The story of Daniel in the Lion’s Den is a good one. Daniel’s only crime is that he refused to worship the king as a god and instead remained faithful to the one true God. Those around him are jealous, so they devise the plan to trap him so they can get him out of the way. The plan is simple: have the king issue an edict that, for one month, it’s illegal—punishable by death—to pray to any other god except himself. Daniel doesn’t make a fuss about it, but he disobeys the edict. Scripture tells us that he went to his room, shut the door, and there prayed to the one true God. However, those who want to get rid of him burst in while he is praying and report it to the king, who, because of the edict, has no choice but to throw Daniel into the lions’ den, and he does.
Today, in our Gospel reading, we hear Jesus say, “Blessed are you,” followed by the poor, the hungry, those who weep, and those who are hated. Then, he says, “Woe to you who” are rich, full, laughing, and spoken well of. Those who are blessed and those who are cursed seem to be upside down. “Excuse me, Jesus, but it is the fat and happy that are blessed.” But, no, it is the other way around. Hearing the story of Daniel, we might think,
“Woe to you who are cast to the lions, for you will experience weeping and gnashing of teeth!”
But instead, in the upside-down version, it is
“Blessed are you who are cast to the lions, for you shall be protected by God.”
So, if that is the case, what does it mean to be “blessed?”
It is very common for someone with a good life—nice car, house, white picket fence, fat checking account, etc.—to say, “I am so blessed.” However, it’s quite rare to hear someone who has just been diagnosed with cancer say, “I am so blessed.” Why? Because we most often understand being blessed as those things outside ourselves. But, those visible, tangible things are actually only signs of being blessed. Everyone knows that if you are rich, God has blessed you, and if you are poor, well, you’d best be getting straight with God. Right? Wrong. So, if being blessed isn’t about external signs, then what is it?
Moses and the Israelites wandered in the desert. God finally called them and sent them to the Holy Land, but Moses was afraid of the enemies they would face and other trials. So the Lord said to Moses, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.” Moses, wanting to be sure, responded, “If your presence will not go with me, do not bring us up from here.” Unless you truly mean it, don’t send us, because without you, we are doomed. “And the Lord said to Moses, ‘This very thing that you have spoken I will do, for you have found favor in my sight, and I know you by name.’”
“My presence will go with you.” There are many external signs of what it means to be blessed by God, but the greatest blessing is the very presence of God. God did not tell Moses that it would be easy. God told Moses that he would be with him and the Israelites. God did not tell Daniel that being in exile, living among and serving a foreign people, and being thrown into the lions’ den would be easy, but Daniel trusted in God’s promise—Daniel trusted that God would be present.
With this understanding, even on the darkest days, you can say, “I am blessed,” because regardless of the circumstances, God is with you. The Lord told Joshua, “Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9) If you need more proof, simply remember His name: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Immanuel” (which means “God with us”). (Matthew 1:23)
In the first Freshman English class of the semester, the teacher stated, “Let us establish some examples about opposites. Timothy, what is the opposite of joy?”
“Sadness,” said the student.
“Fine.
And the opposite of depression, Rachel?”
“Elation,” she replied with a smile.
“Very good.
And you, Johnny, what is the opposite of woe?”
“I believe that would be ‘giddy up’”
Scripturally speaking, the opposite of “woe” is “blessed,” and we heard those beautiful words, “Blessed are you,” but as beautiful as those words are, today is our celebration of All Saints, so instead of focusing on the words, we focus on those who heard the words and followed the one who spoke them. We focus on the ones who were blessed.
There are approximately 8.1 billion people living today out of the roughly 117 billion people who have ever been born. Of those 117 billion, only about 10,000 are recognized by the church as capital “S” saints: St. Mary, St. Matthew, St. Julian, and others. That’s roughly one Saint for every 11,700,000 people born. So, the question for you today is: what are the chances of you becoming a saint?
For me, I go along with what Brennan Manning said in The Ragamuffin Gospel: “When I get honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I am trusting and suspicious. I am honest and I still play games. Aristotle said I am a rational animal; I say I am an angel with an incredible capacity for beer.” I prefer Scotch, but you get the point. I consider the odds 1/11,700,000 and think it could happen, but if we’re being honest… honesty is overrated. My one consolation is that I know I have a much better shot at it than you lot.
Perhaps, instead of asking “Who will become a Saint?” we should ask, “Who should strive to become a Saint?” It might seem a bit bold to us, but many of the great saints intentionally described themselves as working to become saints, and some went as far as to predict that they would. St. Joseph Cafasso writes, “I would be the happiest of men if I could become a saint soon and a big one.” Blessed Mary Fortunata Viti says, “I am fortunate to be given this opportunity to become a saint. I want to become a saint,” and St. Margaret of Cortona says, “A time will come when you will call me a saint, and you will go on a pilgrimage to my tomb with the staff and wallet of a pilgrim.” This might seem to negate the whole idea of humility we see in the saints, but instead it points to the fact that they took seriously Christ’s command to “be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect,” and, in doing so, they are blessed.
Thomas Merton, in his autobiography The Seven Storey Mountain, describes a notable conversation he had with his friend Robert Lax. Apparently, they were arguing as they walked when Robert suddenly stopped and, turning to Merton, asked, “What do you want to be, anyway?” Merton had a few poor answers in his mind but finally said, “I don’t know; I guess what I want is to be a good Catholic.” Robert responded, “What do you mean you want to be a good Catholic? What you should say… what you should say is that you want to be a saint.” “How do you expect me to become a saint?” Robert replied. “By wanting to.” Merton said, “I can’t be a saint.”
Remembering the mood of this conversation, years later, Merton wrote, “My mind darkened with a confusion of realities and unrealities: the knowledge of my own sins, and the false humility which makes men say that they cannot do the things that they must do, cannot reach the level that they must reach: the cowardice that says: ‘I am satisfied to save my soul, to keep out of mortal sin,’ but which means, by those words: ‘I do not want to give up my sins and my attachments.’” In their conversation, his friend Robert continued, “All that is necessary to be a saint is to want to be one. Don’t you believe that God will make you what He created you to be, if you will consent to let Him do it? All you have to do is desire it.” The next day, looking for a way out, Merton told another friend, “[Robert] is going around saying that all a man needs to be a saint is to want to be one.” His friend’s response, “Of course.” Of course! All you have to do to become a saint is to want to be one.
God’s love pulls us out of the places of sin where He finds us. He pulls us out because He wants more for us, and in pulling us out of those places, he calls us into another place—one where we can strive to become that one person in 11,700,000. And before you say, “I can’t,” consider the words of Thomas Merton when he said he couldn’t. You see, when we say we can’t, it’s because we become painfully aware of our sins. We are confronted with aspects of our lives that we’re often unwilling to change in order to be more saint-like. Remember St. Augustine’s words, “Lord, make me chaste—but not yet!”
Become a saint! I can’t. Why? Because of pride, gluttony, and anger? Then learn humility, moderation, and forgiveness. If you did those things, would you then be a saint? Probably not, but you might be a step closer.
Consider a monk who lived on Mount Athos with Elder Paisos. The monk drank excessively, smoked two packs of cigarettes a day, and cursed like a sailor. One day, after the monk’s death, a few pilgrims approached Elder Paisos, who spoke of the monk so affectionately and regarded him as a saint afterward. The pilgrims were distraught; they discussed all the issues the monk had in his life and scolded Elder Paisos for failing to notice those faults. Elder Paisos understood their concerns but then told them that the monk had cut his twenty glasses of wine down to three and reduced his smoking from two packs to just one cigarette a day. Elder Paisos was certain that God saw a fighter, while the world saw a sinner.
Is this an easy task? Of course not—there are many reasons, but one of the main challenges is the need to turn our critical eye toward ourselves. This battle isn’t fought out there but within us, because “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” Becoming a saint is difficult because many of the battles are unseen. They occur in a place where our greatest weapon is our faith. At times that faith may not seem like much; however, behind that faith stands the One True God who loves us. St. Paul reminds us, “Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.” (Ephesians 4:14-16)
You may never attain sainthood in this life, and you might never receive the title “Saint,” with a capital “S,” but that shouldn’t stop you from consistently and faithfully striving for it. St. John Vianney wrote, “We must never lose sight of the fact that we are either Saints or outcasts, that we must love for Heaven or for Hell; there is no middle path in this.” Don’t be satisfied with merely escaping to heaven “as one escaping through the flames”; instead, put up a good fight and strive to hear those words, “Well done, good and faithful servant!” Strive to become one among 11,700,000. Strive to be blessed.
Let us pray: (This prayer is called The Anima Christi, The Soul of Christ.)
Soul of Christ, sanctify me; Body of Christ, save me; Blood of Christ, inebriate me; Water from the side of Christ, wash me; Passion of Christ, strengthen me; O good Jesus hear me; Within your wounds hide me; separated from you, let me never be; From the evil one protect me; At the hour of my death, call me; And close to you bid me; That with your saints, I may be praising you forever and ever. Amen.
Charles Feeney was a highly successful businessman; in fact, Forbes magazine listed him among the top 400 richest Americans, with a net worth of about $400 million. Still, he was a shabby dresser, wore a $15 watch, flew coach everywhere, and didn’t own a house or a car. That doesn’t sound like your typical multi-millionaire, but it turns out he was worth far less than estimated. Why? Because, over his career, he had been giving it all away.
Over the years, hospitals, schools, service groups, and others received random checks supporting their efforts. For a long time, no one knew where they came from, but eventually the truth surfaced. It was Charles Feeney. Until he was discovered, Charles Feeney had donated over $4 billion anonymously! By 2012, after his secret was revealed, he had given away $6 billion. There’s a biography about him: The Billionaire Who Wasn’t: How Chuck Feeney Made and Gave Away a Fortune Without Anyone Knowing. His actual net worth at that time was only 1% of the $400 million estimated by Forbes. When he died in 2023, he had nearly nothing except a rented two-bedroom apartment and a $15 watch. He had given $8 billion to those in need.
Jesus said, “Thus, when you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” Maimonides, the 12th-century Jewish rabbinic leader, taught that ”the highest form of giving was anonymous and selfless.” Both of these teachings seem to be lessons that Chuck Feeney sincerely practiced.
And Fr. John, I thought we were celebrating Saints Simon and Jude. Yes, we are, yet these two saints are as anonymous as Charles Feeney’s giving was for all those years. Simon is listed in all three of the synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), and Jude is named in the list of apostles in Luke’s Gospel and in the Book of Acts, but there is no agreement that he is the author of the epistle of Jude in the New Testament.
Legend has it that they preached in the area of Persia and eventually came together in Mesopotamia, where pagan priests martyred them for their faith. Apart from that, there’s nothing more.
The connection I see between Simon and Jude and someone like Charles Feeney is the fact that Simon and Jude, like Feeney, lived very anonymous lives and gave so much to advance the Gospel, yet, aside from being named occasionally on lists, there is silence. They sacrificed everything, even their very lives. Not for fame, but for the glory of God.
St. Josemaría Escrivá writes, “When you have finished your work, do your brother’s, helping him, for Christ’s sake, so tactfully and so naturally that no one—not even he—will realize that you are doing more than what in justice you ought. This, indeed, is virtue befitting a son of God!”
We are called to do the work of God, like Simon and Jude, like Charles Feeney, not for the praise of men, but for the glory of God.
On a Sunday afternoon, an elderly man sat on the back porch of the parsonage, talking to the young priest, and said, “Father, I’ve got something to tell you. I’ve never told this to a soul; it’s extremely difficult to tell you now, but my wife and I have had a fight almost every day for the past 30 years of our marriage.”
The priest was surprised and looked away. He nervously sipped his coffee, unsure of what to say. The young priest asked, “Every day?” “Yes, just about every day.” “Did you fight today before coming to church?” “Yes.” “How did it end?” “She came crawling to me on her hands and knees.” “My goodness, what did she say?” “Come out from under that bed, you coward, and fight like a man!”
Jesus tells a parable about two men who “went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.” The Pharisee was very knowledgeable about God’s teachings. The tax collector, not so much. Plus, the tax collector was generally seen as a plague on society. So, after their prayer, you might think the Pharisee would be the one justified before God, but that’s not the case. When he prays, he believes he knows the mind of God, how things work—he’s not just on the team, he’s the star quarterback, so he is all puffed up. When he prays, he says to God, “You know me and I know you. We’re tight, and thank heaven I’m not like that poor schmuck over there. You and me, we’re good.” He sees himself as a righteous dude because he thinks God views him as a righteous dude.
On the other hand, the tax collector could not even look up toward heaven when he prayed. In the temple, he stayed as far away as possible, keeping his head bowed. He didn’t consider himself worthy, so he prayed, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” And Jesus said, “I tell you, this man went down to his home justified rather than the other; for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.”
What was the key difference between the two? If I had to pick one word, I would say truthfulness — not with the world around them or even with God, but truthfulness with themselves.
In The Brothers Karamazov, Fyodor Dostoevsky writes, “And, above all—don’t lie… Above all, don’t lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to such a pass that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others.”
The tax collector, despite feeling miserable about himself and his sins, was at least honest with himself. He had no illusions about being a good man, so instead of trying to justify himself before God, he cast his soul on God’s mercy. He prayed, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
As for the Pharisee, he couldn’t see past his own self-deception to repent for any wrongdoing. He stood before God, having lied to himself so completely that, in Dostoevsky’s words, he could not “distinguish the truth within him, or around him.”
Unfortunately, I believe that more people are like the Pharisee than the tax collector. They deceive themselves into thinking they are justified and righteous before God. Why? Several reasons come to mind.
First, looking inward and facing the truth about ourselves can sometimes be quite painful. For example, if you have a long work history, jumping from one job to another, it’s easy to blame others. “Well, the boss didn’t like me.” “At this job, they didn’t appreciate me.” “There, the employees were always after me.” Each of those statements could be true and reason enough to leave, but if you are honest with yourself and those circumstances, you might ask, “What is the common denominator? What do each of those positions have in common?” The answer: you. That doesn’t mean you were the problem, but it’s a question you need to ask. If, in asking that question honestly and realizing it was you, well, that can be a painful revelation, and we don’t like pain—whether physical, emotional, or spiritual—which leads to another reason for self-deception: fear of change.
In those jobs you held, you were honest with yourself, you discovered that you were the one who was the issue, and even though it was a painful revelation, you still must make a choice. Will you remain the same, or will you work to change and improve yourself? Everyone talks about how change is a good thing, and I believe that it is, right up to the point where I’m the one who has to do the changing; then change is very, very bad.
If we choose to overcome the pain and change, we must also face another part of being honest with ourselves—letting others see and understand who we truly are and that we were wrong. Oh, the humanity! Pride is a harmful trait.
In the end, if we overcome these and other fears of being truthful with ourselves and with God, I believe there is one more reason why we will continue to deceive ourselves: we don’t believe we have the capacity or the tools to do anything about it. We say, “I am who I am, and there’s nothing to be done about it in Heaven or on Earth.” O woe is me, but that is just another lie we tell ourselves so we don’t have to do the work.
The Psalms we read on Sundays are usually very pleasant and easily consumed. From the Psalm today, praising the Lord.
“Happy are they who dwell in your house! they will always be praising you.”
However, if you explore the Psalms beyond our Sunday readings, you will notice there is quite a focus on enemies. Take Psalm 63, for example. When we read it, we see verses one through eight. It begins,
“O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you; my flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”
Nice and comforting, but when we only read verses one through eight, we never get to verses nine and ten.
“But those who seek to destroy my life shall go down into the depths of the earth; they shall be given over to the power of the sword; they shall be a portion for jackals.”
Hoorah! But who are these enemies that seek my life? Who is it that will be put down by the sword and fed to jackals?
Some may have a person or group they consider an “enemy” (I would suggest you rethink that), but what if, instead of a person or group, we interpret the enemies in Psalms as the self-deceptions and sins within us? What if we see the enemies as those parts of our lives that we need to rid ourselves of, to fight so that we can conquer, in order that we might change and be transformed into the image of God? What if we say we must defeat the pain and fear of change and put the pride under our feet? Think about these ideas and consider them in the context of a portion of Psalm 118.
For who is God, but the Lord?… He trains my hands for war, so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze. You have given me the shield of your salvation, and your right hand supported me, and your gentleness made me great. You gave a wide place for my steps under me, and my feet did not slip. I pursued my enemies —I pursued my sin and self-deception— and overtook them, and did not turn back till they were consumed. I am running a few minutes late; my previous meeting is running over. I thrust them through, so that they were not able to rise; they fell under my feet. For you equipped me with strength for the battle; you made those who rise against me —those enemies within— sink under me. You made my enemies turn their backs to me, and those who hated me I destroyed. They cried for help, but there was none to save; they cried to the Lord, but he did not answer them. I beat them fine as dust before the wind; I cast them out like the mire of the streets.
What if, like the Psalmist, when our enemies come against us, we don’t crawl under the bed, but instead say, “Bring it!”—trusting completely in the words of the Lord, “No weapon that is fashioned against you shall succeed” (Isaiah 54:17a).
If we will, then we know that we can and must stand against the enemies and self-deception, so that when we come before the Lord, we don’t pretend as though nothing is wrong. We don’t stand there like a Pharisee saying, “Oh, look how perfect I am,” but instead, we are in a place where we can humbly pray, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” And in doing so, like the tax collector, be justified, be made right before the Lord. Jesus said, “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, but all who humble themselves will be exalted.
In his first epistle, the Apostle John wrote, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:8-9).” If we will humble ourselves by being truthful with ourselves and with God, then we will be justified in God’s eyes.
Let us pray: God, the author of peace and lover of concord, to know you is eternal life and to serve you is perfect freedom: Defend us, your humble servants, in all assaults of our enemies; that we, surely trusting in your defense, may not fear the power of any adversaries; through the might of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
If I told you the number 218, what do you think it would represent? It is roughly the number of times St. Paul speaks the name “Jesus” in his writings. This number doesn’t include the times Paul uses “Christ” instead—just Jesus.
Consider the beginning of Paul’s greeting in his First Epistle to the Corinthians.
“Paul, called to be an apostle of Christ Jesus by the will of God, and our brother Sosthenes,
To the church of God in Corinth, to those sanctified in Christ Jesus and called to be his holy people, together with all those everywhere who call on the name of our Lord Jesus Christ—their Lord and ours:
Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.”
He clearly stated from the start who he would be discussing—Jesus.
It is this frequent use of the name Jesus that St. Teresa of Avila, whom we celebrate today, noted in her writing (this is a longer selection).
“If Christ Jesus dwells in a man as his friend and noble leader, that man can endure all things, for Christ helps and strengthens us and never abandons us. He is a true friend. And I clearly see that if we expect to please him and receive an abundance of his graces, God desires that these graces must come to us from the hands of Christ, through his most sacred humanity, in which God takes delight.
“Many, many times I have perceived this through experience. The Lord has told it to me. I have definitely seen that we must enter by this gate if we wish his Sovereign Majesty to reveal to us great and hidden mysteries. A person should desire no other path, even if he is at the summit of contemplation; on this road he walks safely. All blessings come to us through our Lord. He will teach us, for in beholding his life we find that he is the best example.
“What more do we desire from such a good friend at our side? Unlike our friends in the world, he will never abandon us when we are troubled or distressed. “Blessed is the one who truly loves him and always keeps him near. Let us consider the glorious Saint Paul: it seems that no other name fell from his lips than that of Jesus, because the name of Jesus was fixed and embedded in his heart. Once I had come to understand this truth, I carefully considered the lives of some of the saints, the great contemplatives, and found that they took no other path: Francis, Anthony of Padua, Bernard, Catherine of Siena. A person must walk along this path in freedom, placing himself in God’s hands. If God should desire to raise us to the position of one who is an intimate and shares his secrets, we ought to accept this gladly.
“Whenever we think of Christ we should recall the love that led him to bestow on us so many graces and favours, and also the great love God showed in giving us in Christ a pledge of his love; for love calls for love in return. Let us strive to keep this always before our eyes and to rouse ourselves to love him. For if at some time the Lord should grant us the grace of impressing his love on our hearts, all will become easy for us and we shall accomplish great things quickly and without effort.”
She wrote, “Love calls for love in return—Jesus’ love for us calls out our love for Him; therefore—Let us strive to keep this [love] always before our eyes and to rouse ourselves to love him.”
How do we accomplish this? As with Teresa, Paul, Catherine, Francis, and so many others, keep the name of Jesus always before you. In all whom you see, in all that you do, speak His Name, and you will rouse yourself to love Him and others.
Three local pastors teamed up for a local revival. After the tent was taken down and the dust had settled, they met for coffee to discuss how things went.
The Methodist minister said, “I want to give thanks for this revival. Through our efforts, the Methodist Church gained four new members. It was awesome.”
The Presbyterian preacher grinned and said, “I want to add my thanks to yours, praise God. Through our revival, we gained six new members.”
The Episcopal priest, grinning from ear to ear, sat silent, then said enthusiastically, “I’m just as excited as you both! Between the two of you, you gained ten new members. That is wonderful news. For us at the Episcopal Church, I couldn’t be any more thankful. Through our work together, we managed to get rid of our ten biggest troublemakers! Alleluia.”
The Apostle Paul tells us, “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18) And I suppose losing the troublemakers is something worth giving thanks for, not that I would ever do anything like that.
Even though Paul encourages us to give thanks in all circumstances, there are moments when even God might roll His eyes. There was a funny meme with an image of Jesus. The look on Jesus’ face says it all—“Are you stupid?” The caption read, “Jesus’ face after you give thanks and then ask Him to bless twenty chicken nuggets, two Big Macs, two large fries, and an extra-large Coke as nourishment unto your body.” Besides that, we should give thanks to God for His providence in our lives. Without it, we wouldn’t even exist.
So, we give thanks to God and we give thanks to others. We feel gratitude and express it. American author Gertrude Stein said, “Silent gratitude isn’t much to anyone.” And it’s true.
There’s a strange little debate about saying, “Thank you.” It involves store cashiers. Question: After they ring you up, should you thank them or should they thank you? On the one side, some cashiers argue that they’ve provided a service and that the right thing for the customer to do is say, “Thank you.” On the other hand, some customers say they shopped at the store, and because the cashier is paid to do their job, they should thank the customer for shopping there. I agree with both sides, although it does seem less common these days for a cashier to thank a customer. It also feels like we get into some ridiculous arguments.
What got me to thinking about all this “Thank you” business was the second part of our Gospel reading. It was short, so I’ll share it again—“Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, ‘Come here at once and take your place at the table’? Would you not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink’? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!’”—and it made me reflect on the nature of gratitude and obedience.
Nowadays, we don’t like talking about masters and slaves, but this is the text we’re given, so let’s work with it.
Put yourself in the place of the master. You own the land, the house… everything. You also own the slave. In Jesus’ time, slaves had some rights but were expected to do what they were told. As the master, you don’t ask your slave to go and plow the field; you tell them to do it, and you expect it to be done. Additionally, as the master, you expect your needs to be met before the slave cares for themselves or others.
If, on the other hand, you were in the place of the slave, then you know that if the master says, “Fix me supper,” you had better jump to it. And as the slave, after you’ve fixed supper and placed it on the table in front of the master, you don’t expect the master to say, “Thank you.” Why? Because, as a slave, you’ve done nothing more than what you are supposed to do. You did it—not because you were being nice, not because you were trying to earn brownie points or favor, and not because you thought you would earn a bonus—you did it because you are a slave, and your obedience is not requested; it is expected. And, as much as we may not always like it, it is this spirit we are to have toward God’s commandments. For example, Jesus said, “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another.”
The way we sometimes act may lead us to read that as some good advice applicable in certain situations, but Jesus said, “A new commandment I give to you.” A commandment is not something that is being requested of you. Like a slave, a commandment is something that is expected of you. On the day of judgment (Lord, Lord, what is this coming to… talking about commandments, obedience, and judgment!) On the day of judgment, God is not going to come up to us and say, “I want to thank you for loving others when it was in your best interest or when you felt like it or when you were in a good mood.” No. Instead, God will say, “I thought I told you to love one another. Why didn’t you?” When we love one another, we are not doing so so that God will pat us on the head and tell us what good boys and girls we are. Instead, when we love one another, we should say, “We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!”
Now, here’s the interesting thing: when we say we are slaves, we are not diminishing ourselves, but are in fact raising ourselves up. As St. Paul tells us, “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a slave, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:5-8)
For us as followers of Jesus, being slaves and obedient is not about simply following this rule and that rule. Besides, we can see in the Israelites, who had the Law of Moses, that we aren’t so good at keeping rules. Also, being a slave isn’t about being a doormat or being oppressed. Instead, in God the Father’s eyes, our obedience, like that of slaves, is about transformation. Being obedient like a slave involves being transformed into the very image of Christ Jesus. Like Jesus, it means being obedient and taking up our cross. Like Jesus, this obedience isn’t about our own will but the will of the Father. This shows us that such obedience isn’t driven by force or duty. It’s an obedience of love. If you are obedient to God because you’re afraid of going to hell, then you’re acting out of fear of punishment. However, as St. John tells us, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us.” (1John 4:18-19)
We were slaves to sin, but when we became obedient to God, we began to resemble Jesus. By becoming like Him, we no longer need to be afraid but are set free to experience God’s love. However, in the words of that TV pitchman, “But wait! There’s more!” For as Paul tells us, “When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as God’s children. And because you are His children, God has sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying, “Abba! Father!’ So you are no longer a slave, but a child, and if a child, then an heir through God.” (Galatians 4:4-7) Somebody say, “Amen.”
As slaves in this world, no one will thank you. However, by becoming obedient slaves of God, you will become His children. Not only will you then be set free to love one another and to love God, but you will also gain the freedom and joy to experience God’s true love for you.
Let us pray: Our obedient Lord Jesus, You obeyed the will of Your Father in Heaven to perfection. Through this obedience, You not only experienced the full love and joy of the Father in Your human nature, but You also set for us a perfect example and model for holiness. Help us to see the areas of our lives in which we need to be more obedient, so that we, too, will share in Your holy life and that of the Father’s. Jesus, we trust in You and we give You praise and thanks. Amen.
Some of the old-timey Gospel music can be fun to listen to. Dr. Ruby Holland sang, “Get back Satan, I’m running late Get back Satan, I’m running late Well I’ve got to get to Heaven, before they close the gate Get back Satan, I’m running late.”
And Bishop Neal Roberson pleaded, “Don’t let the devil ride, Don’t let the devil ride, Oh if you let him ride, he’ll want to drive… Please Don’t let him drive your car… Don’t do it, Don’t do it, Don’t do it!”
A simple theology—Jesus never complicated the message! That’s one of the wonderful things about musicians, artists, writers, and poets using their talents to express God’s truths. However, there are some—much like theologians—who go even deeper, creating works that require great skill and intellect to understand. Today, especially, I’m thinking about Dante Alighieri.
Dante wrote the epic poem The Divine Comedy, which consists of three major parts: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso (Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise). I’ll be honest and tell you that I have attempted it, but have not yet made it far. My sister-in-law recommended a translation to me, and it is on the way, so I plan to try again. Keep you posted.
For the opening verse of the first part, Inferno, Dante wrote,
“Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost.”
For Dante, who acts as both the narrator and poet, finding himself in the dark forest means he has found himself in a place of sin and spiritual confusion. While searching for a way out, he meets the poet Virgil, who will serve as his guide through the nine levels of the Inferno, hell.
The deeper the level, the more heinous the sin. Level one includes the unbaptized and virtuous pagans. Level six is guarded by demons and reserved for heretics. Level nine is the home of Satan, where he chews on the worst traitors, including Judas Iscariot and Brutus, as in, et tu Brute?
For many centuries, Christians held a vivid and imaginative view of hell, but as we became more “enlightened,” that understanding gave way to doubt and disbelief. Now, for many, hell is nothing more than a myth that we tell children to keep them in line on rainy days. The author of the book, The Hell There Is, which we recently discussed at our Saints Book Club, states, “What is more common today, at least among the faithful, is not the outright denial of hell but a kind of practical denial of it by concluding, contrary to Scripture, that very few, if any, go to hell.” (p.2-3) He explains that individuals come to this conclusion because they don’t believe a loving God would condemn anyone to eternal punishment. However, for the author, God is not the one condemning people; rather, they are choosing hell themselves. To demonstrate this, the author references the parable of Lazarus and the rich man (also known as Dives, the Latin word for rich or wealthy). So, how does the parable show the man choosing hell over being condemned to it?
To begin (and I’ll refer to the rich man as Dives), Dives was very well aware of Lazarus’ condition. Lazarus was not sitting at the city gates where he might have occasionally been seen by Dives; instead, Lazarus was sitting at the gates of Dives’ house. Dives would have seen Lazarus every single time he went outside, yet Dives chose to ignore him. Dives did nothing directly against Lazarus, but sin isn’t limited to actions. We pray in the confession, “Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.” Sins of commission are the wrongs we do, and sins of omission are the good we fail to do, even when we know we should act.
Countless times throughout the history of God’s people, even before the time of Jesus, God called on His people to care for the poor. For example, Deuteronomy 15:11 states, “There will always be poor people in the land. Therefore, I command you to be openhanded toward your fellow Israelites who are poor and needy in your land.”
Disobeying this command, Dives, fully aware of Lazarus’ needs, committed a great sin of omission. He was not compelled to ignore him but chose to. Dives did not choose the ways of God; he chose the ways of self and the devil, making a conscious decision to prefer hell over heaven. Further proof of this choosing is that once there, Dives’ attitude does not change.
In Hades and in torment, Dives looks up and sees Abraham and Lazarus in Paradise. He calls out, “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.”
That is the same attitude he had toward Lazarus while he was alive. Lazarus is a non-person to him. He does not ask Abraham to send Lazarus down to where he is so that he can beg for forgiveness. No. Instead, Dives asks for Lazarus to be sent down to serve him. “Abraham, tell that wretch to run this little errand for me.” Neither does Dives ask if he might come up to Heaven so he might escape his torment. He is neither willing to confess nor ask for forgiveness for his sins, which demonstrates that, despite the torments he is currently experiencing, he is still happy with the choices he has made. It is one of those situations where your only regret is that you got caught. Dives chose his current state, and he would rather remain in hell than walk in the ways of God. Do people truly make such an insane choice?
You are familiar with Jesus’ words in John 3:16—“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son…,” and John 3:18 tells us, “Whoever believes in Him [Jesus] is not condemned, but whoever does not believe is condemned already, because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God.” Then Jesus says something quite remarkable in verse 19, “And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil.” (John 3:19) “This is the judgment,” may also be translated as “This is the condemnation.” So, if we rephrase 3:19, we could say, “This is the condemnation: Jesus came into the world, and people chose the darkness—they chose hell—rather than Jesus, because they preferred their evil ways over the ways of God.”
Yes. The author of the book is correct in his assertions—God does not condemn a person to hell; they choose it. What makes this choice so woeful is that after death, there’s no second chance. When Dives asked for that cool drop of water, Abraham told him that he had received his reward while alive and ignored the needs of another person. Additionally, Abraham tells Dives, “Between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.” Death is not a threshold we cross. Death is a chasm that, once crossed, cannot be breached.
The author writes, “Think of wet clay on a potter’s wheel. If the clay is moist and still on the wheel, it can be shaped and reshaped, but once it is put in the kiln, in the fire, its shape is fixed forever. So it is with us that when we appear before God, who is a holy fire, our fundamental shape will be forever fixed, our decisions will be final. This is mysterious to us, and we only sense it vaguely, but because heaven and hell are eternal, it seems reasonable to conclude that this forever-fixed state is in our future.” (p.76)
With that understanding, I have some good news for you and I have some bad news for you. Let’s start with the bad news—“All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” (Romans 3:23) and “the wages of sin is death.” (Romans 6:23) We have sinned and we are dead in our sin; therefore, we are already on the wrong and unbreachable side of the chasm. We are dead in our trespasses and sins because we too have not followed the ways of God. (Cf Ephesians 2:1-3) That’s the bad news. The Good News is this—like the clay on the potter’s wheel, we have not yet been placed in the kiln. Our final shape, our forever-fixed state, is not yet set. There is still time to make another choice—a better and eternal one—and that is what Jesus offers us all. Jesus has created the one and only way by which we can cross the unreachable chasm, and that Way is through Him. “Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.’” (John 14:6)
“Midway upon the journey of our life I found myself within a forest dark, For the straightforward pathway had been lost.”
Certain actions we take and choices we make can lead us into that same dark forest where we lose the straightforward pathway. If we persist, then, in the end, the consequences of those actions and choices bring us to that Inferno which is forever fixed. If, however, we choose the Way that Christ Jesus has established, then we are gifted an eternal dwelling place with God in the New Jerusalem. My advice then is this,
Don’t let the devil drive your car. Don’t do it, Don’t do it, Don’t do it!
Let us pray: Loving Father, faith in Your Word is the way to wisdom. Help us to think about Your Divine Plan that we may grow in the truth. Open our eyes to Your deeds, our ears to the sound of Your call, so that our every act may help us share in the life of Jesus. Give us the grace to live the example of the love of Jesus, which we celebrate in the Eucharist and see in the Gospel. Form in us the likeness of Your Son and deepen His Life within us. Amen.
Yesterday was the feast day of St. Padre Pio. His life was remarkable for many reasons. He was a Capuchin Franciscan monk. He received the stigmata, losing a cup of blood per day; he heard thousands of confessions, and countless miracles have been recorded through his intercessions, both during his life and after his death. In 1947, he heard the confession of a young priest. In 2002, Padre Pio was canonized as a Saint by that same man, now called Pope John Paul II. He died in 1968 at the age of 81.
Today, I want to share just a few of the sayings of Padre Pio, but I’m going to reserve a bit of my time until after the Eucharist, because I want to share a prayer he wrote that is to be prayed at that time.
We are only capable of doing a little good. But God, in His goodness, has pity on us, is content with very little, and accepts the preparation of our hearts …. God is infinitely greater than our heart and this overcomes the whole world.
The demon has only one door by which to enter into our soul: the will; there are no secret doors. No sin is a sin if not committed with the will. When there is no action of the will, there is no sin, but only human weakness.
Remember that man has a mind, that he has a brain which serves him for reasoning, that he has a heart for feeling, he has a soul. The heart can be commanded by the head, but not the soul, so there must be a Supreme Being who commands the soul … it is impossible to exclude a Supreme Being.
The desire to be in eternal peace is good and holy, but you must moderate this with complete resignation to the divine will. It is better to do the divine will on earth, than to enjoy Paradise.
In a word: obedience is everything to me.
Before you sanctify others, think about sanctifying yourself.
And what man consider his most famous quote is one worth remembering—Pray, hope, and don´t worry. Worry is useless. God is merciful and will hear your prayer.
After Communion…
Stay with me, Lord, for it is necessary to have You present so that I do not forget You. You know how easily I abandon You.
Stay with me, Lord, because I am weak and I need Your strength, that I may not fall so often.
Stay with me, Lord, for You are my life, and without You, I am without fervor.
Stay with me, Lord, for You are my light, and without You, I am in darkness. Stay with me, Lord, to show me Your will.
Stay with me, Lord, so that I hear Your voice and follow You.
Stay with me, Lord, for I desire to love You very much, and always be in Your company.
Stay with me, Lord, if You wish me to be faithful to You.
Stay with me, Lord, for as poor as my soul is, I want it to be a place of consolation for You, a nest of love.
Stay with me, Jesus, for it is getting late and the day is coming to a close, and life passes; death, judgment, eternity approaches. It is necessary to renew my strength, so that I will not stop along the way and for that, I need You.
It is getting late and death approaches, I fear the darkness, the temptations, the dryness, the cross, the sorrows.
O how I need You, my Jesus, in this night of exile!
Stay with me tonight, Jesus, in life with all its dangers. I need You.
Let me recognize You as Your disciples did at the breaking of the bread, so that the Eucharistic Communion be the Light which disperses the darkness, the force which sustains me, the unique joy of my heart.
Stay with me, Lord, because at the hour of my death, I want to remain united to You, if not by communion, at least by grace and love.
Stay with me, Jesus, I do not ask for divine consolation, because I do not merit it, but the gift of Your Presence, oh yes, I ask this of You!
Stay with me, Lord, for it is You alone I look for, Your Love, Your Grace, Your Will, Your Heart, Your Spirit, because I love You and ask no other reward but to love You more and more.
With a firm love, I will love You with all my heart while on earth and continue to love You perfectly during all eternity. Amen.
Scivias I.6: The Choirs of Angels. From the Rupertsberg manuscript, folio 38r by Hildegard of Bingen.
Today, we celebrate Hildegard of Bingen, born in 1098. She was highly sought after for her advice and corresponded with kings, queens, abbots, abbesses, archbishops, and popes. She undertook four preaching tours across northern Europe, practiced medicine, authored treatises on science and philosophy, composed remarkable music and liturgical dramas, and was quite the artist. What makes this even more impressive is that in the 12th century, these roles were typically reserved only for men.
Along with her many achievements, she was also someone who had visions, which started to appear to her when she was just three years old. She would later describe them as “The Shade of the Living Light.” She wrote, “These visions which I saw—I beheld them neither in sleep nor dreaming nor in madness nor with my bodily eyes or ears, nor in hidden places; but I saw them in full view and according to God’s will, when I was wakeful and alert, with the eyes of the spirit and the inward ears.”
Here is an example of her writing: It is easier to gaze into the Sun than into the face of the mystery of God. Such is its beauty and its radiance. God says: I am the supreme fire; not deadly, but rather, enkindling every spark of life. I am the reflection of providence for all. I am the resounding WORD; the It-Shall-Be that I intone with mighty power from which all the world proceeds. Through animate eyes I divide the seasons of time. I am aware of what they are. I am aware of their potential. With my mouth I kiss my own chosen creation. I uniquely, lovingly embrace every image I have made out of the earth’s clay. With a fiery spirit I transform it into a body to serve all the world.
To me, she shows a genuine understanding of God’s love. Not as we might view God from a theologian’s point of view, but from a human perspective (not that theologians aren’t human).
In our Gospel reading today, John wrote those beautiful words, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” In Hildegard’s poem, it seems she was expressing that same idea: God is saying, I am aware of who they are, their potential. I lovingly embrace them, transform them, and give them my Son to show them this great love I have for them so that they may be where We are.
Hildegard was one who intimately knew of this transforming love of God and was able to express it through music, preaching, poetry, and art, surpassing the boundaries of her time. Perhaps such intimacy with God is not something everyone can achieve, but it is something everyone should strive for. In doing so, we can also become living testimonies, breaking through our own limits.
There is an exceptional German movie about her life, “Vision,” and I recommend it if you don’t mind subtitles (or speak German).
In 2010, Pope Benedict XVI said, “Let us always invoke the Holy Spirit, so that he may inspire in the Church holy and courageous women like Saint Hildegard of Bingen who, developing the gifts they have received from God, make their own special and valuable contribution to the spiritual development of our communities and of the Church in our time.” In 2012, Benedict named her a Doctor of the Church, among thirty-three at the time, with only three being women.
Candle in a Cave 