de la Caridad de San José, la primera congregación de mujeres religiosas en los Estados Unidos.

¿Piensan que he venido a establecer la paz en la tierra? No, te digo, sino más bien división.

Cada uno de nosotros está llamado a este martirio viviente, porque el Señor al que seguimos murió en la Cruz, por amor asombroso hacia nosotros. Valemos tanto a los ojos de Dios que nos llama a una vida heroica (y a veces a una muerte) a imitación de nuestro Salvador. Esta división a la que Jesús nos llama puede ser tan simple como no contribuir a la calumnia o puede ser tan importante como alejarse de una posible ganancia financiera inesperada dañando a algún grupo “en las periferias”. Podrían ser decisiones tranquilas tomadas en privado o podrían implicar declaraciones muy públicas. Pienso en San Francisco de Asís que renunció a sus riquezas y a su herencia para seguir el llamado de Dios a reconstruir su Iglesia. Convocado por su padre ante el obispo para dar cuentas de los rollos de tela que había vendido para los pobres, Francisco se quitó la ropa y se la dio a su padre diciendo: “Hasta ahora te he llamado mi padre en la tierra. Pero desde ahora puedo decir con certeza: Padre nuestro que estás en los cielos”. Francisco renunció a la considerable riqueza de su familia para abrazar la vida de pobreza y alegría a la que fue llamado.

Quizás podrías considerar hoy: ¿Dónde afecta tu vida profesional la división establecida por Cristo? ¿Tus relaciones? ¿Tu vida como cristiano?

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Recently I spent an hour with one of my dear friends. The room was quiet as we spoke together. Now in her eighties, she is no longer able to walk about freely and falls are frequent. She told me that her memory is going, making it difficult to carry on a conversation for very long since the topic quickly vanishes from her mind.

Together we gazed out of her large window at the beautiful trees that grew in the front yard. With a sigh we both realized that Jesus was beginning to take her into the wilderness of his Heart, that place of unknowing where we all are eventually invited to restfully trust in him as he leads us to glory.

“But as it is written:

‘What eye has not seen, and ear has not heard,
    and what has not entered the human heart,
    what God has prepared for those who love him’” (1 Corinthians 2:9 NABRE).

Questions about life’s meaninglessness, about the way in which our days pass like vapor, about how all that we do and accomplish seems to vanish without a trace as we age, these burden not just the heart of Qoheleth in today’s First Reading, but at certain points in our lives these questions haunt us too. I once heard that the book of Ecclesiastes identifies the question to which the whole of Revelation is the answer. In this quickly changing world, all that our life has been seems to slip through our fingers, and our heart longs for life, true life, life that is a treasure that neither moth nor rust can destroy.

“You will show me the path to life,
    abounding joy in your presence,
    the delights at your right hand forever” (Psalm 16:11).

Both Paul in his First Letter to the Corinthians and the Psalmist see life as a great river rushing toward a goal prepared for us by God where we will find joy and delight at his right hand forever. How different is this message from the distressing observations of Ecclesiastes in our First Reading today:

“One generation passes and another comes,
but the world forever stays.
The sun rises and the sun goes down;
then it presses on to the place where it rises.
Blowing now toward the south, then toward the north,
the wind turns again and again, resuming its rounds.
All rivers go to the sea,
yet never does the sea become full.
To the place where they go,
the rivers keep on going” (Eccl 1:4-7).

There is something cyclical in this description of continual, unending, “coming and going” of things. In this reading there is no sense of the enduring, of divine gift and guidance and mission, of an end which has been ordained for all things by God. Instead, the more things change, as the saying goes, the more things stay the same, endlessly repeating to seemingly no purpose.

Today many experience life in this way. Not being grounded in the fertile soil of God’s action and love, much of what constitutes activity in our world seems to have no real meaning. I believe that during the pandemic many began to feel this way. The tasks they had been doing in their jobs were now no longer satisfying to them, no longer seemed purposeful, no longer worth devoting their whole life to. They began to seek something more meaningful to do with their careers. 

It is ultimately only God who truly defines us and the purpose of our lives, their unending purpose. 

This discouraged sigh of Qoheleth whose voice we hear in Ecclesiastes may escape also now and then from your heart. However, Saint Paul encourages you not to give in to this sense of futility and hopelessness. Instead, take on Paul’s own strength, faith, and hope when he cries out, “I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work in you will continue to complete it until the day of Christ Jesus” (Phil 1:6 NABRE). 

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Recientemente pasé una hora con uno de mis amigas queridas. El salón era silencioso mientras conversamos juntos. Ahora que tiene ochenta años, ya no puede caminar libremente y se cae frecuentemente. Me dijo que está perdiendo la memoria, ya que se le dificulta mantener una conversación por mucho tiempo porque el tema desaparece rápidamente de su mente.

Juntos miramos por la ventana grande a los hermosos árboles que crecían en el jardín de enfrente. Con un suspiro, ambos nos dimos cuenta de que Jesús estaba comenzando a llevarla al desierto de su Corazón, ese lugar del desconocimiento donde finalmente todos estamos invitados a confiar tranquilamente en él mientras nos conduce a la gloria.

“Sin embargo, como está escrito:
Ningún ojo ha visto, ningún oído ha escuchado,
ninguna mente humana ha concebido,
lo que Dios ha preparado para quienes lo aman’” (1 Corintios 2:9).

Las preguntas sobre el sinsentido de la vida, sobre la forma en que nuestros días pasan como el vapor, sobre cómo todo lo que hacemos y logramos parece desvanecerse sin dejar rastro a medida que envejecemos, estas preguntas no solo agobian el corazón de Qohelet en la Primera Lectura de hoy, sino durante ciertos puntos en nuestras vidas estas preguntas también nos persiguen a nosotros. Una vez escuché que el libro de Eclesiastés identifica la pregunta a la cual todo el Apocalipsis es la respuesta. En este mundo que cambia rápidamente, todo lo que ha sido nuestra vida parece escurrirse entre nuestros dedos, y nuestro corazón anhela la vida, la vida verdadera, la vida que es un tesoro que ni la polilla ni el óxido pueden destruir.

“Me has dado a conocer la senda de la vida;
me llenarás de alegría en tu presencia,
y de dicha eterna a tu derecha” (Salmo 16:11).

Tanto Pablo en su Primera Carta a los Corintios como el Salmista ven la vida como un gran río que se precipita hacia una meta preparada por Dios para nosotros donde encontraremos gozo y deleite a su diestra para siempre. Cuán diferente es este mensaje de las angustiosas observaciones de Eclesiastés en nuestra Primera Lectura de hoy:

“Pasa una generación y viene otra,
pero la tierra permanece siempre.
El sol sale y se pone;
corre y llega a su lugar,
de dónde vuelve a salir.
Sopla el viento hacia el sur y gira luego hacia el norte,
y dando vueltas y más vueltas, vuelve siempre a girar.
Todos los ríos van al mar, pero el mar nunca se llena;
regresan al punto de donde vinieron
y de nuevo vuelven a correr” (Ecl 1:4-7).

Hay algo cíclico en esta descripción del continuo, interminable, “ir y venir” de las cosas. En esta lectura no hay sentido de perdurabilidad, de don divino, de guía y de misión, de un fin que ha sido ordenado por Dios para todas las cosas. En cambio, cuanto más cambian las cosas, como dice el refrán, más cosas permanecen igual, repitiéndose sin cesar aparentemente sin ningún propósito.

Hoy muchos experimentan la vida de esta manera. Al no estar arraigado en la tierra fértil de la acción y el amor de Dios, mucho de lo que constituye la actividad en nuestro mundo parece no tener un significado real. Yo creo que durante la pandemia muchos empezaron a sentirse así. Las tareas que habían estado haciendo en sus trabajos ahora ya no les satisfacían, ya no parecían tener un propósito, ya no valía la pena dedicar toda su vida a eso. Comenzaron a buscar algo más significativo que hacer con sus carreras.

En última instancia, es solo Dios quien verdaderamente nos define y el propósito de nuestras vidas, su propósito sin fin.

Este suspiro desanimado de Qohelet cuya voz escuchamos en Eclesiastés puede escapar también de vez en cuando de tu corazón. Sin embargo, san Pablo los anima a no ceder a este sentimiento de futilidad y desesperanza. En lugar de eso, toma la fuerza, la fe y la esperanza de Pablo cuando clama: “Estoy convencido de esto: el que comenzó tan buena obra en ustedes la irá perfeccionando hasta el día de Cristo Jesús” (Filipenses 1,6).

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“As Jesus passed by, he saw a man named Matthew. He said to him, ‘Follow me.’”

Jesus is where we are. Whether we are living a holy life, struggling with temptations inundating us like a hurricane, or lost in the mire of vice or sin, Jesus is always passing by.

Jesus is not passing by intent on avoiding us. He is passing by in order to see us, to show us that we are seen with the eyes of respect and love. Jesus sees us, as we most deeply are. He delights in us, for he has made all things good.

There are many reasons why I want to avoid your gaze, Jesus. I don’t feel worthy. I don’t know how to respond to you. I’m afraid. But here you are, passing by, seeing me as you saw Matthew.

I can imagine Matthew with either an arrogant gaze—by which he defended himself from the hatred of his fellow countrymen—or a defensive, sullen, withdrawn attitude as he isolated himself from their disdain. Jesus looked into Matthew’s eyes, eyes that had known only rejection from others, and for the first time Matthew knew that someone truly saw him. Someone had seen his wounds, his fears, his desires, his folly, his sin, and his potential.

You saw him, Lord Jesus, and you called him by name and you invited him to live in your presence. You wanted him to be both your disciple and your apostle. In following you, Matthew was to embark on the adventure of metanoia and mission, to proclaim your glory to the world. In fact, he did both immediately.

“And [Matthew] got up and followed him. While he was at table in his house, many tax collectors and sinners came and sat with Jesus and his disciples.”

The rich young man had walked away sad, unable to really give himself over to the following of Christ. Matthew, on the other hand, jumped up, immediately corresponding to the grace of his call. To the one who had really seen him—who did not consider simply that he had betrayed his people by extorting their money and overcharging their taxes—to this Lord and Master he entrusted his whole life.

This one loving look of the Savior that expressed a commitment to his dignity and a willingness to care about him, changed his life forever. 

Pope Francis in his peace message published on December 17, 2021, invited us to have the eyes of Christ for each other. He called it the “culture of care.” 

“The culture of care calls for a common, supportive and inclusive commitment to protecting and promoting the dignity and good of all, a willingness to show care and compassion, to work for reconciliation and healing, and to advance mutual respect and acceptance…. May we never yield to the temptation to disregard others, especially those in greatest need, and to look the other way; instead, may we strive daily, in concrete and practical ways, to form a community composed of brothers and sisters who accept and care for one another.”

When I am hurt or angry, I have to admit my eyes are not caring. My gaze can be arrogant or withdrawn or sullen. Jesus’s gaze alone restores to us the joy of life, the kind of happiness that radiates from our soul through our eyes. When you see a person perfectly at peace or someone who spends a lot of time in prayer, you can see that radiance, that happiness. Their eyes have a depth to them that cannot be fathomed.

Allow Jesus today to see you as he passes you by. He is there to call you again and again to follow him. When you have followed him, turn then to cast eyes of concern and respect and acceptance on your brothers and sisters. For it may be that they will only know the gaze of the Lord through your eyes, and his gentle compassion through your words.

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Al pasar “Jesús vio a un hombre llamado Mateo, sentado a su mesa de recaudador de impuestos, y le dijo: ‘Sígueme’”.

Jesús se encuentra donde nos encontramos nosotros. Ya sea que estemos viviendo una vida santa, luchando con las tentaciones que nos inundan como un huracán, o perdidos en el lodo del vicio o del pecado, Jesús siempre está pasando cerca nuestro.

Jesús no pasa de largo con la intención de evitarnos. Pasa para vernos, para mostrarnos que somos vistos con los ojos del respeto y del amor. Jesús nos ve en lo más profundo de nuestro ser. Él se deleita en nosotros, porque él ha hecho todas las cosas buenas.

Hay muchas razones por las que quiero evitar tu mirada, Jesús. No me siento digno. No se como responderte. Tengo miedo. Pero aquí estás, pasando, viéndome como viste a Mateo.

Me imagino a Mateo con una mirada arrogante —con la que se defendía del odio de sus compatriotas— o con una actitud defensiva, hosca, retraída, aislándose de su desdén. Jesús miró a los ojos de Mateo, ojos que solo habían conocido el rechazo de los demás, y por primera vez Mateo supo que alguien realmente lo estaba viendo. Alguien había visto sus heridas, sus miedos, sus deseos, su locura, su pecado y su potencial.

Tú lo viste, Señor Jesús, y lo llamaste por su nombre y lo invitaste a vivir en tu presencia. Querías que fuera tanto tu discípulo como tu apóstol. Siguiéndote, Mateo iba a emprender la aventura de un cambio profundo y de la misión, para proclamar tu gloria al mundo. De hecho, hizo ambas cosas inmediatamente.

Y “[Mateo] se levantó y lo siguió. Después, cuando estaba a la mesa en casa de Mateo, muchos publicanos y pecadores se sentaron también a comer con Jesús y sus discípulos.”

El joven rico se había marchado triste, incapaz de entregarse realmente al seguimiento de Cristo. Mateo, en cambio, se levantó de un salto, correspondiendo inmediatamente a la gracia de su llamada, a quien realmente lo había visto, que no consideraba simplemente que había traicionado a su pueblo extorsionando su dinero y cobrando en exceso sus impuestos, a este Señor y Maestro le encomendó toda su vida.

Esta mirada amorosa del Salvador que expresó un compromiso con su dignidad y una disponabilidad de cuidarlo, cambió su vida para siempre.

El Papa Francisco en su mensaje de paz publicado el 17 de diciembre de 2021, nos invitó a tener los ojos de Cristo los unos para los otros. Lo llamó la “cultura del cuidado”.

La cultura del cuidado, como compromiso común, solidario y participativo para proteger y promover la dignidad y el bien de todos, como una disposición al cuidado, a la atención, a la compasión, a la reconciliación y a la recuperación, al respeto y a la aceptación mutuos…No cedamos a la tentación de desinteresarnos de los demás, especialmente de los más débiles; no nos acostumbremos a desviar la mirada, sino comprometámonos cada día concretamente para ‘formar una comunidad compuesta de hermanos que se acogen recíprocamente y se preocupan los unos de los otros’.”

Cuando estoy herido o enojado, tengo que admitir que mis ojos no contienen compasión. Mi mirada puede ser arrogante o retraída o hosca. Sólo la mirada de Jesús nos devuelve la alegría de vivir, la felicidad que irradia de nuestra alma a través de nuestros ojos. Cuando ves a una persona perfectamente en paz o a alguien que pasa mucho tiempo en oración, puedes ver ese resplandor, esa felicidad. Sus ojos tienen una profundidad que no se puede comprender.

Permita que Jesús hoy te vea cuando pase cerca tuyo. Él está allí para llamarte una y otra vez para que lo sigas. Cuando lo hayas seguido, vuélve a mirar con preocupación, respeto y aceptación a tus hermanos y hermanas. Porque puede ser que sólo conozcan la mirada del Señor a través de tus ojos, y su dulce compasión a través de tus palabras.

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At daybreak, Jesus left and went to a deserted place.

In today’s Gospel reading, we enter into just one of Jesus’ “days.” He had been teaching and healing non-stop for 24 hours at least. After he had left the synagogue [before today’s reading picks up], he went to Peter’s house, where he was asked to heal Peter’s mother-in-law who lay in bed with a severe fever. Jesus rebuked the fever and she immediately got up “and waited on them.” I imagine that meant cooking dinner, giving Jesus a bit of refreshment near the end of a busy day. 

However, at sunset the house began to crowd with endless people pleading throughout the night for healing and hope. And now at daybreak, “Jesus left and went to a deserted place.” These are the words that are used in the Gospel of Luke to introduce the hours of solitude in which Jesus would be alone with his Father in prayer. These words are never used to indicate that Jesus was taking a break. He didn’t leave to escape the noise and demands of the crowds who needed him, but to reconnect with the Source of his Life, the Fire of Love that burned within him, his purpose, his desire. His great need was to stay in communion with the Father, and it was from this communion that he gained the strength and energy to give, to serve, to love, and eventually to lay down his life.

Saint John Paul II seemed to get his cue from Jesus himself. He received his drive, and his purpose, from prayer. The Pope’s schedule, according to Andreas Widmer, author of the book The Pope & the CEO: John Paul II’s Leadership Lessons to a Young Swiss Guard, ran something like this: The Pope rose before 6:00 and prayed in his private chapel before visitors joined him for Mass at 7:00. After Mass and an hour or two in the office, he would greet official visitors at 11:00, and then give his general audiences which were followed by lunch where he was joined by various Vatican staff. His lunches were the opportunity for him to be brought up to speed on what was happening in the various offices of the Vatican. Often he invited guests specifically to engage in a vigorous discussion on various theological or philosophical issues that concerned the life of the Church. After lunch, the Pope headed for the rooftop gardens of the Papal Palace to walk and talk with God. After this time of quiet prayer and rest, there were several hours of office work and more audiences until dinner at 8:00 where guests dined with him once more. After dinner he returned to reading and writing and praying well into the night, only turning out his lights at midnight or even later. We can imagine that this was a leisurely schedule compared to his schedule while traveling.

Widmer recalls that when John Paul II returned after being weeks on the road he didn’t head straight for his own apartment and collapse for a few days in exhaustion. As he arrived at the Vatican, he would stop and greet all the staff who had gathered to welcome him home and inspect the Swiss Guard lined up in honor formation, talking to each one and shaking their hands.

Widmer, who was a twenty-year-old Swiss Guard at the time and who was, like his fellow guards, in peak physical condition, describes how the young Swiss Guards were unable to keep up with the energy level of Saint John Paul II. He shared in his book how he tried to remember even once when he saw that schedule taking a toll on the pope. He couldn’t remember John Paul II ever exhausted, bleary-eyed, burnt out, irritated. The Swiss Guards who traveled with him on those trips were 40, 50, 60 years his junior, yet they returned home exhausted. The Pope instead was filled with energy and ready to pour himself out for others.

Just like Jesus, just like Saint John Paul II, each of us has a mission in life. Each of us have demands, are busy, have an overcrowded schedule. Each of us must deal with the rapid force of endless change and the fear of the uncertainty of what is right around the corner, the endless unknowns that could upset our life. Each of us is called in our vocation to pour ourselves out in response to whatever God asks of us.

Take your cue from Jesus today. Find your “deserted place” to recharge, regroup, renew. You may be able to stay there for moments, or it may be hours. You may find your deserted place in the car on a long commute or at night when the house has grown silent and all your family members are sleeping. Wherever it is and for whatever length of time you are able to be there, cherish your “deserted place” to commune with your God who will renew your energy, return your joy, and recharge your purpose in life.

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Al día siguiente se fue a un lugar solitario.

En la lectura del Evangelio de hoy, entramos en solo uno de los “días” de Jesús. Había estado enseñando y sanando sin parar durante al menos 24 horas. Después de haber salido de la sinagoga [antes de que comience la lectura de hoy], fue a la casa de Pedro, donde se le pidió que curara a su suegra, que estaba en cama con mucha fiebre. Jesús reprendió la fiebre y ella inmediatamente se levantó “y se puso a servirles”. Me imagino que eso significaba preparar la cena, darle a Jesús un poco de refrigerio cerca del final de un día ajetreado.

Sin embargo, al atardecer la casa comenzó a llenarse con un sinfín de personas suplicando durante toda la noche por sanidad y esperanza. Y ahora, al amanecer, “Jesús partió y se fue a un lugar desierto”. Estas son las palabras que se utilizan en el Evangelio de Lucas para introducir las horas de soledad en las que Jesús estaría a solas con su Padre en oración. Estas palabras nunca se usan para indicar que Jesús estaba tomando un descanso. No partió para escapar del ruido y las demandas de las multitudes que lo necesitaban, sino para reconectarse con la Fuente de su Vida, el Fuego del Amor que ardía dentro de él, su propósito, su deseo. Su gran necesidad era permanecer en comunión con el Padre, y de esta comunión obtuvo la fuerza y ​​la energía para dar, servir, amar y, finalmente, dar su vida.

San Juan Pablo II pareció entender el ejemplo del mismo Jesús. Recibió su impulso y su propósito de la oración. El horario del Papa, según Andreas Widmer, autor del libro The Pope & the CEO: John Paul II’s Leadership Lessons to a Young Swiss Guard, (El Papa y el CEO: Lecciones de Liderazgo de Juan Pablo II) para una joven Guardia Suizaera más o menos así: el Papa se levantaba antes de las 6:00 y rezaba en su capilla privada ante los visitantes, se unió a él para la Misa a las 7:00. Después de la Misa y una hora o dos en la oficina, saludaba a los visitantes oficiales a las 11:00 y luego daba sus audiencias generales seguidas de un almuerzo donde se le unían varios miembros del personal del Vaticano. Sus almuerzos fueron la oportunidad para que él se pusiera al día sobre lo que estaba sucediendo en las distintas oficinas del Vaticano. A menudo invitaba a los invitados específicamente a participar en una discusión vigorosa sobre varios temas teológicos o filosóficos que se relacionaban con la vida de la Iglesia. Después del almuerzo, el Papa se dirigió a los jardines de la azotea del Palacio Papal para caminar y hablar con Dios. Después de este tiempo de oración tranquila y descanso, hubo varias horas de trabajo de oficina y más audiencias hasta la cena a las 8:00 donde los invitados cenaron con él una vez más. Después de la cena, volvió a leer, escribir y orar hasta bien noche, y solo apagaba las luces a medianoche o incluso más tarde. Podemos imaginar que este era un horario pausado en comparación con su horario mientras viajaba.

Widmer recuerda que cuando Juan Pablo II regresaba después de estar de viaje por unas semanas, no se dirigía directamente a su propio apartamento a derrumbarse durante unos días por el agotamiento. Cuando llegaba al Vaticano, se detenía y saludaba a todo el personal que se había reunido para darle la bienvenida a casa e inspeccionaba a la Guardia Suiza en formación de honor, hablando con cada uno y dándoles la mano.

Widmer, que en ese momento era un guardia suizo de veinte años y que, al igual que sus compañeros de guardia, estaba en óptimas condiciones físicas, describe cómo los jóvenes guardias suizos no pudieron mantenerse al día con el nivel de energía de San Juan Pablo II. Compartió en su libro cómo trató de recordar incluso una vez cuando vio que ese horario le estaba afectaba al Papa. No podía recordar a Juan Pablo II alguna vez exhausto, con ojos llorosos, quemado, irritado. Los guardias suizos que viajaron con él en esos viajes eran 40, 50, 60 años menores que él, pero regresaron a casa exhaustos. El Papa, en cambio, estaba lleno de energía y dispuesto a entregarse por los demás.

Como Jesús, como San Juan Pablo II, cada uno de nosotros tiene una misión en la vida. Cada uno de nosotros tiene demandas, está ocupado, tiene un horario abarrotado. Cada uno de nosotros debe lidiar con la fuerza rápida del cambio sin fin y el miedo a la incertidumbre de lo que está a la vuelta de la esquina, las incógnitas infinitas que podrían trastornar nuestra vida. Cada uno de nosotros está llamado en nuestra vocación a entregarse en respuesta a lo que Dios nos pide.

Siga el ejemplo de Jesús hoy. Encuentra tu “lugar desierto” para recargar, reagrupar, renovar. Es posible que pueda permanecer allí por momentos, o pueden ser horas. Puede encontrar su lugar desierto en el automóvil en un viaje largo o por la noche cuando la casa se ha vuelto silenciosa y todos los miembros de su familia están durmiendo. Dondequiera que sea y durante el tiempo que puedas estar allí, atesora tu “lugar desierto” para comunicarte con tu Dios, quien renovará tu energía, te devolverá la alegría y recargará tu propósito en la vida.

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My mother is in the final stages of Alzheimer’s. In the lovely summer weather this year, she and dad have spent a couple of hours every afternoon sitting outside in the lovely garden where she lives. Listening to the birds, watching the squirrels play, and enjoying the flowers and trees has always been a blessed way for mom to spend her leisure moments, particularly in these last fifteen years. I am so grateful to God that my parents have had this very special final year together.

Even as the whole family has found a new and blessed rhythm of being with mom and surrounding her with love and experiences of beauty that are familiar to her on this earth, we all know that this will probably be the last summer that we will have this gift. 

I find my comfort in the Feast of Mary we celebrate today, Mary’s Assumption into heaven. The Collect prayer for today’s Mass lifts our minds and our hearts: 

O God, who, looking on the lowliness of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
raised her to this grace,
that your Only Begotten Son was born of her according to the flesh
and that she was crowned this day with surpassing glory,
grant through her prayers,
that, saved by the mystery of your redemption,
we may merit to be exalted by you on high.

Heaven is the final goal.

Even as we enjoy with mom these precious moments in the beauty of nature, the glory of creation, I remember that heaven is the final goal. From the moment of his glorious rising from the dead, Jesus has been lifting up our hearts, lifting them up above this earth, above this place of exile, above this vale of tears. He rose from the dead. He ascended into heaven. The Spirit descended upon the apostles in the Cenacle. And today we celebrate the assumption of Mary into heaven.

On this day we celebrate the Immaculate Mother of God, the ever virgin Mary, who having completed the course of her earthly life, was assumed body and soul into heavenly glory (Pius XII, Munificentissimus Deus 44). Pius XII affirmed in this dogma of the Assumption of Mary, the elevation of Mary’s body to heavenly glory. We celebrate today the moment at which Mary was “taken up body and soul into heavenly glory, when her earthly life was over, and exalted by the Lord as Queen over all things” (Lumen Gentium 59). 

The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us that “the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin is a singular participation in her Son’s Resurrection and an anticipation of the resurrection of other Christians” (CCC 966).

And so we spend these days with Mom, these final months of life before Life with joy in our hearts, yes mingled with the sorrow of knowing she won’t be with us, but with transparent and joyful gratitude. She has already received the Anointing of the Sick and the Apostolic Blessing at a point in which she seemed to be approaching the end. Now even as we cherish the beauties of creation on this earth, we know Mom is ready for eternity. Even as we enjoy those precious moments and share those selfies with her that we’ll keep forever, we remember that this life is but a preparation for eternity. Mary who has gone before us, body and soul, reminds us of this particularly on the Feast of the Assumption. There in heaven, the Mother of Jesus and our mother enjoys forever the beatific vision that is our hope, the hope of all Christians. What Mary now enjoys in heaven is promised to each of us:

Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through man, the resurrection of the dead came also through man. For just as in Adam all die, so too in Christ shall all be brought to life, but each one in proper order: Christ the first fruits; then, at his coming, those who belong to Christ.” (Colossians 15:20-23)

According to Pope Benedict XVI: 

“By contemplating Mary in heavenly glory, we understand that the earth is not the definitive homeland for us either, and that if we live with our gaze fixed on eternal goods we will one day share in this same glory and the earth will become more beautiful.

“Consequently, we must not lose our serenity and peace even amid the thousands of daily difficulties. The luminous sign of Our Lady taken up into Heaven shines out even more brightly when sad shadows of suffering and violence seem to loom on the horizon.

“We may be sure of it: from on high, Mary follows our footsteps with gentle concern, dispels the gloom in moments of darkness and distress, reassures us with her motherly hand” (Benedict XVI, General Audience, August 16, 2006).

If you are accompanying a loved one or friend in the last months or years of their life, or if you yourself are soon to enter your eternal home, slip your hand into Mary’s hand. Make beautiful memories during these days, cherish all the blessings you have on this earth, and also keep your mind and heart lifted high. Mary is your hope, the promise of a Life after this one, a Life that will never end, a Life of eternal joy. As you cherish the moments you have here, prepare for the eternal and unending forever that is our final destination, where Mary awaits to receive you, her child. 

Mary our Hope, assumed into heaven, pray for us. 

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Mi madre está en las etapas finales de Alzheimers. En el hermoso clima de verano de este año, ella y mi papá han pasado un par de horas cada tarde sentados afuera en el hermoso jardín donde viven. Escuchar a los pájaros, ver jugar a las ardillas y disfrutar de las flores y los árboles siempre ha sido una forma bendecida para mamá de pasar sus momentos relejados, particularmente en estos últimos quince años. Estoy tan agradecida con Dios que mis padres hayan tenido juntos este último año tan especial.

Aunque toda la familia ha encontrado un ritmo nuevo y bendecido de estar con mi mamá y rodearla de amor y experiencias de belleza que le son familiares en esta tierra, todos sabemos que lo más probable es que este será el último verano que tendremos este regalo.

Encuentro mi consuelo en la Fiesta de María que celebramos hoy, la Asunción de María al cielo. La oración colecta para la Misa de hoy eleva nuestras mentes y nuestros corazones:

Oh Dios, que, mirando la humildad de la Santísima Virgen María,
la elevó a esta gracia,
que tu Hijo Unigénito nació de ella según la carne
y que ella fue coronada hoy con gloria incomparable,
conceda a través de sus oraciones,
que, salvados por el misterio de tu redención,
merezcamos ser exaltados por ti en lo alto.

El cielo es el objetivo final.

Incluso mientras disfrutamos con mi mamá estos preciosos momentos en la belleza de la naturaleza, la gloria de la creación, recuerdo que el cielo es la meta final. Desde el momento de su gloriosa resurrección de entre los muertos, Jesús ha estado elevando nuestros corazones, elevándolos por encima de esta tierra, por encima de este lugar de exilio, por encima de este valle de lágrimas. Se levantó de entre los muertos y ascendió al cielo. El Espíritu descendió sobre los apóstoles en el Cenáculo. Y hoy celebramos la asunción de María al cielo.

En este día celebramos a la Inmaculada Madre de Dios, la siempre Virgen María, que después de cumplir el curso de su vida terrena, fue asunta en cuerpo y alma a la gloria celestial (Pío XII, Munificentissimus Deus 44). Pío XII afirmó en este dogma de la Asunción de María, la elevación del cuerpo de María a la gloria celestial. Celebramos hoy el momento en que María fue “elevada en cuerpo y alma a la gloria celestial, acabada su vida terrena, y exaltada por el Señor como Reina sobre todas las cosas” (Lumen Gentium 59).

El Catecismo de la Iglesia Católica nos dice que “la Asunción de la Santísima Virgen es una participación singular en la Resurrección de su Hijo y una anticipación de la resurrección de los demás cristianos” (CCC 966).

Y así pasamos estos días con Mamá, estos últimos meses de vida, antes de la vida eterna, sí mezclada con la tristeza de saber que no estará con nosotros, pero con transparente y gozosa gratitud. Ya ha recibido la Unción de los Enfermos y la Bendición Apostólica en un punto en el que parecía estar llegando al final. Ahora, aunque apreciamos las bellezas de la creación en esta tierra, sabemos que mamá está lista para la eternidad. Incluso mientras disfrutamos de esos preciosos momentos y compartimos esas selfies con ella que guardaremos para siempre, recordamos que esta vida no es más que una preparación para la eternidad. María, que nos ha precedido en cuerpo y alma, nos lo recuerda especialmente en la fiesta de la Asunción. Allí en el cielo, la Madre de Jesús y la madre nuestra, goza para siempre de la visión beatífica que es nuestra esperanza, la esperanza de todos los cristianos. Lo que María disfruta ahora en el cielo se nos promete a cada uno de nosotros:

“Cristo ha resucitado de entre los muertos, las primicias de los que durmieron. Porque por cuanto la muerte entró por el hombre, también por el hombre vino la resurrección de los muertos. Porque así como en Adán todos mueren, así también en Cristo todos serán vivificados, pero cada uno en su debido orden: Cristo, las primicias; luego, en su venida, los que son de Cristo.” (Colosenses 15:20-23)

Según el Papa Benedicto XVI:

“Al contemplar a María en la gloria celestial, comprendemos que la tierra tampoco es la patria definitiva para nosotros, y que si vivimos con la mirada puesta en los bienes eternos, un día compartiremos esta misma gloria y la tierra se hará más hermosa.

“En consecuencia, no debemos perder la serenidad y la paz, incluso en medio de las miles de dificultades diarias. El signo luminoso de Nuestra Señora llevada al Cielo resplandece aún más cuando las tristes sombras del sufrimiento y de la violencia parecen asomar en el horizonte.

“Podemos estar seguros: desde lo alto, María sigue nuestros pasos con dulce solicitud, disipa las tinieblas en los momentos de oscuridad y angustia, nos tranquiliza con su mano materna” (Benedicto XVI, Audiencia general, 16 de agosto de 2006).

Si estás acompañando a un ser querido o amigo en los últimos meses o años de su vida, o si tú mismo vas a entrar pronto al hogar eterno, desliza tu mano en la mano de María. Crea hermosos recuerdos durante estos días, valora todas las bendiciones que tienes en esta tierra y también mantén tu mente y tu corazón elevados. María es vuestra esperanza, la promesa de una Vida después de ésta, una Vida que nunca tendrá fin, una Vida de eterna alegría. Mientras valoras los momentos que tienes aquí, prepárate para el eterno e interminable para siempre que es nuestro destino final, donde María te espera para recibirte, su hijo.

María, Esperanza nuestra, asunta al cielo, ruega por nosotros.

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To the words that begin our first reading at Mass today… “Vanity of vanities, says Qoheleth, vanity of vanities!  All things are vanity!” …let us add these words of St. John of the Cross: “To be perfectly united to God by love and will, the soul must first be cleansed of all appetites of the will, even the smallest” (Ascent of Mount Carmel). 

In the language of St John of the Cross, the word “appetites” refers to disordered inclinations or affections for oneself or creatures, we could say the “vanities of the world,” tendencies which are more or less contrary to God’s will. 

In talking about the value of Ignatian Spirituality for leadership in his book Heroic Leadership, Chris Lowney talks about his being driven by the “I-want-it-so-badly” virus, a type of a modern formulation of the “vanity of vanities” of Qoheleth. Lowney shares how he so wanted to get to the top of the company, to be wealthy, recognized, have the best house and the most exciting life. He wanted it so badly that it seemed it must be right precisely because he wanted it so badly. 

Sound familiar? 

How subtle are the deceptions of the evil one. This absolute certainty that God is on our side might be a delusion. Often it is one of the signs that we are after things that fall under the category of “vanity of vanities.” Maybe it is not God’s design for us that we have the things we so badly desire, but only an “ego itch” actually leading us astray as we chase after our vanities and vainglory. “Disordered inclinations and affections for oneself or creatures.” 

In the second reading today, St. Paul in his letter to the Colossians teaches us simply, clearly, leaving us no wiggle room to justify collecting our vanities here on earth: “Brothers and sisters:

If you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Think of what is above, not of what is on earth.”

And lest we think that these words are some fantasy or imaginative contemplation of Christ in heaven, Paul clearly lays out in no-nonsense and practical terms what this means for us here on earth: “Put to death, then, the parts of you that are earthly: immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and the greed that is idolatry. Stop lying to one another, since you have taken off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed, for knowledge,

in the image of its creator.”

So, brothers and sisters, cherish these words today, these words of God who is longing for your heart, “put on the new self.” Indeed, my friends, God says to us all, “If today you hear [my] voice, harden not your hearts.”

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Nuestra Primera Lectura de la Misa de hoy empieza con: “Vanidad de vanidades, dice Qohelet, vanidad de vanidades! ¡Todas las cosas son vanidad!” y a estas palabras añadamos las de San Juan de la Cruz: “Para estar perfectamente unida a Dios por el amor y la voluntad, el alma debe primero estar limpia de todos los apetitos de la voluntad, incluso los más pequeños” (Subida al Monte Carmelo).

En el lenguaje de San Juan de la Cruz, la palabra “apetitos” se refiere a las inclinaciones o afectos desordenados hacia uno mismo o hacia las criaturas, podríamos decir las “vanidades del mundo”, tendencias más o menos contrarias a la voluntad de Dios.

Al hablar sobre el valor de la espiritualidad ignaciana acerca del liderazgo en su libro Heroic Leadership (Liderazgo Heroico), Chris Lowney habla de que lo impulsa el virus “Lo quiero tanto”, un tipo de formulación moderna del “vanidad de vanidades” de Qohelet. Lowney comparte cómo deseaba tanto llegar al puesto más alto de la empresa, ser rico, reconocido, tener la mejor casa y la vida más emocionante. Lo deseaba tanto que parecía que debía estar bien precisamente porque lo deseaba tanto.

¿Suena familiar?

Cuán sutiles son los engaños del maligno. Esta certeza absoluta de que Dios está de nuestro lado puede ser una ilusión. A menudo es una de las señales de que buscamos cosas que entran en la categoría de “vanidad de vanidades”. Tal vez no sea el diseño de Dios para nosotros que tengamos las cosas que tanto deseamos, sino solo una “comezón del ego” que en realidad nos lleva por mal camino mientras perseguimos nuestras vanidades y vanagloria. “Inclinaciones y afectos desordenados hacia uno mismo o hacia las criaturas”.

En la Segunda Lectura de hoy, San Pablo en su carta a los Colosenses nos enseña de manera sencilla, clara, y sin dejarnos margen de maniobra para justificar recoger nuestras vanidades aquí en la tierra: “Hermanos y hermanas: Si han resucitado con Cristo, busquen lo de arriba, donde está Cristo sentado a la diestra de Dios. Piensen en lo de arriba, no en lo de la tierra”.

Y para que no pensemos que estas palabras son una fantasía o una contemplación imaginativa de Cristo en el cielo, Pablo expone claramente en términos prácticos y serios lo que esto significa para nosotros aquí en la tierra: “Hagan morir, pues, las partes de usted que son terrenales: la inmoralidad, la impureza, las pasiones, los malos deseos y la codicia que es idolatría. Dejen de mentirse unos a otros, ya que se hayan despojado del viejo hombre con sus prácticas y se han revestido del nuevo hombre, que se va renovando, para el conocimiento,a la imagen de su creador.”

Entonces, hermanos y hermanas, atesoren estas palabras hoy, estas palabras de Dios que anhela tu corazón, “vestíos del nuevo yo”. De hecho, mis amigos, Dios nos dice a todos: “Si hoy escuchan [mi] voz, no endurezcan su corazón”.

“Have you never read this?” There is a touch of irony in Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel as he responded to the Pharisees who rebuked his disciples for plucking grain on the Sabbath. Jesus began his response to the Pharisees with the words “Have you never read this?” precisely because these leaders prided themselves upon their knowledge of the Scriptures.

“Have you never read this?” They had read, Jesus intimated, but had not read to understand. They had not read with soft hearts. They, perhaps unconsciously, had read to verify their own positions, their already determined conclusions. They had understood, or misunderstood, the Word of the Lord to confirm their own word to their own benefit.

How many times Jesus could say these words to me, “Kathryn, have you never read this? Have you not yet understood my heart? Are you still so undiscerning of what truly gives me joy, what pleases me the most?”

I remember as a young sister that being on time for meals, which meant arriving early and waiting prayerfully to say the meal blessing, was an important custom and expectation in our community. There are many values enshrined in this practice: respect for the community, obedience to the will of God as indicated by the schedule, taking one’s rest prayerfully. However, one day on my way to dinner I noticed a sister forty years my senior unloading a car by herself. I hesitated because to assist her would mean that I would arrive late to dinner. Making a quick decision, I stopped to assist her. There were two goods, two values at stake: punctual obedience and generous service. I chose the value of generous service at that moment, regardless of what others would think of my walking in late to dinner. 

This certainly was a decision of little consequence, and doubtless you have been faced with many situations of more grave import in your own life. But this Gospel helps us sift through our options more selflessly, honestly, obediently.

Let’s look more closely at the Gospel. The Pharisees objected to Jesus that his disciples by plucking the grain were “working,” a kind of reaping, and therefore it should be avoided as it was considered working on the sabbath day. Jesus responded to the Pharisees: Have you not read how David and his followers went to the tabernacle at Nob near Jerusalem and asked for bread from the priests there. There was no bread available there except for the twelve old loaves of showbread which were prescribed to be eaten only by the priests. The priests, in mercy, gave this bread to the hungry men, as Jesus himself in his mercy did not stop his disciples from plucking the grain along the side of the path. And have you not read, Jesus continues, that on the Sabbath, the busiest day of the week for the priests, they themselves break the rules of the Sabbath in order to carry out the functions of worship in the Temple. The commandment of God to keep holy the Sabbath didn’t refer to all work universally, Jesus intimated, but work for worldly gain. 

“I desire mercy, not sacrifice,” Jesus says at the end of this reading. In this Gospel passage today it is clear that Jesus was not using this phrase to justify behavior that was wrong. Instead he used Scripture itself to show the Pharisees how their understanding of the Law in its more complex and cohesive sense was inadequate. He called them to a greater and more inward sense and assimilation of the heart of the Law not to a lesser one. And, indeed, he called his own disciples to such higher standards in the Sermon on the Mount. “You have heard it said…but I say to you.” 

Jesus makes it clear that he didn’t come to relax the commandments of the Law, to negate them in favor of something new that would make it easier for his disciples. Rather, he pointed out on a number of occasions that the teachers of the Law had missed the point. And that is what we need to be attentive to. Often the phrase “it is mercy God desires, not sacrifice” is thrown out in a conversation to justify not keeping God’s law. God understands and has mercy. He doesn’t really expect us to keep his law. After all, he is so merciful….  So let’s not expect someone to obey the call to discipleship with all its consequences. That clearly is not what God in his mercy expects of us. That, however, is clearly not what Jesus was saying in the context of this Gospel passage. Jesus loved each one who came to him, with great patience and mercy, and at the same time invited them to become “perfect just as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Mt 5:48).

“Have you never read this?” Or if you have, have you missed the point? We don’t want to miss the point. Going back to my example above, communion of life and charity is the point of community life. At that moment, communion and charity was greater served by my stopping to help a sister unload a car than by my walking past her to be with my sisters at prayer before the meal. Though I “broke,” so to speak, one rule, I lived it inwardly in my service to the sister who needed assistance. If instead, I had stopped to offer assistance because I thought it was stupid to have to keep rules and I had been looking for a chance to act as a free agent and to cherish my own self-importance or greater enlightenment, even if I had justified my action with the words of the Lord himself: “it is mercy I desire and not sacrifice,” I would have missed the point. I would have misused the words of Wisdom itself to justify my own selfish autonomy and resistance to authority. And in the end, it would be I myself who would have suffered from my own self-will, my hardened positions, even if justified by the words of the Lord himself.

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“¿Nunca has leído esto?” Hubo un poco de ironía en las palabras de Jesús en el Evangelio de hoy cuando respondió a los fariseos que reprendieron a sus discípulos por arrancar el grano en sábado. Jesús comenzó su respuesta a los fariseos con las palabras “¿Nunca han leído esto?” precisamente porque estos líderes se enorgullecían de su conocimiento de las Escrituras.

Today’s Gospel reading is from the beginning of Chapter 9 of the Gospel of Matthew. Let’s take two steps back and get some perspective on where this healing narrative falls in the development of Matthew’s Gospel.

We know that Matthew gives us the beautiful Sermon on the Mount in Chapters 5 and 7 of his Gospel. Beginning in Chapter 8 and carrying through Chapter 9 we are caught up in the love of the heart of the Divine Physician. 

First, he healed a man with leprosy: “If you are willing you can make me clean.” “I am willing, be clean!” Jesus said (cf. vs. 1-2).

Next the Divine Physician heals the servant of the centurion from afar because of the centurion’s great faith (vs. 5-13).

After the healing of Peter’s mother-in-law, a great crowd descended on the house begging Jesus to drive out evil spirits and heal the sick. Jesus healed all who came to him. Then he got into a boat with his disciples, and he calmed a great storm. Their hearts were filled with awe. Jesus is Master of the powers of nature, of evil, and of sickness (vs. 14-16, 23-27).

Chapter 8 ends with Jesus healing two men possessed by demons, sending them into a large herd of pigs. Then we are told that the whole village came out to see what was going on and pleaded with him to leave. The joy and awe that has surrounded Jesus’ healing is met here with rejection and expulsion (vs. 28-34),

 So Jesus entered a boat to cross to the other side. 

At this point we come to today’s Gospel in which Jesus forgives a paralytic of his sins and then heals him, “Rise, pick up your stretcher, and go home.”  The crowds are in awe, but the scribes accuse him of blaspheming. It is becoming more and more clear that we must make a choice regarding Jesus. 

Tomorrow’s Gospel will be the calling of a tax collector, a sinner, Matthew. Tax collectors worked for the foreigners who ruled over the Jews, so this made them traitors. They weren’t paid a wage by the Romans, but were expected to take extra money and keep some for themselves. They were hated and considered sinners. And yet this one sinner “got up and followed” Jesus immediately when he said to him, “Follow me.” We then see Jesus entering into the community of tax collectors and sinners, eating with them, because “the sick” “need a physician” (Mt 9:9-13).

The story of the paralytic should wake us up to the decision we each need to make. Where is it that you need forgiveness? What has paralyzed you? Are your limbs lifeless because you have used them in your own pursuits rather than the will of God? Sin is more than just a failing. In little ways, or in grave, sin distances us from God. Sin makes us spiritually weak. We are so important to God, so dear and precious to the Father, that he sent his Son to heal us. Jesus came to call us out of all that holds us back from giving ourselves completely and in trust to God. The Son of God enters into communion with us, the community of sinners, and he says, “Stand up, pick up your mat, and be healed.” And then he says, “Follow me.”

Where is Jesus today asking you to follow him?

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“What then will this child be?” How many parents, marveling at the mystery of their newborn nestled in their arms have asked the same question. “What will this child be?”

We are certain that God has a plan for great people who populate the pages of Scripture and have an important part to play in the story of salvation. We can think of Moses, and Jeremiah, and Peter, and Mary, and Paul. We can imagine the divine plan prepared for them which unfolded day by day in their life. When we read the narrative of their response to God who called them for a specific purpose, we might be a little bit in awe of how God used them and how clearly he loved them. Maybe even a bit jealous. “That could never be me.”

Today is the feast of one of these “greats” of salvation history: the birth of John the Baptist. The mystery and the miracles that surrounded his birth indicate how important he was as a hinge between the Old Testament prophets and the arrival of the Messiah. The Baptist’s austere life and courageous preaching when he became an adult confirm the divine predilection God had for this child.

He truly could say with the words of the Responsorial Psalm today:

Truly you have formed my inmost being;
            you knit me in my mother’s womb.
I give you thanks that I am fearfully, wonderfully made;
            wonderful are your works.
My soul also you knew full well;
            nor was my frame unknown to you
When I was made in secret,
            when I was fashioned in the depths of the earth.

These words of the Psalm came spontaneously to my mind one difficult yet amazing day 40 years ago. I remember it so clearly. I was sitting on the side of my bed in the hospital after having suffered a stroke. On that day, I was finally able to stand up with the help of two of the nurses. How marvelous! How amazing is the human body! We are truly “fearfully, wonderfully made,” and how “wonderful are your works,” O God. Look, today I can stand!

Whether we are the greatest prophet who ever lived as was John the Baptist, or someone sitting on the side of a hospital bed struggling to stand up for the first time in a week, God has a plan for our life. 

Remember, you are important to God and play a vital role in the story of salvation. 

In your mother’s womb God loved you more than your own parents. He created you as a unique expression of his image and his glory.

Surely, the hand of the Lord was with you, and he continues to be with you each day of your life. As the courageous and difficult life of St. John the Baptist reveals, in both happy times and in paths filled with shadows, on mountain tops and in the deepest of valleys, you are fulfilling the very special purpose for which you alone were created. It is only as we wander through these ups and downs of life, faithful to allowing God to have his way with us, that we discover truly who we were made to be.

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