Tag: Sr. Kathryn

“When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, go and take the lowest place….”

Jesus is inviting you and me into the pattern of his own humility. The Son of the Father was born on this earth in poverty, his parents fleeing for his life, a lowly carpenter by trade in the tiny non-descript village of Nazareth. 

As Jesus prepared to at last cast a fire upon the earth, the goal of his life and the passion of his heart, he not only took the last place at the Last Supper’s table, he knelt and washed the dirty feet of his closest friends and apostles, a slave’s work. And he distributed among these men—who all but one would shortly betray him and flee for their lives—himself in the Eucharist, that he might live as invisible, present, hidden light and love in his friends and followers for the rest of time.

In the book of Revelation Jesus knocks at the door of our heart. “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, [then] I will enter his house and dine with him, and he with me” (Rev 3:20). 

The last place is typically given to the one who has no power, no prestige, no position or possessions. To the one who is unable or who refuses to overwhelm others with force, but leaves them free. Thus Jesus waits for an invitation. He prepares those who will take the last place at the table by doing for them the service of the servant. He, in fact, becomes the very food of the Eternal Feast.

As Jesus accompanied the two disciples of Emmaus away from Jerusalem in their confusion and sorrow, he helped them gain clarity into God’s wisdom that included that his Christ must die and then be raised up on the third day. Jesus made as if to go on. He would have left, if the two disciples hadn’t pressed on him and twisted his arm to make him stay with them. Jesus came as guest, not as master of the table, and there he broke bread and gave it to them. And as he was now in them, he disappeared from their sight.

Jesus is still the One who knocks, the Guest who waits for an invitation, the Servant who does the work all else eschew, the One who willingly desires to give his Eucharistic heart to you at Mass. He has no power. He leaves you free. He will go on if you do not want him to enter. To stay. To serve. To give himself to you as Eucharist. Oh how he wept over Jerusalem. “Would that you, even you, had known on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes” (Lk 19:42). 

Say YES to the One who takes the humblest place at your door, at your table, at the door of your heart. To the One who loves gently, vulnerably, truly. To the One who leaves you free. Say YES.

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“You also must be prepared for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come.”

Spending five months recently in my parents’ apartment as a caregiver has given me a deeper insight into this Gospel. 

We are told to wait expectantly for the Master’s return, to be alert to that moment when the Lord Jesus will return to take us into eternity, as well as to the moment when Christ the King will return in glory on the last day.

Be alert and at work, treating others justly and doing your duty. He whom the Master finds conducting himself in this way will be rewarded. 

For all of us, those last 10 or 15 years waiting for the Master’s return are definitely times of being alert. Alert to one’s own changing issues around health and that of the loved one we may be caring for. Alert to insurance issues and long-term care preparation. Alert to the questions surrounding the time to begin nursing home care, move someone into memory care or arrange for at-home care. Rather than “staying awake” these years can be filled with sleepless days and nights where we toss and turn from exhaustion, worry, financial concerns, wondering how do we best love. We could find ourselves overwhelmed with the love we are trying to show our spouse and the feelings of grief and guilt, and just feeling we are not-enough for the daily multiplying needs…. Our own and others…

Jesus says that he will come at a moment we don’t expect, and yet we spend YEARS preparing for it on every level. Years of love, of service, of suffering, of surrender, of doing to Jesus what we are doing for another. Jesus’ coming is not tomorrow or next year. He comes suddenly and unexpectedly into our midlife and aging lives TODAY. He comes not to check up on us. No. In the struggle of these aging-years, struggles that seem to just compound over time, Jesus is gathering us to himself, through the tender endless acts of love rendered at every moment to each other, to spouse, parent, child, relative…. “Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world…. Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me“ (See Mt. 25:34-40). 

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Go on your way; behold, I am sending you like lambs among wolves….

Lambs among wolves. The image is frightening. I ask myself, “Why lambs?” There are plenty of other vulnerable animals that could be prey for wolves that Jesus could have used in these instructions to the 72 disciples as they departed on their mission. But Jesus chose to send his disciples out as lambs into the mouth of danger. 

Living as a Christian is risky. Just before sending out the seventy-two, Jesus had foretold his own death and resurrection (9:21-22, 44-45), and he had told his apostles that they would bear a cross and lose their lives (9:23-25). We as Jesus’ followers belong to the Lamb who was slain (Rev 5:12), the Lamb who was led to the slaughter and opened not his mouth (Is 53:7), the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world (Jn 1:29), the Lamb without blemish or spot (1 Pt 1:19).

In a video as Afghanistan was falling to the Taliban, a tearful Afghan Christian pleaded with Christians around the world not to forget them. Andrew Boyd, spokesman for Christian rights organization Release International, claimed that the Taliban have been “searching door to door” for Christians. Foreign church leaders fled the country and Afghan Christian leaders’ activities were closely monitored by the Taliban. Amid all the bad news for Afghan Christians, Shoaib Ebadi, an Afghan-Canadian Christian and executive director of Square One World Media, told Voice of the Martyrs Canada that he sees “good news” for Afghan Christians. “The good news is that Afghan Christians are now leading these groups [small house church fellowships]. They are meeting in their homes, risking their lives every day … taking God’s Word to the people of Afghanistan. And they are the ones sharing the Good News of Jesus Christ with their neighbors, families and friends.”

Behold, I am sending you like lambs among wolves….

The defenseless lambs are sent out as he himself was sent by the Father. In the words of Catherine of Siena: “We are of such value to God that he came to live among us … and to guide us home. He will go to any length to seek us…. We can only respond by loving God for his love.”

“I am the gate. Whoever enters through me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture” (Jn 10:9). Lambs are free from burden or concern about going the right way, for they look to the One who is “The Way” to lead them to salvation.

“I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly” (Jn. 10:10). Lambs have no power to force things to happen according to their own plans. In fact, this power to manipulate and overpower leads away from true life. The abundant life Jesus came to give us is received always as a gift, and comes to us unexpectedly under circumstances that would seem least opportune.

“I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (Jn 10:11). Lambs are often carried in the arms of the Good Shepherd to protect them on their way. And when they are lost he will find them and bring them back to the flock at the cost of his own life.

“When he has driven out all his own, he walks ahead of them, and the sheep follow him, because they recognize his voice” (Jn. 10:4). Lambs simply keep their gaze on the Shepherd and abide wherever he leads them, wherever he is. They know that if they are where he is, no matter how risky it is, they are safe.

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What is Paul talking about when he speaks of some people who are “in darkness” and “of the night” while others are “children of the light and children of the day”?

This is an important question because Paul is laying out before us two paths, two ways of living. In Deuteronomy, we can read Moses’ appeal to the children of Israel centuries earlier to consider these two paths carefully. “See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity…. I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him; for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the Lord swore to give to your ancestors” (Deuteronomy 30:15, 20).

In the Teton Wilderness in northwestern Wyoming is a little forest stream called Two Ocean Creek. This small creek is one of the most unusual features of the Continental Divide, where everything on its western slope flows into the Colorado River and empties eventually into the Pacific Ocean, and everything on its eastern slope flows into the Mississippi River and dumps eventually into the Atlantic Ocean. Two Ocean Creek is the only creek in America that flows into two oceans. Hikers can splash their hands in the creek and determine which drops of water head west and which begin to slope toward the east.

Life is like that. There are choices between east and west, this career or continuing education, living here and living there… And, as our First Reading reminds us, between life and death, light and darkness. 

We are not at the mercy of gravity like the water in Two Ocean Creek. Both Moses and Paul are telling us that we have the power to make choices. Some seem as insignificant as the small stream on The Continental Divide. But the paths we take lead us into light and into dark, into the day and into the night.

Paul says that the children of the night are those who say, “Peace and security,” finding their salvation and their fulfillment entirely on this earth. Their memory, desires, will, and thoughts are taken up with things that satisfy them here and now. It is these people that are surprised by the coming of the Lord like a thief in the night, and what happens is a disaster to them.

Paul tells the Thessalonians: “Stay alert, do not sleep for God has destined us to gain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, so that we may live together with him.”

Dumitru Stăniloae, in Orthodox Dogmatic Theology: The Experience of God, describes children of the light with these words: “the faces of the saints even here on earth have something of the eschatological plane of eternity in their appearance, that plane through which God’s features will be fully reflected, and his energies will radiate” (page 22).

Christ is the Day, the radiance of the Father’s glory. As children of the day and of the light, we reflect the glory which shone from him on Mount Tabor in his Transfiguration. “For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6).

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The Pharisees saw Jesus eating with the tax collectors and sinners in Matthew’s house, in the house of the man Jesus had chosen, called, loved, and they asked the question, “Why is Jesus interested in these people?”

We can imagine Jesus enjoying himself at this dinner party thrown by his newest disciple. Sharing food, listening intently to the stories of the friends of his who would become part of his inner circle of twelve closest followers, observing them, gazing deep into their hearts and souls, longing to see them whole, happy, at peace, flourishing in goodness and truth. 

Those who were getting to know this new rabbi who actually shared his time with them, got close to them, was part of their world, felt no condemnation as they laughed with him, and listened, and told him their stories. As their fear wore off under the warmth of his acceptance of them, his desire to befriend them, they experienced their souls opening in new and surprising ways. Perhaps they experience the beauty and satisfaction of goodness. It was so fulfilling, ran so strong and deep, who knows how many of them left that dinner at least wondering if not absolutely determined to be more their better selves.

What sunshine does to flowers, but infinitely more so, the merciful gaze of the Master accomplishes in hearts that have been isolated in the shadows and cold. They burst forth with new life, color, vibrant beauty.

Matthew and his tax-collecting friends were outcasts from their Jewish brethren… ever been there?

They were looked down upon, labelled by those who were considered righteous… ring a bell?

They lived in a sub-culture closed in on itself, not expecting God to be interested in them as of any value… have you ever felt that way?

We know these men made many mistakes. They cheated their neighbors and friends. They worked for the oppressor. They looked out for themselves. When Jesus, however, invited himself into their circle by proposing dinner at Matthew’s house, his presence brought them joy, drew them in to the love he shared with his Father, shattered the labels they had accepted for themselves. 

This dinner party baffled the Pharisees who were meticulous about keeping the smallest of religious rules. At times we may find ourselves warmed by the accepting mercy of Jesus, grateful that his love shields us from the cutting condemnation of others. We could perhaps recognize ourselves in the Pharisees who can’t accept the fact that the non-compliant are the favored ones, the sinners are the ones cherished for the sake of healing and wholeness. But in either case we should never ask the questions:

Why is the Lord interested in me?

Why is the Lord interested in that person or group?

Jesus wants us ever to know that he is interested in us, each of us, all of us, no matter where our heart has led us astray. If the Pharisees had sat down at the table, wanting to be included among the “sinners” for whom Jesus came, his face would have shown on their sad and languishing hearts also. 

So join him at his table, enjoy the feast, share with him your story, be filled with the radiance of his happiness as he looks at you with such love.

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The invitation to Abram to uproot his life—a life he knew, a life he had built, a life that had security guaranteed, a life surrounded by his things, his people, his culture—is the beginning of a journey of  thousands of years of all people to the new Jerusalem unveiled for us in the book of Revelation. 

Abram had to make a decision. Do I abandon my fatherland for this land that the Lord is promising to me? Do I abandon my family and my people in favor of a people, a nation, that the Lord is revealing, when I know that logically this doesn’t make sense given Sarai’s infertility? Do I set aside my inheritance, for the inheritance that the Lord is laying out for me? If this were all to work out as the Lord says, I will gain much, but the cost will be great, the risk, the uncertainty. Do I have the trust in this God that will see me through to the end? Abram, we read eventually, left for this land.

In Hebrews we read, “It was by faith that Abraham obeyed when God called him to leave home and go to another land that God would give him as his inheritance. He went without knowing where he was going… And even when he reached the land God promised him, he lived there by faith—for he was like a foreigner, living in tents. …Abraham was confidently looking forward to a city with eternal foundations, a city designed and built by God” (Heb 11:8-10).

Today’s Scripture passage prompts us to a decision, “for our citizenship is in heaven, from which we also eagerly wait for a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ” (Phil 3:20). We need to decide whether to abandon our plans, our security, the stuff we collect and the people we gather around ourselves, and ultimately our earthly “blessings,” for an eternal inheritance promised us though unseen. To exchange our ultimate loyalty to our earthly citizenship to confess our forever credo in the providential love of God who has called us to take on the attitudes, values, thoughts, beliefs, and actions of the Kingdom that is even now growing to maturity in a hidden way on this earth. When the Son of Man returns on the clouds to gather his own into the Kingdom of his Father, to present them as his brothers and sisters, members of his Body, we want to be among that number.

Abram is our father in faith, yet he stumbled and doubted and failed along the way until he completely trusted this God who had chosen him to be the father of a great nation. You and I are a part of this great nation. We struggle and stumble, doubt and fall along the way. Nevertheless, with courage, we keep our eyes fixed on what “eye has not seen, ear has not heard” (1 Cor 2:9).

In the words of Philip Krill, in his book Deified Vision: Toward an Angogical Catholicism, our faith journey “is an anticipated participation in the yet-to-be-fully manifest glory of the Coming Kingdom. ‘Behold, I make all things new!’ exclaims the Savior (Rev 21:5). We eagerly anticipate ‘new heavens and a new earth’ (Is 65:17-25; Rev 21). We expect to see an entirely recreated, transfigured creation: a world so transformed and renewed that every particle of matter…will participate providentially in what God has in store for those who love him (Rom 8:28; 1 Cor 2:9). …. [S]o magnificent and all-inclusive and redemptive is the final consummation of his glory.”

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Keeping the commandments. It is something that children wrestle with as they prepare for their First Penance. Do you remember that first time you had to examine your conscience? Later this tension to fidelity to God’s Word and the Ten Words of Law become “second nature,” spiritually speaking, or else rebellion to the invitation to holiness found in the commandments becomes ingrained in thoughts, words, and habits, ultimately manifesting in a life of pain and sorrow. According to the words of Jesus there is no middle road: “Whoever breaks one of the of the least of the commandments…whoever obeys and teaches these commandments… (see Mt 5:19).”

St. Silouan the Athonite said that the apostle John says that the commandments of God are not difficult to keep (see 1 John 5:3). For the one who loves, they are easy to keep. They are difficult only for the one who does not love.

Keeping the commandments is a matter of the heart. Recently I was resting in prayer, silently contemplating Jesus who had climbed a mountain for time alone with his Father. It was night. I imagined myself quietly watching from a short distance, my elbows on a large boulder, holding my face in my hands, as I observed Jesus standing a few yards away. I could just see the silhouette of Jesus as he stood looking up into the star-lit night sky in this place to which he had retired to be with his Father. The intensity of love that I sensed between him and his Father, the energy of their wordless communion, the giving and receiving, the loving and responding, the gift and obedience…. Even though I was not a part of their unspoken communication, Jesus’ bond with his Father was unmistakable and strong. When Jesus had finished praying he turned and noticed me watching. He walked quietly toward me and sat down. My heart full, I said simply, “I want what you have.” And he said to me, “I want you to have it too.”

I want the love that Jesus experiences to take hold in the deepest recesses of my heart. I want my sole desire to be to surrender my life entirely to that love, to desire to speak, think, and do only what the Father has given me to do. In other words, I want to be true to the Father’s love for me and for others in the totality of the way I live. But when I examine myself I see that I am not like Jesus who could say, “I say only what I hear from the Father.” (see Jn 12:49). My love is only a distortion of divine love. 

The law of God helps us recognize our poverty and our utter dependence on God. It floods us with God’s mercy which renews us, as we realize we cannot keep the commandments unless God himself remakes our hearts. And he will do so, if we open our hearts to him. As Jesus said to me, “I want this for you too!” What generous kindness that will not fail to be brought about through Jesus’ action on my poor heart.

Pope Francis said that the commandments help people face the disarray of our hearts in order to stop living selfishly and become authentic children of God, redeemed by the Son and taught and guided by the Holy Spirit.

The commandments are a gift. They save us, as Saint John Paul II reminded us in his speech on Mount Sinai, from the “destructive force of egoism, hatred and falsehood. They point out all the false gods that draw [us] into slavery: the love of self to the exclusion of God, the greed for power and pleasure that overturns the order of justice and grades our human dignity and that of our neighbor.” 

To keep the commandments is paradoxically to know that we can’t keep them without the power of God at work within us, without the Spirit remaking our hearts and minds, without the blood of Jesus washing us clean and transfiguring our entire being in Himself.

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Promises! Elizabeth said to Mary, “Blessed are you for believing that what was promised to you would be fulfilled.”

Those words could be repeated to Mary at the foot of the cross as her son was dying, “Blessed are you, O Mary, for believing that what was promised to you would even now be fulfilled.”

They could be proclaimed at Pentecost, “Blessed are you who believed what was promised! It shall be fulfilled!”

They were sung at the moment of her Assumption into heaven, “Blessed, most blessed among all earth’s women, are you, Mary, for you believed, you never wavered, even in suffering you were steadfast in the certainty that God would keep his promises to you.”

Life is hard enough at times, and I think too often we forget the promises God has made to us, words of power that will keep any storm from overwhelming our fragile boats. 

Elizabeth and Mary were two women—one too old to bear a child and the other barely a child herself—who became the channel of God’s mercy poured out through his Son in the redemption of the world: Jesus Christ, fulfillment of the Promise.

Both Elizabeth and Mary may have felt that this vocation was beyond their personal capacity…but they believed that what God had begun in them he would bring to completion in his own way, in his own time, through his grace. They knew there were no guarantees, there was no way to control or manipulate the future. What was left to them was praise and joyful wonder at what God was doing in and through them.

In the Responsorial Psalm we hear their quiet joy and firm and solid hope:

God indeed is my savior;
    I am confident and unafraid.
My strength and my courage is the LORD,
    and he has been my savior….

Shout with exultation, O city of Zion,
    for great in your midst 
    is the Holy One of Israel.

What is God doing in you? Like Elizabeth and Mary take some time today to notice, to sing, to rejoice, to believe, to trust. “God indeed is my Savior, I am confident and unafraid.”

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