"Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is Lord alone."



Jesus told the scribe that the first commandment is “Hear, O Israel, The Lord our God is Lord alone.” That is the most important of Jewish prayers. It is the first prayer taught children. It is the prayer a devout Jew says with his dying breath.

In Hebrew it goes something like this: “Shema, Yisrael, Adonai elohim, Adonai Ehad.

While our English translation begins with the call “Hear!” the Hebrew Shema is more like, “Shut up, and listen.”

While the prayer twice refers to God at the Lord, our translation of the Hebrew Adonai that is not what
is written in the verse from Deuteronomy, Chapter Six. What is written there is Yahweh. The Jews, fearful of using that sacred name wrongly, substitute for it the word Adonai, which was just an all-purpose word for a Lord.

It would not hurt us to practice the Jewish words that Jesus called the most important of all.  “Shema, Yisrael, Adonai elohim, Adonai Ehad.”  You can be sure you have it wrong, but you can always excuse yourself by saying, “With God it is the effort that counts.”

If today you do not hear his voice, what then?



The 95th Psalm, which we have for our Responsorial Psalm, tells us, “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”

But, what if today you do not hear his voice? What are you to do then? That is a situation with which most of us have been familiar. How can we keep going when we hear nothing at all from God? St. Peter’s in Rome each year has millions of viewers of the marble reclining statue of Theresa of Avilla. It portrays an angel piercing Teresa’s heart with the fire of God’s love. Teresa is there hearing God’s voice more clearly than any of us has been privileged to hear it.

Although Teresa writes feelingly about that experience, she tells us that in her life a contrary experience came a thousand times more often. For year on end Teresa lived in what she called “The dark night of the soul,” when she was engaged in a solitary fight against the doubt that God was there at all.

A priest friend told me the other day that he is always able to feel the presence of God in his life. I felt like saying, “Yeah, tell me another one!” My experience is that periods  of aridity are where most of us live. Paul told us, “By hope we are saved. Now hope that sees is no longer hope, for who hopes for what he sees.” Romans, 8:24.

The other Theresa, St. Therese of Lisieux, gave an answer to the question as to how we are to behave if today we do not hear his voice.

Known as Theresa of the Child Jesus, Theresa of Lisieux would tell her novices to think of themselves as toy dolls of the Child Jesus. Jesus, as a child would, at times  would pick up his little novice, covering her with kisses; at other times, perhaps for months or years, he would abandon his little toy, leaving her forgotten in a dusty corner.

Far from abolishing the Law and Prophets, Jesus fulfilled them.




Matthew’s Gospel is the only one of the four that recalls Jesus saying, “Do not think I have come to abolish the law or prophets. I have come not to abolish but to fulfill.”

Matthew highlighted this saying of Jesus because it sums up Matthew’s reason for sitting down to write a new Gospel. After all, Mark had already written a Gospel.

Matthew was prompted to write by something the Pharisees were telling Jews who had become Christians. Being sticklers for being kosher, they were telling those Christians that Jesus had tried to abolish the Law and the Prophets.They said Jesus did that by eating with unclean gentiles. They said there was no way anyone could remain Jewish if they didn't observe kosher rules which came from the Law and the Prophets.

Matthew’s Gospel then went into detail demonstrating ways in which Jesus, rather than doing away with the old rules, improved on them. Like he quoted Jesus as telling us, not only should we avoid adultery, we should also avoid harboring lustful thoughts; Not only should we avoid killing others, we should avoid hating them. It’s like the teachings of Moses were primary school lessons, while Jesus was our professor for excellent graduate courses.

Jesus tells us we must be cleansed before coming before God.



In Our Lord’s story the king was so disappointed with the servant who would not forgive his fellow servant that he handed him over to the torturers, saying he would not be released until he paid back the huge debt the king had forgiven him. In this story Jesus tells us that after death we would be punished until we had made up for our sins. He seems to be talking about Purgatory.

In twenty-four years teaching middle school Religion I often had non-Catholic students whom their parents sent to us to avoid integration. One Seventh grade girl, the grandchild of a Protestant bishop, often expressed her discomfort at being an outsider with us. One day she blurted, “I don’t believe there is any place called Purgatory.”

I came back with, “I don’t either.”

We picture it as being a place, because that’s the way our human minds work. Too, our imaginations need to see things within their time frames. Catering to those human limitations, Dante incorporated our sound teachings into his fictitious “Purgatorio.”

Following his thirty-three cantos describing the Inferno, Dante turned to describing Purgatory, leading off with this:                                   
Now I will sing of that second kingdom,
                        in which the human soul is cleansed of sin,
                        becoming worthy of ascent to heaven.

In thirty-three more cantos Dante went on to describe how our souls are purged of the seven capitol sins. We must admire him for doing all that was humanly possible towards bringing us to understanding what Jesus meant by telling us we would not be released until we have paid in full.

The Responsorial Psalm reminds us of our real inner selves.



Psalm 42, our Responsorial Psalm for today, says, “Athirst is my soul for the living God.”

In the Psalm David compares your soul to a deer that travels on through great weariness thirsting for God. It is possible that David in the mountains with his flock had witnessed such a panting deer, struggling in from the desert, consumed with  thirst, and giving no notice to the shepherd boy.

I suppose it is true that we all have surface-selves that monopolize our waking thoughts, muffling the desires of our deeper selves that too rarely get noticed. I have a couple of memories that support that.

One story involved a Catholic girl from Port Arthur Texas who drifted away from the Church in her college years in Austin, going on to partner up with a non-believing young man. Years into their relationship his job brought them here, and she go a teaching position. One Christmas she got a ride to a party with her principal who wanted to catch Mass on the way. This teacher went in to sit and wait, when suddenly her true self asserted itself, telling her, “This the real me here in church!

My other story started one Saturday afternoon on Amelia Island. I was watching Chrissie  and Evert and Martina Navratilova’s great play, but I had to go out to my car to think out a homily for Sunday. Unbelievably, sitting in the back of my car I  heard myself being paged. Getting back into the stadium, I was brought to minister to a middle aged gent slobbering in the aisle with his handsome daughter and son-in-law along with eight thousand strangers looking on. I felt so sorry for the sick man’s embarrassment.

He surprised me when I checked on him two days later. Lying there, he said, “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I had got myself so involved in the market and in club life that I lost my self altogether. This has allowed the real me to take charge.”

We must make the final leap of Faith.



Today’s readings are a plea for us to fully commit ourselves to our belief in Jesus as the Son of God. 

The first reading concludes when the people “quarreled and tested the Lord, saying, ‘Is the Lord in our midst or not?’” We cannot be like them.

The second reading says, “We have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ through whom we have gained access by faith.” Our faith brings us peace.

The Gospel story of the Samaritan woman is the conclusion of a three-chapter search for a true believer in John’s Gospel.

Chapter Two of John’s Gospel concludes the story of Jesus turning water into wine by noting, “and so he revealed his glory, and his disciples began to believe in him. Jesus then went up to Jerusalem, working many signs, and “many began to believe.” But Jesus "would not trust himself to them  because he knew them."

Chapter Three of John’s Gospel  gives us the story of Nicodemus who expressed his limited belief by saying,  “Rabbi, we know you are a teacher who has come from God.” That was good, but not good enough.

With that, we come to the Samaritan woman, and we must see her for what she was: a  woman whom respectable women left to go to the well alone, a five times married woman, at this time she was living in a casual relationship.

For all that, her openness to God’s grace was greater than that of the disciples, of the people of Jerusalem, on the respected old Nicodemus. She accepted Jesus as the One who is was to come; and she hurried to tell everyone she had found the Messiah.

Can we let that old frump outdo us? Are we going to banish all doubts, committing ourselves completely to the Lord?

East and West Move Further Apart


Twentieth Saturday

In 741 Rome elected the last of its Greek speaking popes, and that man, Zachary, made two consequential decisions. We’ll look at the second of them first. It had him setting aside the Merovingian dynasty by crowning Pepin, the son of Charles Martel as king of the Franks in 750. That deposing of one monarch and crowning of another amounted to his claiming the supremacy of the papacy over all of Europe’s kings.

Zachary’s t first decision that made way for the second was his accepting a false document as genuine.  The document was known as the Donation of Constantine . In it Constantine just before his death in 337 had supposedly ceded central Italy to Pope Sylvester and his successors as a papal kingdom. In good conscience popes for five centuries, feeling they needed civil independence for asserting their spiritual authority, relied on the so-called Donation of Constantine. (Scholars in 1500 saw that the document used Latin words that had not come into use until three hundred years after the death of Emperor Constantine.)

Pope Zachary gave his blessing to St. Boniface undertaking the education of King Pepin’s son Karl, and Boniface made Karl, who is known to us as Charlemagne, into an exception among princes. He could read, write, and dispute in Latin, and he had an honest desire to aid in the spread of Christianity. At age twenty-nine Karl was crowned king of the Franks. In that role he made no distinction between his power over the nation and his church. From Spain to the Balkans to Denmark he used severity in putting down opposition to both his kingdom and his church. He gave lip service to the so-called Roman emperors in Constantinople by praying for the reigning emperor in every Mass; but with none of his ministers being conversant in Greek, he had no communications with the eastern empire.

In Constantinople the emperors had long regarded the ancient schools of Alexandria as their intellectual jewels. This had them bending over backwards to maintain strong ties with Egypt during the centuries during which they were ignoring Europe’s needs and interests.

This was the case with the differing understandings of the humanity of Christ held in Egypt and Europe. From the days of St. Anthony, all Egyptians thought of our bodies as temporary prisons for our souls. With Jesus too, they thought of his body as merely the flesh that kept people from seeing his soul; and for them it was only his soul that was the real Jesus. This brought them close to denying the humanity of Jesus. At the Council of Chalcedon in 450 eastern bishops had grudgingly accepted Pope Leo’s teaching that Jesus was one person with both a human and divine nature; but afterwards they edged back toward the old Docetists’ belief that Our Lord’s body was a mirage.

This belief that the body of Jesus kept us from seeing the real Christ led them into an iconoclasm, or the practice of doing away with all pictures and statues of Jesus. For good measure, they went on to ban all images of the saints, feeling all such images drew attention away from the souls of the saints that constituted their greatness.

In 730 Constantinople’s Emperor Leo III, in a move toward placating the Egyptians,  banned all images of Jesus and the saints. The Church in the west was so busy with its own concerns that it took no notice of Emperor Leo’s ban, but the monks in Greece and Syria, who loved their ancient images, rebelled. Some of them defended their sacred icons with their lives. The struggle between the rulers and the monks caused Greece to lose so many of its beloved monasteries that in 787 the Empress Irene took action. She convoked what she called the Second Ecumenical Council of Nicaea where she directed the bishops to placate the monks by approving the veneration of religious images.  

At last a major action in the east caught the attention of the west. The council’s  conclusion should have pleased Karl, king of the Franks, but he resented Empress Irene’s convoking a council without consulting him. What is more, by his faulty reading of the decrees of the council published in Greek, he thought it was permitting not the veneration but the adoration of sacred images. This confusion prepared east and west for breaking apart.

Mary's acceptance of Gabriel's proposal marks the high point of history.



With all our Rosaries and Hail Marys we have meditated on the Annunciation hundreds of thousands of times. Still, there is no plumbing the depth of Mary’s character, and there is always profit in re-entering the scene with our imaginations.

Mary showed no shock at the angel’s greeting, and she didn’t turn aside. She only pondered, asking herself what it meant. Schooled in her faith, she saw what was implied by her offspring being called the Son of the Most High. But even though she was betrothed to Joseph, she thought the angel should be aware of the flaw to implementing what he proposed. So, she asked, “How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?

Her spiritual stature was evidenced in her wordlessly accepting Gabriel’s explanation that she was to conceive by the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit.

Perceiving her acceptance, Gabriel went on to say, “Elizabeth, your relative, has conceived a son in her old age, and this is the sixth month for her who was called barren.”

The concern for Elizabeth the angel exhibited was reassurance for Mary that he had come from her good God. It tipped the scales, leading her to say, “May it be done to me according to your word.”

Each year I tell what happened with me on this feast in 1976. I was saying Mass in the little chapel in Crescent City. During Lent we were having ten or twelve people coming to the week day Masses. On the Sunday before, reaching around for material for its homily, I turned to the Annunciation as marking the all important moment when the Son of God became man.

After that Sunday Mass, and over the phone, I had quite a few people asking me if the Annunciation was a Holy Day of obligation. Although I assured them all that it wasn’t, I re-emphasized its importance to our Faith. With the feast day falling on Thursday, I expected attendance would rise from the usual ten or twelve; but in fact, only four Catholics came to Mass that day.

Back then, to avoid committing a mortal sin, all Catholics made it to Mass on Holy Days of Obligation; but when the day was clearly established as not being of obligation, people stayed away to avoid being accused of showing off their piety.

With God's grace we flolurish. Without it we wither.



One time I stopped in at the nursery on Herschel Street, and I asked the young assistant if he could help me find two plants. “I can help you,” he said, “I know this place inside out. What do you want?”

I said, ”Psalm One describes two little trees: one planted near running water, and one planted in a barren waste. I want two little similarly dissimilar potted plants to set up in church to illustrate my sermon.”

The young man said, “I better go get the owner.”

Jeremiah borrowed the imagery of the Psalm for our first reading. It is a fine little parable. We can think of that tree that bears fruit in due season as ourselves when our days are passed in steady response to the grace of God that the Bible pictures as a stream of living water.

If, instead of depending on God’s grace to keep us going, we resort to tobacco, alcohol, drugs, indulgence in idle talk, then we will be like a barren bush in a lava waste.

For our sake Jesus walked into the terrible death they were plotting.




Today’s first reading recorded the hatefulness of Jeremiah’s persecutors, but it also accurately recalls the plotting of the chief priests against Jesus. He was hurt no end to realize that the priests who represented his Father was saying, “Let’s closely listen to his teaching to find something he is saying we can use against him in court. With all the people going over to him we are losing our influence and the wealth our position gives us. We must put him to death!”

Now, although that all happened many centuries ago the pain Jesus felt then is still with him in a way. What I mean by that is that when Jesus becomes present on our altar at Mass he is here offering himself to the Father. It is the same offering he made of himself on the cross, and the hatefulness of those who nailed him to the cross is still there as the spur that he is overcoming with his generous love.

God will make your soul white as snow, no matter what you have done.




  Isaiah tells us, “Though your sins be like scarlet they may become white as snow.” If there is some awful thing that you once did, and if that thing comes back to haunt you, don’t despair. There is no limit to God’s mercy. He is ready with forgiveness that will leave your soul white as snow, gleaming like the full moon we are treated to this week.
But you must do your part in this clean-up. You can’t go on pretending you’re a saint: complaining about the behavior of others, as though you were a superior person. “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled; but whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”

Understanding others comes with recognizing the good intentions standing under their annoying behavior.




The first reading from Daniel is a reminder of what we should be doing in Lent. Namely, we should be honestly owning up to all the secret bits of evil we have been getting away with over the years. Then, after facing up to our unworthiness, we should turn to God for forgiveness, asking him for the will power to turn ourselves into profitable servants of God.

The Gospel draws our attention to one way we may have been grieving God. We may have been judging his children who are dear to him. By judging them we are offending him.

There is a clear way to avoid judging others. It is by becoming understanding people. Simply put: to be understanding is to see what “stands under” anyone’s behavior.

People always act for what seems good to them at the time. It’s like the law of gravity. That’s the way it is with you and me. We might later come to see that what seemed good at the time was really harmful. We wish people would see that about us. So, why can’t we see it is the same way with others? Pure meanness has never caused you or me to get ahead of others in the check out lane or in the left turn lane. Why should we impute an ugly motive to anyone else?

The Transfiguration was a foretaste of heaven given to Jesus and to us to help us bear with life's sorrows.



Heaven swooped down on the holy mountain to offer Jesus encouragement to bear up under the sorrows that were coming to him. And this foretaste of heaven is given to us to make it worthwhile for us to put up with the pains that we meet.

A week before this, Jesus, feeling sorrowful over what lay before him, had confided with the apostles, telling them he was to be betrayed, mocked, and executed. His words went right over their heads. But Peter, James and John  grasped something of what Jesus had said when he spoke about their need to carry their crosses. So, when Jesus went up to be with the Father on the mountain, he brought them up to look for their comfort.

The story of the transfiguration is the Gospel’s imaginative way of letting us have some share in what happened. Matthew tells us that the apostles fell asleep as Jesus prayed on and on with the Father. When they awoke it seemed to them that the pliable floor of heaven had somehow stretched down to take Jesus in. With that he took on the heavenly light of one in glory. Now, in Jewish lore the only two men already on heaven were Moses and Elijah who had been taken up in a fiery chariot. It was natural then that those two citizens of heaven would wander over to talk with their visitor Jesus. According to Luke, what they discussed was the death of Jesus.

For Jesus the transfiguration was heaven’s way of strengthening him for what was to come. For Christians who have set themselves to carry a heavy load through Lent this foretaste of a heavenly award offers encouragement. As well, it can be of help to people who like Jesus are saddened at their approaching hour of death.

Charles Martel and St. Boniface


19th Saturday

European civilization declined after the death of Gregory the Great in 610. The next two men we’d call great were St. Boniface and Charles Martel. Boniface was initially known as Winfrid. He was born in southern England in 672, the same year that St. Bede was born in North Umbria. Though both men entered Benedictine abbeys at an early age, they had different outlooks. While Bede, in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People, showed great respect for the Irish monks of earlier times, Winfrid set himself the task of suppressing Irish foundations.

At age forty-four Winfrid passed up the invitation to become abbot of his home monastery in England, setting out to evangelize the German Saxons from whom his people had come.

At age sixty Winfrid boldly chopped down the pagan religion’s sacred oak, bringing him to the attention of Charles Martel, the one manly figure among the degenerate  ruling class of the Franks.

Charles was the illegitimate son of Pepin II, the mayor of a region in Belgium. On that official’s death, his widow locked young Charles away. Then, when her son showed himself to be a weakling, Pepin’s followers chose Charles as their mayor. Those same loyal followers took to calling him Martel, and in doing that they were copying what people did for Judas, third son of Matthias in our Old Testament: like the name Maccabeus the name Martel also meant a “hammer.”

When Charles Martel became aware of Winfrid’s taming of the Saxons, he welcomed him as an ally, and he used force to secure lands for Winfrid’s Benedictine monasteries.

Charles turned his attention to the south where Islam was encroaching on southern France. The southwest quarter of what we call France was Aquataine. Its Duke Odo had successfully driven back the Muslims at Toulouse in 721, but ten years later a new Emir of Cordoba brought in Arab and Berber horsemen, and they soundly defeating Odo.

Seeing that it would take something extra to block the northward advance of the Muslims, Charles Martel became Europe’s first leader to train troops year round. Up to then wars were fought in springtime while men were waiting for their crops to come up. We can see this in the opening sentence of that chapter of the Book of Samuel that describes David’s sin with Bashsheba. It reads, “At the time of year when kings go out on campaign.”

Needing year round support for the families of his soldiers, Charles took back lands he had given to the monks in Saxony. With that, his well-trained phalanx defeated the Muslim cavalry at Tours in 732, winning Charles the title of Europe’s savior.

To repay Winfrid for the loss of monastery lands, Charles secured the archbishop’s pallium for him. And when Winfrid went to Rome to obtain it, Pope Gregory III gave him a new name, calling him Boniface (One who does good.) The pope went on to urge Boniface to continue suppressing the  Irish monasteries that had been founded by the monks from Finian’s Clonard and Collumcille’s Iona.

In December of 1952 I came upon a distant echo of those suppressions. After my ordination, my mother brought me around to meet the old Irish folk in St. Columchille’s parish where she had gone to school as a girl. After fifty years with an Irish archbishop, St. Louis had been given a German ordinary, and he had proceeded to close down St. Columcille’s parish. He told the people they were transferred to St. Boniface’s German parish. In home after home the old Irish ladies begged me to tell his grace the archbishop that Colmchille could not again give way to Boniface.

Charles Martel and St. Boniface


 19th Saturday


European civilization declined after the death of Gregory the Great in 610. The next two men we’d call great were St. Boniface and Charles Martel. Boniface was initially known as Winfrid. He was born in southern England in 672, the same year that St. Bede was born in North Umbria. Though both men entered Benedictine abbeys at an early age, they had different outlooks. While Bede, in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People, showed great respect for the Irish monks of earlier times, Winfrid set himself the task of suppressing Irish foundations.

At age forty-four Winfrid passed up the invitation to become abbot of his home monastery in England, instead seting out to evangelize the German Saxons from whom his people had come.

At age sixty Winfrid boldly chopped down the pagan religion’s sacred oak, bringing him to the attention of Charles Martel, the one manly figure among the degenerate  ruling class of the Franks.

He was the illegitimate son of Pepin II, the mayor of a region in Belgium, and on that official’s death, his widow locked young Charles away, but when her son showed himself to be a weakling, Pepin’s followers chose Charles as their mayor. Those same loyal followers took to calling him Martel, and in doing that they were copying what people did for Judas, third son of Matthias in our Old Testament: like the name Maccabeus the name Martel also meant a “hammer.”

When Charles Martel became aware of Winfrid’s taming of the Saxons, he welcomed him as an ally, and he used force to secure lands for Winfrid’s Benedictine monasteries.

Charles turned his attention to the south where Islam was encroaching on southern France. The southwest quarter of what we call France was Aquataine. Its Duke Odo had successfully driven back the Muslims at Toulouse in 721, but ten years later a new Emir of Cordoba brought in Arab and Berber horsemen, and they soundly defeating Odo.

Seeing that it would take something extra to block the northward advance of the Muslims, Charles Martel became Europe’s first leader to train troops year round. Up to then wars were fought in springtime while men were waiting for their crops to come up. We can see this in the opening sentence of that chapter of the Book of Samuel that describes David’s sin with Bashsheba. It reads, “At the time of year when kings go out on campaign.”

Needing year round support for the families of his soldiers, Charles took back lands he had given to the monks in Saxony. With that, his well-trained phalanx defeated the Muslim cavalry at Tours in 732, winning Charles the title of Europe’s savior.

To repay Winfrid for the loss of monastery lands, Charles secured the archbishop’s pallium for him. And when Winfrid went to Rome to obtain it, Pope Gregory III gave him a new name, calling him Boniface (One who does good.) The pope went on to urge Boniface to continue suppressing the  Irish monasteries that had been founded by the monks from Finian’s Clonard and Collumcille’s Iona.

In December of 1952 I came upon a distant echo of those suppressions. After my ordination, my mother brought me around to meet the old Irish folk in St. Columchille’s parish where she had gone to school as a girl. After fifty years with an Irish archbishop, St. Louis had been given a German ordinary, and he had proceeded to close down St. Columcille’s parish. He told the people they were transferred to St. Boniface’s German parish. In home after home the old Irish ladies begged me to tell his grace the archbishop that Colmchille could not again give way to Boniface.

It is our own lives, not those of our parents, that will save or damn us.



Jesus tells us to settle with our opponent while we are still on the way. That could mean while we are still alive. If we do not settle we will be thrown into prison, and not released until we have paid the last penny. That seems to be a reference to spending time in Purgatory for sins we haven’t atoned for before death.

The first reading from Ezekiel is meant to correct a false impression given by the account of the first two commandments in Chapter Twenty of Exodus. It says there that God would inflict punishment for the sins of their fathers on children down to the fourth generation; that he would bestow mercy down to the fourth generation of those who love him.

That reading of Exodus had given rise to the popular saying, “The fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the teeth of their children are set on edge.” That saying has a sting to it if you have ever eaten sour grapes, then felt your teeth feel all fuzzy and painful.

But, Ezekiel tells the people to do away with that saying. The truth of the matter is that no matter how bad your parents have been, if you love God he will love you back. No matter how wonderful your parents were, if you are bad you will pay for it. 


Happy St. Patrick's Day



The Church doesn't provide us with special readings for his feast, so I will comment on the Gospel she gives us. Later we can celebrate the day in our own way. 

 The Gospel tells us that if we believe we will receive what we ask for in prayer. I don’t feel safe about disagreeing with the Bible, but I must say that I haven’t  received many things I have asked for, and I have heard others with the same complaint.  It is easier for me to go with St. Luke’s account of what Jesus said.

In Chapter Eleven Luke seems to be quoting from the same words of Jesus; but there he has Jesus saying, “If you, then, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him.”

That is true. My prayers have always been answered when, stepping off the treadmill of routine hours, I pause, and ask God to let us see things his way. Today’s Gospel tells us to knock. I prefer to think of it as Jesus doing the knocking, asking for admission into our hearts. That’s the way it is in Revelation, 3:20.

“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.”

The Book of Jonah is inspired fiction written to counteract hatred of foreigners.



 The first reading comes from the Book of Jonah. It is the story of a Jewish man who had such hatred for the people of Nineveh that when God told him to go there to save them, rather than obey, he tried sailing west beyond God’s power. But God sent a storm that ended in Jonah being swallowed by a whale, spending three days in there. In 400 B.C. when the story appeared people realized that it was a wild piece of fiction, but they accepted it as an inspired story by which God was telling Jews not to hate foreigners.

Anyone who insists that every story in the Bible be factual is frustrating God’s intentions in putting those inspired fictions in his Bible. Stories do not need to be factual to be of use to us. Outside of the books of the Bible the book we quote most often is Shakespeare’s play Hamlet. We know it was a work of fiction but we are helped at being good people by many lines form that play. Here are some examples.

“Neither a borrower nor a lender be.” 

“This above all: to thine own self be true.”

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”
 
“What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty!”

“When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.”

Even though God's graces are mostly ignored, they keep coming until God's desired effects are accomplished.



Isaiah in today’s reading wrote about God showering mankind with impulses to do the right thing. Referring to such actual graces as God’s word, Isaiah’s verses describe them as being as abundant as the drops of rain than fall upon our planet.

Some drops of rain fall on our fields, giving us the foods that support our lives. But billions more drop to the earth only to be run off the land, accomplishing nothing of worth. Isaiah tells us it is the same with God’s graces: for every grace we act upon there are millions we ignore. Still his shower of graces is so abundant that some will always find willing souls to comply with them.

God says those graces “shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it.”

In the New Covenant we become one with God by becoming like him.



Our Gospel gives us one of the Bible’s most powerful readings, and the first reading from Leviticus bears some relationship to it. In the Gospel Jesus lays out the manner of life we must live if we want to be in a relationship with him. (We too must feed, clothe, visit the needy.) In the passage from Leviticus God laid out the manner of life the Israelites had to live if they wanted a real relationship with him.

Another way of saying that is that the Gospel laid out the terms for the New Covenant, while the first reading laid out the terms for the Old Covenant. People who pay any attention to me grow tired of my bringing up the subjects of covenants, but I can’t avoid it.

Marriage is our most common covenant. But, in all covenants two parties become one by giving themselves to each other. In marriage the parties can only achieve oneness by sacrifices on both sides, where each party changes his and her ways, doing away with traits that keep them apart.

A covenant with God can’t work that way. All his ways are perfect. Oneness with God can only be achieved by the human giving up his or her sinful ways.

It was somewhat the same with commoners entering into a covenant with their feudal lord. Oneness could only be achieved by their wearing his livery. That’s why God in Leviticus said, “Be holy, for I, the Lord, am holy”

Jesus saved us by turning back every temtation, as Paul said, he saved us by dying to sin.



On this, the First Sunday of lent every year we have an account of Jesus going into the desert to fast for forty days. You may have noticed that the stories in the four Gospels do not agree with each other. The temptations on the mountain and on the pinnacle of the temple are in a different sequence in Matthew and Luke, while Mark’s account of Jesus in the desert leaves out the three temptations; and in John’s Gospel instead of going into the desert after his baptism Jesus went to Cana for the wedding feast.

Since we use the expression of something being “the gospel truth,” we expect gospel stories to be factual; but obviously the four can’t be if they don’t agree with each other.

What’s going on here? Well, the answer to that is that the gospels never set out to give us factual accounts. No, while their stories are loosely based on the facts, the four
Evangelists constructed them in ways that informed us about deep mysteries of our religion.

Let me get at the deep mysteries Matthew constructed his story to teach us. St. Paul in Ephesians 1.10 told us that God’s master plan in regard to mankind was to “sum up all things in Christ.” That is saying that it is God’s plan to have every person whoever exists to live in a secret relationship to Christ. In today’s Gospel Matthew told a story of Jesus coming up from his baptism then entering into the desert for forty days of resisting temptations. That story symbolically stated that Jesus was deeply related to the people of Israel who came up out of the water to spend forty years in the desert.

In portraying Jesus as coming up from his baptism to spend forty days of trials in the desert the Gospel is also symbolically expressing the relationship of Jesus to each of us. The number forty stands for a full lifetime. We come up from our baptisms to engage in lifetimes of struggling with temptations.

Today’s Gospel story is closely related to Our Lord’s mission in life. He came to die to save us. Now, in thinking of his death we usually consecrate on his crucifixion; but remember, two thieves underwent the same crucifixion that day and those deaths had no value to them. In a most potent verse, Paul in Roman’s 6.10 said of Christ, “His death was a death to sin.”

Our Lord’s physical death was only the outward expression of the real means by which he saved us. Beginning with these days when he came up from his baptism going into the desert to be tested it was his lifetime of resisting one temptation after another that became a tsunami of generous love that saved us by rolling back our tidal wave of selfish sins.

In 600 His Illliterate Priests Forced Pope Gregory the Great to Alter the Eucharist



18th Saturday

For the four years of Vatican II, the twenty-five hundred bishops had a twofold goal. They tried to get our Church back into step with Apostolic times, while keeping it in step with modern times. The name French bishops gave to being true to Apostolic times was Ressourcement. The name Pope John XXIII gave to keeping in step with modern practices, “reading the signs of the times” was Aggiornamento.

In these articles we have seen how our attempts at Aggiornamento often worked against our being true to Jesus and the Apostles. That was the case in 375 when the low estimation people had of Jesus moved St. Ambrose to drastically alter the way people saw Jesus in the Eucharist. From thinking of the gentle Jesus reclining with them at the Last Supper, Ambrose had them prostrating themselves before the Lord of heaven’s throne.

Then in the creation of the clerical state we saw a similar swerving from the clear line Jesus laid down. He had said he came not to be served but to serve, but in 500 to stay alive, the Church had to position itself among the nobles with inheritances.

After circumstances force us away from what we were in the beginning we must do our best to get ourselves back on course. That’s what we were doing at Vatican II.

In coming to St. Gregory the Great in 600 we will again see where the needs of the times brought the Church to lay aside rituals that had been with her from the beginning. Let’s look at his story.

 Born in 540, he was given the name Gregory, which seems to be derived from a Greek word meaning “A watchful man.” Anyway, he was History’s first Gregory. He is called a saint in the Orthodox and Episcopalian Churches, while even John Calvin credited him with greatness.

Gregory came at the end of the age when any classical Latin was still spoken. 800 of his letters show him to have been a master of grammar and rhetoric. As a young man he served as Prefect of Rome, and then he spent seven years as the Pope’s ambassador to the emperor in Constantinople. After his father’s death he busied himself converting the family estate into the monastery of St. Andrew. He called his life as a monk “an ardent quest for a vision of the creator.”

At the death of Pope Pelagius in 590 all of Rome cried for Gregory to take the pontificate, and he took it over in a big way, putting all areas of the Church on a firm basis. He was quite influential in two concerns we have touched on in these articles. For one thing, he took Church matters in England out of the hands of Irish missionaries, for another thing, he laid down rules for offering the Mass.

Throughout his days Gregory was haunted by a memory of English slaves in Rome’s marketplace. It had him selecting a monk whom he renamed Augustine, sending him to England as the archbishop of Canterbury. One year this resulted in having Queen Eanfled, a convert of Archbishop Augustine’s, celebrating Palm Sunday, the day her husband, King Oswy, a Northumbrian convert of St. Aiden, was celebrating Easter. At the Synod of Whitby in 664 the Irish were made to agree to follow Rome’s calendar.  

Gregory set an exacting formula for our Mass prayers. It came to be called the Roman Canon, and it was followed through the centuries, down to Vatican II. (It was the same Eucharistic Prayer I learned as a new priest in 1952.) The Roman Canon  departed from the practice Jesus handed on to the Apostles.  The blessing offered by Jesus at the Last Supper was the Jewish brakha that was the set the formula for all formal meals such as the Passover.

The brakha, the  prayer spoken by the host always had three parts: 1. He recalled God’s favors, 2. He called down God’s Spirit, and 3. He led the diners in offering themselves as a pleasing gift to God. It was the same with our Eucharist in the early centuries.

One important feature of the brakha and of each early Eucharistic prayer was that, to keep it fresh, the host had to use his own words in praying the three parts.

Justin Martyr in the account of their Sunday gatherings that he left us in 160 handed on the policy of having the host making up his own words. He wrote that the one presiding offered “Eucharist prayers as much as in him lie.”

In the year 600 Pope Gregory found so few priests with an education equipping them to offer up a Eucharistic Prayer in their own words, that he was forced to go against the ways of the early Church. He wrote the Roman Canon that covered the three essential parts of the prayer offered by Jesus at the Last Supper.

That Eucharistic Prayer made Latin the official language of the Roman Catholic Church, and it had us forgetting that through the first centuries the men presiding at the Eucharist had used their own words and their own language. 

The last words of the priest in Pope Gregory’s Latin formula were “Ite, missa est.” That simply meant “Go, it’s finished,” but the people, ignorant of Latin, thought the priest was saying, “Go. It is the Missa.” And that word Missa got changed to our Mass.

Rather than those who strive for advanced spirituality, God's holy people are those who help the needy.




This wonderful passage from Isaiah shows no appreciation for acting like holy men and women, bowing like reeds before the Lord, working at acquiring a reputation for sanctity.

Rather it describes courses of action that will cause “Your light to break forth like the dawn, and your wound to be quickly healed.”

What are the courses of action he describes? They are working toward relieving the poor of their hardships, providing shelter and good meals.

If is not practicable for us to engage directly in rendering such assistance, we should financially and in other ways align ourselves with those caring for the helpless people God loves. 

No success in life is worth losing youe soul for it.




In our Gospel Jesus said, “What profit is there for one to gain the whole world yet Lose or forfeit himself?”

The older way we heard that was, “What profit is there for you to gain the whole world yet suffer the loss of your own soul?”

I suppose the newer one is a more accurate translation of what St. Luke wrote, whatever about what Jesus said.

Our Eighth Grade teacher, Sister Celeste, wrote that on the board one day. She had us write it down, but she said no more about it. That got me wondering why we had to write it if there were no further assignment following on it.     

That question bothered me, and through the years the quotation kept coming back to make me wonder. I guess what Sister Celeste wanted to happen was that Our Lord’s question would come to weigh in on any career choice we might consider.

In telling us to do our good deeds in private Jesus was saying we should use them to foster a deeper relationship with our heavenly Father.




In the Gospel Jesus urged us to avoid fasting, praying, and doing good deeds just to get a reputation as spiritual persons.
We should not assume that Our Lord’s hatred for hypocrisy was his main reason for urging us to not be show offs. No, he three times clearly stated another motive for our being good in secret. We must do good things for the purpose of pleasing our Heavenly Father. The most precious thing for Jesus was his deep loving relationship with the Father, and he wanted us to devout all our energies toward having a similar deep and intimate relationship with our Heavenly Father.

For proper order we need a division between church and state.



In telling us to render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s and to God the things that are God’s Jesus gave us a wonderful concise rule. “The Vatican Council declares that the human person has a right to religious freedom.”

So, Caesar, and by that Jesus meant civil governments, should never impose the rules of its favorite religion on people who honestly hold different religious beliefs. So, Pakistan is in error in imposing capitol punishment on individuals who lack religious respect for Muhammad. The Catholic Church was in error in classifying heresy a major crime.    

For Catholics wanting to keep Church and State separate abortion is a sticky issue. We should not condemn those who conscientiously favor Freedom of Choice, even though we can’t always see how they hold to that view. Like, they are fighting an effort from the political Right in Texas to make anyone seeking an abortion to undergo a sonogram followed by a doctor’s pointing out the degree of development in the fetus. It is hard to see how they could argue with the sonogram's action picture of life in the womb.


Jesus was the Son who was dragged out of the vineyard.



On each of these three days leading up to Ash Wednesday our first reading will be taken from the Book of Tobit. It is a non-factual account of a ten tribes of Israelites who were lost to history. In 722 B.C. the Assyrians led them off as slaves, and they were split up, then assimilated into local populations.

Let’s turn from them to the sharecroppers who beat up or murdered the owner of the vintage who sent for his share of the produce. The behavior of those tenants is so awful that you are made to wonder why the owner of the vineyard would have contracted with them in the first place. Was the agency he hired them from called Crooks and Murderers Inc.?

The audience to which Jesus addressed the parable would have had some understanding of the behavior of the tenants. The misunderstanding between the owner and the tenants came from confusion in Jewish Law.  The Torah forbade planting two different crops on the same land. So, one could not harvest both grapes and melons from the same plot. However, there was a wrinkle in that law when it came o grapes. Since a vintage could not be picked until four year after the vines were planted, the rabbis allowed farmers to grow melons or other vegetables between the vines for the first four years. The parable would be more understandable if the dispute arose over the division of such produce.

But we should not let such details stand in the way of our feeling deep sympathy for Jesus as he describes the vineyard as the Holy Land, the tenants as the Chosen People, and the Son killed then dragged outside the vineyard as himself in the horrors awaiting him.  

We will be as secure as a man who built on rock if we follow Our Lord's teachings in the Sermon on the Mount.



Today’s Gospel gives us the concluding words of Our Lord’s Sermon on the Mount. He tells us that if we incorporate into our lives the lessons of his famous sermon we will remain secure, like a man who has built his house on rock.

In the Gospels Jesus sometimes clarifies his lesson by taking an example from what wise and foolish people do. His lesson will register more deeply with us if we use our imagination on reconstructing that example he gives us. So, here he asks us to picture a wise man building his house on rock, while a foolish man built on sand. It would help us if we could draw on our memories of house building when we went about it the right or the wrong way.

Last spring I published a book that had a story about building a house on rock. Let me repeat my story.

I was in Sokcho on the east coast of Korea in June of 1954 when we had a hurricane that washed out every steel and concrete bridge for a hundred miles of our coast. In the weeks leading up to the storm I gave a little help to two boys Paul and Peter who built a small two room house for themselves and their wives. At eight corners we dug three feet holes for end posts, and we dropped a large boulder into each hole for the four-by-fours to rest on.

Peter had to go off to his wife’s family’s house to have her baby while I gave a little help to Paul thatching the roof. The storm washed away all the houses in the village of Peter’s wife, and she had the baby on the mountain side. But the house we had just completed held itself against the storm because it was built on those large stones. We had a party after Peter and his wife brought the baby back for Baptism.

Jesus said we would be like people building on rock if we obeyed the lessons of his Sermon on the Mount. The lesson covers chapters five, six, and seven in Matthew’s Gospel. Let me summarize Our Lord’s teaching in those chapters.

Chapter Five tells us ways in which Christians must go beyond the teachings of Moses. We must keep not only the Commandments, we must live by the Beatitudes as well. We must avoid not only murder, but murderous thoughts; not only adultery, but adulterous thoughts.

Chapter Six tells that instead of making displays of ourselves praying and doing good deeds to make a good impression on people, we should do these things in secret just for the purpose of pleasing the heavenly Father, and growing in intimacy with him. That will have us building up such a trusting relationship with the Father that we will have no fears or insecurities.

Chapter Seven takes up our relations with others. Rather than just loping along the broad road, making the same mistakes everyone makes, we should enter through the narrow gate. We don’t judge others, so that we will not be judged.

The Church had to adopt clericalism to survive under Feudalism



17th Saturday


Through the 400’s our popes had their backs against the wall. The Lombards and the Huns were Arians, and as such they felt they had a religious duty to torment Christians.

Since the death of Constantine in 337 the line of his second son had tried staying on as the emperors of the west, but in 476 Romulus Augustulus, the last of them, sent off his royal insignia to Constantinople, abandoning Rome to the popes. The popes had lost any real support; but then, a fresh German nation, the Franks, crossed the Rhine; and their ruler, King Chlodwech, married a Catholic girl who convinced him that by accepting Christianity he could become another Constantine.

At Christmas of 496 Chlodwech (also know as Clovis) and his Franks received Baptism from Bishop Remigius of Rheims. It was an immensely joyous occasion, but the alliance with the Franks had Remigius and his priests facing a social problem.

The Franks, as was the case with every feudal nation, had a simple social structure. In Feudalism any man with an inheritance had a title, lands and serfs; while any man without an inheritance was a serf. The priests and bishops, lacking inheritances, were no better than serfs, and they lacked the freedom they needed for pursuing their work.

In 500 someone came up with a plan for protecting the bishops and their priests. It  had them one at a time don fine attire, then come before the assembly of the nobles to make a declaration. He would say, “I have an inheritance. My inheritance is the Lord.”

An oddity of those times was that the early German word they had for an inheritance was clerc. From each of them claiming to have a clerc, they came to be known as “clerics.” In making a place for the clerics in their society the class structure of Feudalism itself was altered to accommodate them. In time, the clerical state came to be recognized as the First Estate.

This establishing of the First Estate forced the clergy to carry themselves with a dignity befitting their high station. As the French say, “Noblesse oblige.”  Clerics came to be known as Reverend, Very Reverend, Right Reverend or Most reverend; and they had to wear robes befitting their station.

As young priests we were told we could no longer carry ourselves as easy going young men. Our words, our demeanor, our dress had call for the respect due the clerical state. By five little words each of us had to proclaim in our Ordination Mass we laid claim to our higher rank in the Feudal System. We each announced, “My inheritance is the Lord.” 

While this elevation to clericalism liberated bishops and priests from serfdom, it brought them into conflict with Jesus who said, “You know that those who are recognized as rulers over the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones make their authority felt. But it shall not be so among you. Rather, whoever wishes to be great among you will be your servant.”  

We cannot limit our doing good to short seasons of the year (like Lent.)



The Gospel tells us we must always be accomplishing good things. Jesus uses a parable in action to tell us that. He saw a fig tree that was not bearing fruit because it was not the season for figs, and he took a most unusual step: hoping his disciples would catch on that he was viewing the tree as standing for one of them, he cursed the tree that bore no fruit. The next day they were to find the tree withered, but it was not until much later that they grasped the lesson, that although a tree is allowed its fallow seasons, we humans must always be doing God’s work.

His driving the tradesmen out of the temple bore somewhat the same message. As odd as it seems to us now, the temple’s role in worshipping God was carried out on its  large fireplace for roasting animals. The fragrance of the roasting animals was thought to rise to God as a sweet smelling prayer.

I don’t know the temple compound’s exact size, but if the walled-in area of the temple measured a hundred thousand square feet, at least eighty thousand of that was not given over to prayer or worship. That four-fifths of the temple area was given over to marketing animals for sacrifices on the altar, and Jesus resented its use being taken from God and given to hucksters. (In today’s lesson we might see that unholy area as being equivalent to both the tree’s fallow season and all the hours in our lives lost to Godly works.) 

Jesus asks, "What do you want me to do for you?" And you answer, "I want to see!"



Matthew and Luke copied this story about the cure of Jericho’s blind man, but their accounts lack Mark’s personal knowledge. Mark wrote as though we all had become personal friends of Timaeus and his son who had been blind.

On first Thursday or Friday I used to bring Communion to a man on Dellwood who had stories about Jericho. Michael Sueda came from Jerusalem, and before the Jews took his property in 1946 he used to drive tourists around the Holy Land’s sights. He said he spent as little time as possible in Jericho because it is the world’s lowest lying city, and the heat there makes the flies unbearable.

Bartimaeus, brushing away flies as he squatted in the dust at the side of the road had a miserable life.

Hearing the hubbub, and repeatedly asking “What are those people passing by?” he at last got the answer that it was the crowd following Jesus the wonder worker. That was enough to turn him to shouting, “Jesus, son of David, have pity on me!”

“Shut up, you fool!” people told him over and over; but he kept shouting, “Jesus, son of David, have pity on!” Then, unbelievably, he heard what had to be the master say, “Call him over.”

The people told him that Jesus was calling him, but he didn’t need any word from them. Throwing off his cloak, he jumped up, and plunged blindly through the crowd.

“What do you want me to do for you?”

“Master, I want to see.”

Immediately he had his first sight of this world, and though Jesus  said, “Go your way” he didn’t go his way. He followed Jesus up the road, becoming a familiar friend to St. Mark and all the original disciples.

Our insensitivity to the sorrows of others is like the insensitivity of the disciples to Our Lord's vision of his coming execution.



Today’s Gospel alerts us to our unintended sins of insensitivity. It presents us with Jesus being overcome with sorrow over what lay ahead for him. He pictured his high priests passing a death sentence on him. He pictured the soldiers having fun by turning him into a fool’s king with a crown, not of gold, but of thorns. In his imagination those soldiers were bowing before him, raising their faces to spit in his face.

Feeling his coming disgrace was almost more than his sensitive nature cold bear. He turned to his  disciples for sympathy, but they ignored him.

Instead, James and John, whom he looked on as close friends, had their mother come before him, asking him to make political big shots out of her sons. And, did the other disciples give him any comfort? No. They were just unhappy about the possibility of James and John ending up with more clout than they would have.  

When it is said with sincerity there are few words finer than these: “My heart goes out to you.” When we are walking St. Vincent’s corridors how many suffering souls do we pass ever minute? How often do our hearts go out to them? Their pain would be more bearable if we shared it with them.

I often laugh over a memory of an insensitive moment. Remember that movie “Schindler’s List?” It portrayed boxcar after boxcar of Jewish men, women and children being shipped off to be stuffed into ovens. I went to see it with an Irish priest friend of mine. Just when I was close to throwing up with horror, my friend started getting up to buy something, and he asked me, “Would you like a coca cola?”

Another case that occurs to me has to do with a nun who taught out at Lake City. Taking a summer course in California.  She was rooming with a nun from Korea, and on this Sister Anne mentioning my name, the nun from Korea said, “We used to have a Father Tom Sullivan in Korea. I wonder if it could be the same one.”

Sister Anne asked, “What was he like?” And the nun from Korea said, “”Going to confession to him I mentioned my worry over my father’s fading health; and all Father Sullivan did was look out the window.”

Sister Anne said, “Sounds like the same priest.”