Tag: Sr. Kathryn

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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In today’s readings, I can almost feel the excitement and the joy of God as he created the heavens and the earth “in the beginning.” We feel pride and satisfaction when we create something as simple as a poem, a photo on our phones, a new dish to please a friend, or a wall in our home tastefully decorated with family photos. There is a warmth in our hearts as we share something beautiful and meaningful with others. Something we conceptualized and made ourselves. 

“And God saw how good it was….” The world is beautiful, and it is God’s magnificence that is revealed in all that God has created, from the tallest mountain to the tiniest flower. 

In the Gospel, Jesus is creating health, wholeness, goodness, healing. His touch is returning people to community. His touch is making sad faces smile, and filling burdened hearts with laughter. Gratitude is streaming through the people as they scurry about to share Jesus’ love with as many people as possible.

How good is the good God.

When you are creating, healing, holding, you are radiating the goodness of the God who creates, heals, and restores us to life and holds us in his love. 

These days there is much reason for our eyes to be filled with tears and our hearts broken with sorrow. Let us be God-like and not allow the darkness to blind our eyes to the truth of the good God’s heart who is even now unfolding his giving love, bringing about the reign of his heart. 

When I feel alone today, I think I will try to remember that God has personally walked this earth as Creator and Redeemer for me, for us. Today’s Gospel reminds me that Jesus personally reached into the lives of the broken in order to reassure them that their creation was no accident, and nothing can hinder the meaning of their lives. We are each created by the hand of God, saved by the life of Jesus, and sanctified by the breath of the Spirit. 

How good the good God is.  

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Today is the 25th anniversary of the day of prayer for women and men in consecrated life, instituted in 1997 by Pope Saint John Paul II. The Feast of the Presentation of the Lord is a beautiful day to celebrate the gift of consecrated life in the Church. In the liturgy for the Feast of the Presentation, candles are blessed symbolizing Christ who is the light of the world, and those who have consecrated their lives to God are called to reflect the light of Christ to the world. (The observance of the World Day of Consecrated Life in the US has been transferred to the following Sunday.)

One of the key figures who appears in the Gospel today is Simeon. Of all the people in the Temple that day when Mary and Joseph brought Jesus there to present him to the Lord, only Simeon and Anna recognized the baby as the longed-for Messiah. Luke states three times that Simeon was a man immersed in the power of the Holy Spirit. “The Holy Spirit was upon him,” he knew that he wouldn’t see death before he had seen the Christ of the Lord “because it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit.” And finally, that day, “he came in the Spirit to the temple.”

Simeon lived under the guidance and impulse of the Spirit so he could see things that others could not. He could see and proclaim what God was doing. He could see how grace was at work. “My eyes have seen your salvation,” he cried out. Can you imagine the joy of this old man that the mystery he had waited for decades to touch was now held in his arms. 

Last year, on this day, Pope Francis reflected upon Simeon’s words at a Mass celebrated for Religious. I want to use them as the basis for my thoughts here with you. In the dark and chaotic situation in our world today, all of us need to be able to see salvation, to see in our life God’s faithful gift, to witness God’s love at work in the world.

My eyes have seen your salvation! God’s gift even in moments of darkness and powerlessness. It is the tempter that tries to keep us focused on what hasn’t been, what we’ve lost, what we’ve been unjustly deprived of. 

My eyes have seen your salvation! God’s gift in fragility and weakness. It is the tempter who hides the light and whispers to us: “You are no good. God can’t love you. Look at how little you love God. What have you done for him?”

Pope Francis described what happens to us, “We no longer see the Lord in everything, but only the dynamics of the world, and our hearts grow numb.  Then we become creatures of habit, pragmatic, while inside us sadness and distrust grow, that turn into resignation.”

To see correctly, to see in truth, we need to be like Simeon, we need to be able to perceive God’s grace for us. We need to see salvation, to look at what God is doing.

Instead of focusing on thoughts and feelings about what is happening in our lives and within our hearts, thoughts and feelings that disorient us, Simeon shows us how to be led by the Spirit, inspired by the Spirit, filled with the Spirit. It takes a lot of courage to turn our eyes away from ourselves, to turn our attention away from the tempter and to lift them instead to the Lord. It takes courage to believe that God is at work even when everything we see around us seems to be falling apart.

On this Feast of the Presentation, even if you can’t get to church for Mass, light a candle, be warmed by the flame, be filled with the light that burns bravely in the darkness and braves even the wind…. May this candle remind you to see the Lord, the Light of the World, in everything. May it remind you that your life is happiest when it revolves around God’s grace. Courageously hold up the candle to a window, in front of the newspaper or your Twitter account or Facebook page and proclaim, “My eyes have seen, O Lord, your salvation!”

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One of my favorite images of the Conversion of St. Paul is found in the Apostolic Palace and is pictured here. It was painted by Michelangelo between 1542 and 1546. January 25 is a big deal for us Daughters of St Paul. St Paul’s conversion is the only conversion celebrated liturgically and it is such a powerful day for us who try to live the experience of St Paul in intimate prayer and courageous evangelization. For this to happen in our own lives, we too need to go through a Damascus event as did Paul.

At the center of our spirituality is Christ, and his desire to possess us entirely. Every thought pattern and attitude and tendency of our personality. Every desire, preference, behavior…. Everything without exception. This is quite different from making New Year’s resolutions at the beginning of January! In the Conversion of St. Paul it is Christ who comes to meet Paul where he is, in his frailty (although Paul thought he was someone important doing something significant).

There are several aspects of this painting of St. Paul’s conversion by Michelangelo which attract me very deeply. At the top of the image, which doesn’t appear here, is the person of Christ reaching down to Paul through a column of light. There are many people milling around in this image, but Paul is clearly the one who is addressed by Jesus. And Paul is the one who must take responsibility, take the risk, and answer. Isn’t it that way with us, in our unique call from the Lord?

Another aspect of this image which attracts me is the way Paul is almost held by one of the characters in the image. The circular image that is created by the arms of the person reaching down to him, as well as the position of Paul’s body, is almost soft, receptive, intimate. This is not Caravaggio’s strong blinded Paul fallen from his horse. This is a Paul who is being drawn into the mystery of God’s plan for his life and the way God will use Paul to announce the Gospel to the world. It was absolutely moving for me to pray in front of this painting in the Apostolic Palace in the Vatican a couple of years ago, and to see on the other side of the chapel the depiction of the crucifixion of St. Peter. Two men who were flawed and frail and human who allowed God to do with them all that he desired. 

This is what God desires for you and me. We too have our Damascus events. They aren’t as stunning as what we call the conversion of St. Paul, but they can be nonetheless life-changing. I include here a prayer of our community which reflects on the challenge of our own Damascus events.

Light and darkness,

sight and blindness,

power and weakness,

control and surrender.

The “Damascus event” in Paul’s life is often played out in my own,

though in a less dramatic manner.

Lord Jesus, I meet you in so many ways:

sometimes in silence and prayer,

or by stumbling to the ground of my existence.

As I journey through the days of my life,

stop me,

call out my name,

send me your dazzling light,

and take hold of me as you took hold of Paul.

Even when I kick against the goad,

even when I lack courage or when fatigue overtakes me,

even when I fall again or lose my way—

in all these moments I trust that you are with me

and that your grace is sufficient for me.

Like Paul, let me know how to be companioned by others,

allowing myself to be led by those who can point out the way to you.

Help me to be willing to listen to what you are saying to me through them.

As you sent Paul on mission, I ask that you send me forth,

to those persons with whom I am to share your Gospel.

Give me, like you gave Paul, the words and gestures

that will reveal your mercy to me,

and the love you bear for every person you have redeemed.

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