The Right Place and the Right Reason

I came across this passage in my reading through Exodus:

Fifty loops were made along the edge of the end sheet in one set, and fifty loops along the edge of the corresponding sheet in the other set. Fifty bronze clasps were made with which the tent was joined so that it formed one whole . . . . Boards of acacia wood were made as walls for the Dwelling [Tabernacle]. The length of each board was ten cubits, and the width one and a half cubits. Each board had two arms, fastening them in line . . . (Exodus 36:17-23).

It doesn’t take long for my eyes to glaze over when I read sections of Scripture like this. Does anyone really care how many clasps, loops, boards, and sheets were used to construct the Tabernacle of God in the wilderness? Does anyone care if each board was ten by one and a half cubits?

And what’s a cubit, anyway?

It would be easy to forever skip chapters like this, believing they have little to teach the 21st century reader. But we would be wrong.

Exodus chapters 36-40 are only a few of many sections in the Books of Moses that describe in wearyingly exhaustive detail the construction of the Tabernacle, the place God’s Spirit would reside. Each board had its place, each ring a role, each thread a value, each cubit a purpose. To the minutest detail, God left nothing out of order.

And that is exciting.

The New Testament Scriptures tell us God is building His followers into a Holy Dwelling called the Church. “Do you not know,” wrote St. Paul to the Christians at Corinth, “you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?” (1 Corinthians 3:16).

As God orchestrated the construction of his desert Dwelling with such meticulous precision, so too, He orchestrates with equal precision today the construction of His Dwelling – the Body of Christ. Just as each board and clasp and loop held an important place, each member of Christ’s universal Church holds a necessary role and function. Leader and laity, blue-collar and white, professionals and paraprofessionals, rich and poor, healthy and not-so-healthy, across cultures and backgrounds . . . the Master Carpenter knows who we are, where we fit in His Dwelling --and he sets us there with meticulous precision in the right place . . .

And for the right reason.

An "In-Your-Face" Kinda Guy

So I'm reading through Galatians and I get to this section in which St. Paul details how God sent him to preach the gospel. To illustrate the point, he refers to the well-known "pillars" of the early Church -- Saints Peter and James:

But from those who were of high reputation (what they were makes no difference to me; God shows no partiality). . . (Galatians 2:6).

I don't know. Maybe I'm reading more into this passage than is really there. But as I reflected on what I know of St. Paul, I caught a glimpse of what seems to be the apostle's attitude problem.

An attitude which is, for me, understandable.

After all, before his Damascus Road experience, Paul was a Pharisee. And not just a run-of-the-proverbial-mill Pharisee, but a Pharisee of Pharisees. He tells us earlier in Galatians that he was advancing in his Judaism way beyond his colleagues.

And to the Philippians he wrote: If anyone else has a mind to put confidence in the flesh, I far more: circumcised the eighth day, of the nation of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the Law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to the righteousness which is in the Law, found blameless (Philippians 3:4-7).

And then there was that attitude-related incident in Acts in which Paul got so angry with Barnabas over St. Mark, that the two separated and went in opposite directions. You can read about it in Acts 15:36-39.

I might be wrong, but I think St. Paul -- at least in the early years after his conversion -- was an "in-your-face" kinda guy. He probably never heard the expression that I've used for years (especially growing up in a Jewish neighborhood) -- Two Jews, Three Opinions -- but I suspect the apostle to the Gentiles had a mind of his own, and he didn't hesitate to speak his mind.

Of course, Paul's letter to the Galatians is one of his earliest (written around 47 A.D.). And by the time he wrote what was likely his last (during Nero's reign), he seems to have mellowed -- maybe even had a transformation of his personality. Here is what he says to Timothy about St. Mark: Pick up Mark and bring him with you, for he is useful to me for service (2 Timothy 4:11).

So, he now considers Mark useful -- which was quite different from Paul's earlier position.

I tried to read again where I left off in Galatians, but couldn't get very far because something about Paul and his transformation encouraged me.

In some ways the apostle seems to me like the caricature of a New York Jew -- opinionated, no-nonsense, and quick-tempered. And some who know me might say that caricature sounds a lot like me.

It's clear in the Book of Acts that God used Paul in wonderful ways for His kingdom -- despite the apostle's "in-your-face" personality -- which (if what they say about me is true -- and it probably is) is a lot like mine. And because of my sometimes-aggressive personality, I sometimes wonder why God still bothers to hang out with me.

That He does hang out with me is not to say He doesn't care if I'm in other peoples' faces. He does care. And I'm sure He's not fond of the way I sometimes speak my mind. Yes, I believe He wants me to be firm, but He also wants me to be gentle; to stand for truth, yet do so with humility.

But Scriptures like the ones I've mentioned here also teach me -- and encourage me -- that God is not reluctant to use in-your-face "Paul's."

I wonder if sometimes that's all He has to use.

Yet the more I think about the apostle and God's relationship with him during his ministry years, the more I realize the reason God still hangs out with me is because -- well, it's because of what He calls His grace.

And patience.

And love.

For which I am so very grateful.

More Than Words at Mass

This is how you are to pray: Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven (Matthew 6:9-10).

I was five when my dad deserted us. I remember that day in 1955 as if it happened last week.

When I was eighteen I began to entertain thoughts of a long forgotten hope. Perhaps Mom’s explanations for why Dad abandoned us were a collage of faulty memories discolored by years. Perhaps Al really didn't want to leave me.

I convinced myself I needed to know the truth. So I asked Mom to arrange a meeting at my paternal grandparent's house.

My hands felt like ice as I shook the hand of the man I hadn't seen for more than a decade. I studied him. He was shorter than I expected. Heavier, too. He no longer wore a beard, and his dark brown hair receded toward the middle of his head. We chatted a few minutes about nothing. And then, after what seemed an appropriate time, I asked him, "Why did you leave me?"

I still remember how his expression changed before the last syllable left my lips. He thought only a moment before answering: "Because I wanted to."

Time froze as I stared at him, trying to absorb what I'd just heard. And when it had finished burning itself into my consciousness, I turned to Mom. It was time to leave. I'd heard enough to last a lifetime, and as best I could, I buried Al -- and his searing words -- in the recesses of my mind.

Four years later, I met an acquaintance who intrigued me when he called God his heavenly Father. And for some reason, hope suddenly surged to my conscious mind. I ached to know if God could also be my father, if God would also love me. After weeks of self-debate and doubt, I cast myself into what can only be described as "faith." I bowed my knees in prayer and asked God to make me His child.

I didn't feel any different when I stood up. But I plunged into my new faith with the fervor of a thirsty straggler coming upon an oasis. I devoured Scripture, reading the entire Bible twice the first year. Regular Sunday worship and Bible classes fueled my spiritual growth. I fasted, spent hours in prayer, and as my faith grew, I slowly grasped the wonderful truth that, unlike my earthly father, my heavenly Father will never leave me. His love will never falter.

Yesterday my wife and I stood in a classroom of 6th grade Faith Formation students (the Catholic equivalent to Sunday school). We opened the class by asking if anyone had prayer requests. One of the young girls asked for prayer for her uncle who'd recently been "abandoned" (that was her word) by his wife.

Within moments, tears welled in her eyes and traced down her cheeks. She wept periodically through the rest of the class.

Divorce and unfaithfulness is all around us -- so much so that it is likely you know of someone who understands the emptiness that echoes through the caverns of the heart after a divorce.

"Our Father who art in heaven."

Years ago I learned -- and I can only pray that our young student will learn -- "Our Father" is infinitely more than simple words prayed during Mass. They provide for us an intimate doorway to a relationship with One who will never, ever leave us.

We need only to open the door and walk in.

A Better Way to Live

Asa's story (see the last post) taught me something else as I read through 2 Chronicles 16.

If you remember, the king of Israel besieged Judah, and instead of seeking God's help, Asa sent a note -- and lots of money -- to a Syrian king to help him out of the jam. Within a short time, the king of Israel left Asa alone and the Judean king thought all was right again with his world.

He was wrong. God sent a prophet to confront Asa with his sin. But instead of repenting, Asa threw the prophet into prison. And once more, Asa's attitude and actions, are instructive.

Scripture tells us of many of God's people who first walked with God, then turned from Him, and eventually killed or imprisoned those who challenged them to repentance. Saul, the first king of Israel is an example. We find his tragic story recorded in 1 Samuel chapters 9-31. In bulletized format, here's what happened:

• God chose Saul to be king over Israel.
• Saul became prideful.
• Saul disobeyed God.
• Saul tried to kill David, whom he knew would one day succeed to the throne.
• Saul had God's priests murdered.
• Saul sought guidance from a witch.
• Saul committed suicide.

Joash, another king of Judah, is further example. When his grandmother set out to murder all her children and grandchildren so she could ascend the throne as queen, the priest Jehoida saved Joash's life. The young king lived for years in the safety of the priest's family. But despite the godly influence of Jehoida on Joash, the king turned his back on God and eventually murdered the Jehoida's son.

Then, of course, there is Judas in the New Testament. He walked with Christ for three years. He listened to Him teach, saw His miracles, watched His life. But Judas' heart grew cold. And we know the rest of that story.

When the Holy Spirit calls us to repentance we run serious risk of hardening our hearts against Him -- and eventually doing something terrible to God's people -- if we refuse to make confession and follow up with a change in our direction. It seems like that's a rock-solid spiritual principle.

But there is another spiritual principle we ought not overlook: "He who conceals his transgressions will not prosper," Solomon wrote. "But he who confesses and forsakes them will find compassion (Proverbs 28:13).

Asa, Saul, Joash and Judas teach us what NOT to do. Solomon is one of many witnesses in Scripture who tell us what to do, instead.

On Whom Will We Rely?

So I'm reading through 2 Chronicles and I come to this verse in chapter 16: In the thirty-sixth year of Asa's reign Baasha king of Israel came up against Judah . . . . (verse 1).

What happens next is (for me, anyway) confusing -- and instructive.

But first -- some back story. In chapter 14, Asa ascended the throne of David in Judah. Ten years later a million-man army from Ethiopia attacked Judah. When Asa prayed for help (verse 11), [T]he Lord routed the Ethiopians before Asa and before Judah, and the Ethiopians fled.

Think of it. The entire Ethiopian army -- chariots, horsemen, soldiers -- the whole million-man army fled before Asa's army which was half the size.

But twenty-five years later, we are at chapter 16. This time Asa is besieged by another army, but instead of relying on God, he paid a foreign king to come to his aid.

I put the Bible down for a moment and wondered what happened in the intervening 25 years between the million-soldier rout and chapter 16. The Scripture is silent, so I can only make an assumption based on human nature -- and I know human nature pretty well. I've lived with myself for nearly 60 years.

I can guarantee Asa forgot Whose he was, and to Whom he belonged. Some time during those 25 years Asa stopped praying, stopped worshiping, stopped reading God's word. And his slow drift bore fruit when he faced a situation he could not handle alone.

His turn from God didn't happen overnight. It occurred by degrees, over the years. I can guarantee it happened that way because in my 37 years with Christ I've known many Christians who slowly lost touch with God. They stopped, by degrees, attending Church. They left their Bibles closed for a week. And then three. Then a few months which turned into years. Their prayer life slowed to a halt, and they exchanged Christian friends for non-believers. And, to no one's surprise, when difficult situations fell across their path they relied on anything else but God.

I can guarantee it happened that way because -- bound by human nature myself -- I remember the many times the spiritual desert loomed around me, and I nearly forgot Whose I am and to Whom I belong. The temptation to leave my Bible closed, or toss a quick and nearly mindless prayer toward heaven, or to sleep in on Sunday began to whisper its seductive arguments at me.

Yes, all of us are at risk to follow in Asa's footsteps.

And all of us can learn from his error.

A Better Option

Like a city that is broken into and without walls is a man who has no control over his spirit (Proverbs 25:28).

Anyone who says it's easy to live the Christian life hasn't lived the Christian life very long. As Thomas a Kempis recognized, "No one undergoes a stronger struggle than the man who tries to subdue himself."

My experience at a traffic light some time ago illustrates my continuing struggle to subdue myself to Christ. When I delayed longer than the driver behind me thought necessary, he tapped his horn to catch my attention.

Well, he caught it. I still don't know why I did what I did, but in a heartbeat my blood pressure exploded through the sunroof of my Chevy. I glared into the rearview mirror, flailed my arms and growled a string of epithets I was later glad he didn't hear.

So much for reflecting Christ's life and controlling my spirit.

Any difficult task – like subduing myself, or holding my tongue, turning the other cheek or going the extra mile – requires practice before the doing becomes easier. But the alternative is to give others good reason to turn from Christ, scorn the Church and reject the message of reconciliation to God.

Practice is the much better option.

Where His Treasure Is . . .

Where your treasure is, there also will your heart be (Matthew 6:21).

Nothing affects our relationship with Christ more than what we consider our treasures. The more we seek them, the less time and energy (or desire) we have for anything else. A modern paraphrase might be, “Tell me where you spend your time and money, and I’ll tell you what you love.”

But nestled within that description of our relationship with God is a subtle nugget describing God’s relationship with us.

Speaking through the prophet Isaiah, God said, Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name: you are mine (Isa. 43:1). And St. Peter reminds us: But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of [God's] own possession (1 Peter 2:9).

Some imagine God is an aloof Creator who enters history from time to time. But Scripture describes Him very differently.

He is our Father. And He is intimately and emotionally involved in our lives. O Lord, You have searched me and known me, King David wrote. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thought from afar . . . and are intimately acquainted with all my ways (Psalm 139:1-3).

We are God's treasure . . . and where His treasure is, there also is His heart.

So what power can separate God from His heart? St. Paul shouted the answer: Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38-39).

And that loves traces its way back to a hill called Golgotha. It was there that God gave His Son to suffer and die so we would not have to.

There was simply no better way God could show us what He loves -- and where is His heart.

The Too-Familiar Jesus

And [Jesus] could do no miracle there except that He laid His hands on a few sick people and healed them. And he wondered at their unbelief (Mark 6:5-6).

Of all places, Nazareth should have been the town where people flocked around Jesus. After all, it was the place He'd grown up -- the place His mother and family still lived. Yet, the Lord couldn't perform miracles there because His former neighbors thought they knew Him too well. Jesus is simply a carpenter, the son of Mary who lives down the street.

Like Jesus' neighbors and childhood friends, perhaps a reason we rarely see God's power in our lives is because the Jesus we grew up with is too familiar. Many of us have known about Him ever since we were in the cradle. We know the stories and the things He taught. We know about His mother and father. We know about His friends and disciples.

So our knowledge of Jesus lulls us into familiarity. Familiarity dulls us into complacency. And complacency hardens us against His ability to miraculously live out His life within us.

Perhaps that is why Jesus said, The kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking fine pearls, and upon finding one pearl of great value, he went and sold all that he had and bought it (Matthew 13:45-46). The familiarity-complacency cycle can only be broken when we decide to seek the Pearl as if He is unreservedly the most important thing in our life.

Holier than Thou

Every now and again, I have a dream that greatly disturbs me because I am a willing participant in some sin. I wake up feeling dirty and ashamed, and usually have difficulty settling into my normal pattern of morning prayer.

I do not believe God holds me accountable for my dreams, but they do serve to remind me that lurking somewhere below my conscious mind is a person I do not like. And during those times of recognition, I so well understand St. Paul's cry:

For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate . . . For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the willing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For . . . I practice the very evil that I do not want . . . Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death? (Romans 7:15-24).

It was in this context, the morning after one of my despicable dreams, that I read a portion of St. Paul's second letter to the Corinthians: Because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, for this reason, to keep me from exalting myself, there was given me a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to torment me--to keep me from exalting myself! (2 Corinthians 12:7).

Paul then tells us he asked the Lord three times to remove his thorn. And three times the Lord responded, My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.

I'd always believed Paul's thorn was his poor eyesight, dating back to his Damascus road experience (Acts 9:8-9). His comment to the Galatians seems to also imply vision problems.

But now, after remembering my dreams, I think St. Paul's thorn was not an Acts 9 disability, but a Romans 7 problem. Because of the "surpassing greatness" of Paul's revelations of Christ, God permitted Satan to buffet the apostle with the memory, and the recognition, of the man lurking just below the surface of his consciousness -- to keep Paul from exalting himself, to prevent him from adopting a "holier-than-thou" attitude toward others.

I could be wrong, of course, about Paul's thorn. But of this, I am sure --my own "wretched man that I am" experiences help me place my so-called "maturity in Christ" in better perspective.

The Child is Alive!

But when Jesus saw this, He was indignant and said to them, "Permit the children to come to Me; do not hinder them; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these (Mark 10:14).

I really did not expect it to end this way. May God forgive my lack of confidence in His mercy.

Despite the prayers of hundreds of Christians from all denominations across the world, despite the godly counsel the Mom and Dad had received, and even despite the many offers to adopt their child and pay their pregnancy-related medical bills -- I expected them to kill their baby today, instead -- and that I would have to let everyone know the parents had written their child's name in the same blood as the three thousand other babies who will die today in American abortion chambers.

And to the three thousand babies who will die tomorrow.

And the three thousand the next day.

Nearly 1.5 million innocents in the next twelve months in America.

But God . . . Oh, but God answered our prayers. The couple opted for adoption instead of abortion. And one more child was rescued from the dragon's mouth.

A friend from Canada wrote me shortly after he received my email with the good news. He said, "I’m amazed that I can still be amazed by God!" His words reminded me of something C. K. Chesterton once wrote: "The most astonishing thing about miracles is that they happen."

This couple still needs our prayers and whatever other support we can offer. We are not ignorant of Satan's trickery, and the battle surely is not over until the birth of the child. But we so much thank You, our Lord and our God, for Your mercy extended to this little one today.

Weapons -- To What Purpose?

Therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body that you should obey its lusts, and do not go on presenting the members of your body to sin as instruments of unrighteousness; but present yourselves to God . . . and your members as instruments of righteousness to God (Romans 6:12-14).

Last week, as I struggled to memorize this passage in Romans, I glanced at the column in my Bible where the editors inserted an alternate Greek reading for the word instruments. It's the word also used for weapons.

That word -- weapons -- opened the text for me.

When I present (i.e. offer myself as to a king for service) -- when I present myself to Sin, I give it weapons to use against people who know me, weapons it can use to destroy the work God is doing, or has already done, in their lives.

Scripture often warns us against that. For example, May those who wait for You not be ashamed through me, O Lord of hosts. May those who seek You not be dishonored through me, O God of Israel (Psalm 69:6); or, You who boast in the Law, through your breaking the Law, do you dishonor God? For the name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you (Romans 2:23-24).

On the other hand, when I present myself to God as my king, I give righteousness weapons to tear down Sin's kingdom, to deliver captives from its grasp, to transform darkness to light, failure to hope, depression to peace.

Perhaps that is a reason St. Paul, who knew very well the pull of Sin and the pull of God in his own life, encouraged his readers to present their bodies to God, writing: "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind (Romans 12:1, 2).

I do not think it a coincidence that I contemplated these ideas on the heels of yesterday's thoughts about gazing at the Lord, and by so doing, be transformed into His image. Nor am I unmindful of the idea that God might be trying to get my attention, to refocus how I spend my time -- waste my time, is probably a better phrase.

Once again He reminds me, there is no shortcut to becoming more like Christ. And practicing the presentation of myself to God, and my members as weapons of righteousness for His use, is integral to that transformation.

No one knows when it will be too late to do what we should have been doing all along.

Fixed Eyes or Restless Hearts

To this day, in fact, whenever Moses is read, a veil lies over their hearts, but whenever a person turns to the Lord the veil is removed. . . . All of us, gazing with unveiled face on the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory, as from the Lord who is the Spirit (2 Corinthians 3:15-18).

I don't know why I need to be reminded so often that it is possible to read God's word every day, even to memorize it and teach it . . . and yet not internalize it so my heart changes.

I'm sure I'm not the first Christian with that problem. I suspect some of the Corinthians also suffered a similar issue -- which might be why the apostle focused attention on the remedy: Gazing . . . on the glory of the Lord, [we] are being transformed into the same image from glory to glory.

There is no shortcut to becoming more like Christ. Imitating Him requires nothing less than to gaze -- to set -- my attention on Him. The writer to the Hebrews said it as clearly as I suppose it can be said: Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith (Hebrews 12:2). St. Peter added, fix your hope completely on the grace to be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ (1 Peter 1:12-14).

And that is way harder to do than it is to write about.

My human nature and inclination toward sin has demonstrated for me many times a spiritual law: What I gaze at -- what attracts and holds my attention -- is what I tend to become like. And if I am not careful, I know I can become what I never want to be again.

As long as I seek, even in the smallest measure, what can never satisfy, a veil will obscure my ability to clearly see God. That veil, St. Paul reminds me, is removed only as I turn my gaze -- with ever more frequency -- to the Lord.

The Seen and the Unseen

(Jesus) sat down opposite the treasury and observed how the crowd put money into the treasury. . . . A poor widow also came and put in two small coins worth a few cents. Calling his disciples to himself, he said to them, "Amen, I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all the other contributors to the treasury." (Mark 12:41-43)

No one knows much about the widow in this text. But she's easy to imagine. I’ve met her many times.

She’s the one others walk by without noticing. She's the one who lives among other invisibles on the fringes of humanity. They perform menial jobs, honest and necessary work, but disdained by most in our culture. They’re itinerant farm-help, moving from field to field. They’re janitors in department stores, dishwashers in restaurants. They empty trash at food courts and clean toilets in office buildings. They do what they can to scrape together enough to pay rent and buy food.

I imagine the impoverished widow lived like that – working where she could to make tattered ends meet. Yet, despite her poverty, she loved God. Despite her deprivation, she felt privileged to honor Him above herself. That’s why she wove her way to the collection box through that unseeing crowd.

And that’s why the Lord Jesus noticed her.

We shouldn’t glide past this Bible text too quickly. When others receive bigger, better and more, Jesus knows our name. When others receive applause from the crowds, Jesus sees us in the shadows. He notices our loneliness, our poverty and sacrifices. He knows us when others don’t. He hears us when others turn an unhearing ear.

The widow left the Treasury unaware that the Lord had read her heart. And two thousand years later, millions of men and women still learn how to live from her example.

No one among the unseeing that day understood how great a legacy a poor widow would have. And even today, how many understand what God will do with our lives if only we are faithful?

A Deceptively Subtle Difference

I always smile to myself when I read this passage from St. Matthew: But the centurion said, "Lord, I am not worthy for You to come under my roof, but just say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I also am a man under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to this one, 'Go!' and he goes, and to another, 'Come!' and he comes, and to my slave, 'Do this!' and he does it." Now when Jesus heard this, He marveled and said to those who were following, "Truly I say to you, I have not found such great faith with anyone in Israel. (8:8-10)

The Lord's response to the centurion has to be one of the most astonishing statements in the New Testament. Israel had the sacred history, liturgy, prayers, and sacrifices. To them belonged the covenants and the promises. To them God gave the distinction, "My Chosen One."

Yet, it was a non-Jew who had the greater faith.

Perhaps after 1500 years of form and rituals, Israel had confused religious practice with spiritual relationship. And that is why the Lord's praise for the centurion carries a great lesson for me.

As a member of the Church, I also enjoy a rich sacred history. Like Israel, I have the prayers, the liturgy, the rituals -- and especially the Sacraments. But I worry I might somehow get it backwards, that I might confuse religious practice with God-centered faith -- faith in His love, forgiveness, and His sacrifice on Calvary that freed me -- us -- from sin and eternal death.

The centurion demonstrated two characteristics which can help anyone avoid getting it backwards. First, he was desperate. Sometimes the best prayers are not long-winded, but three-worded: "Lord, help me."

And, he was humble. The centurion -- a leader of a hundred soldiers -- could have ordered Jesus to heal his servant, "or else . . . " But instead, he bowed his heart to Christ: "Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof."

Prayers, rituals and forms can nurture a rich relationship with Christ, or they can become a hollow substitute. The difference can be deceptively subtle.

Spikes Did Not Hold Him

I often reflect on the crucifixion during my time each day with the Lord. A couple of days ago an image played in my mind, an image that has stayed very close to me since then.

From a distance, perhaps a football field away, I saw the Lord hanging by His hands and feet. His breathing was labored. He groaned each time He pushed against His feet and adjusted His position for what measure of comfort He could find as He hung there.

As I watched the scene unfold in my mind, I remembered the Lord's statement to Peter, after Peter drew his sword in the Gethsemane Garden: "Do you think that I cannot appeal to My Father, and He will at once put at My disposal more than twelve legions of angels?" (Matthew 26:53).

A Roman legion comprised of 6,000 soldiers. Jesus said to Peter, "I have, right now at my disposal, 72,000 heavily armed angelic soldiers who are within moments of swooping into this garden to save me."

As I watched the Lord suffer on the cross, I suddenly saw those legions. They appeared from nowhere and surrounded Golgotha. Each angelic warrior held a glistening sword at the ready. Their muscular bodies leaned forward in anxious anticipation, waiting for their Lord and King to simply look in their direction, nod His head -- and they would have overrun the jeering onlookers in an instant.

An instant.

But Jesus didn't look at the angels. Instead, I saw Him -- even though He was so far away in my mind's eye -- I saw Him as clearly as I see my own face in a mirror -- I saw Him looking at me.

Somehow, just as Satan could show Jesus, through a portal in eternity, all the kingdoms of the world "in a moment of time," in some way Jesus saw my face as he suffered on that cross.

And He saw your face.

In that moment, a truth I have always known became a little clearer to me. Those spikes did not hold Jesus to that wood. Seeing my face, seeing your face, kept Him there.

Seeing through the fabric of eternity our need for His embrace, seeing our hurts, our emptiness -- Jesus saw me and you as only He could see us.

That is what kept Him on that cross. Our faces -- the faces of His children whom He loves so very dearly . . . children He longs, even now, as I write this and you read this, even now He longs to embrace us to His chest and whisper into our ear, "I love you."

No. Spikes did not hold our king.

Seeing our faces held Him there.

Where Shall I Go?

So I'm reading in St. John's gospel: Peter, turning around, saw the disciple [John] whom Jesus loved following them . . . So Peter seeing him said to Jesus, "Lord, and what about this man?" Jesus said to him, "If I want him to remain until I come, what is that to you? You follow Me!" (John 21:20-22).

What caught my attention was Jesus' response to Peter, which was essentially, "It's none of your business what happens to John. You follow Me."

That was not the first time I'd recognized the Lord's challenge about following Him instead of worrying about someone else. This time, however, the dialogue stopped me because I recently learned of a woman who left the Church as a result of the moral hypocrisy of some pastors she'd learned about.

But hypocrisy among religious leaders is nothing new. And many times in the past thirty-five years of my own faith journey I also have been tempted to leave the Church because of things I knew about some pastors, priests or teachers. Which is why this passage in John is so important to me. It is as if the Lord Jesus continually asks -- not only of Peter, but also of me:

"So, Richard. People in the Church disappoint you. They disappoint Me, too. And people in the Church have offended you. They also offend Me.

"But what are they to you? Will you follow them?"

"Or will you follow Me?"

To which I hope to always reply, "Lord, where shall I go? You have the words of eternal life."

Easier to Follow Rules

One of the scribes, when he came forward and heard them disputing and saw how well he had answered them, asked him, "Which is the first of all the commandments?" (Mark 12:28)

The scribe asked a reasonable question. Pharisees, priests, religious lawyers and teachers in Israel listed 613 laws in Jewish Scriptures – and they wrapped each one in layers of Rabbinic commentary to codify the proper way to obey each law. Jews could find answers to such routine questions as how to dress, what to eat, when to pray, how much to tithe, when to worship, and what kind of sacrifices they had to offer. No wonder the scribe asked the Lord, “Which is the first of all the commandments?”

The Lord didn’t hesitate to answer: Love God and love your neighbor.

I sometimes wish the Lord had answered differently. It’s way easier to follow rules than it is to love. Over the years I've learned to pray the right prayers, genuflect correctly, mouth the Nicene Creed with ease, sing the hymns with decorum . . . But to love God more than I love myself, and to love the person in the pew beside me, or the family living across the street, or the woman working in the office down the hall . . . well, that’s a different story. Love requires I give myself. Humble myself. Count others more important than myself.

Following rules about when and how is so much easier.

Don't Call It Small

So, I'm having ice tea with a friend in a local sandwich shop, sharing our experiences with the Lord. And I tell him how the Holy Spirit got my attention several days ago about my "What's the use" question. You can reread the post here.

I've thought several times about that verse in St. Luke which the Lord used to admonish me, and I have repented of my pride and self-centeredness. I've apologized for expecting Him to do more with me than I think He is doing. I really think I am pretty much over my pouting.

I was simply telling my friend of my recent lessons from the Lord.

A few minutes later, as we walked out of the shop, Bill said to me, "Don't ever call what the Lord gives you to do, "small."

God's word through my friend didn't strike as a reproach. Rather, it came as a gentle reminder -- Whatever God gives us to do, we must never call insignificant. If He gives it into our hands to do, then it must have eternal value.

That's all I ever need to know.

Sunday is Coming

In my reading through St. Luke's gospel, I came to this text: Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit"; and when he had said this he breathed his last (Luke 23:46). Two verses later, St. Luke adds: When all the people who had gathered for this spectacle saw what had happened, they returned home beating their breasts.

Those who mourned had good reason to beat their breasts and weep. Their beloved Lord was dead. They would bury His body. He would be gone.

But as I read this passage I realized I have an advantage over those who wept at the foot of the cross. I knew Sunday was coming. I only had to turn the page and read the next chapter.

Over the decades of my life, I have had reason to mourn over many heartaches. Some have been quite significant. And each time great sorrow flooded my life, I rarely had the strength -- or the faith -- to see Sunday coming. And that is sad, because faith gives us an advantage over all things that bring us despair and hopelessness.

Faith, the "assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen" helps us see Sunday coming (Hebrews 11:1).

And with Sunday, life.

Knowing He Would Not Reject Me

Now all the tax collectors and the sinners were coming near Him to listen to Him. Now both the Pharisees and the scribes began to grumble, saying, "This man receives sinners and eats with them (Luke 15:1-2).

So I'm reading Luke's gospel, and I get as far as this passage. And my mind starts to wander.

Why did Jesus attract so many people to Himself -- harlots and thieves, tax collectors and womanizers, blasphemers and liars, murderers and adulterers? I knew the answer as soon as I thought of the question. They came to Him for the same reason I came.

They knew He would accept them. Just as they were.

And His acceptance would change them.

I remember how it was for me in October 1972. It happened on the Jewish Day of Atonement. We call it, Yom Kippur. Remorse for my sins weighed heavy across my heart -- sins I had, to that point, successfully ignored. But in that moment, alone in my room, they flooded across my mind: my baby that I sent to die in the abortion clinic, the young women I'd used, the drugs I abused, the flares of temper that sometimes frightened even me, my arrogant pride, my thefts, my deceptions . . . .

I knew I needed to change. And I knew -- Oh! how I knew -- I needed forgiveness.

Long before I understood the Biblical doctrine of forgiveness; Long before I knew Jesus died for my sins; And long before I had even heard of the Sacrament of Penance, I looked toward heaven that day in October and asked God to forgive me. And to help me.

I could only hope He would hear my prayer.

And, of course, He did. Two months later, He showed me Jesus. And like the sinners St. Luke tells us about in the passage I'd just read, I came to Him, knowing He would not reject me.

And that He would change me.

Sometimes It Causes Me to Tremble

Sometimes It Causes Me To Tremble.
Tremble.

Tremble.

If his offering is a burnt offering from the herd, he shall offer it, a male without defect . . . He shall lay his hand on the head of the burnt offering, that it may be accepted for him to make atonement on his behalf. He shall slay the young bull before the Lord . . . . (Leviticus 1:3-5)


What sin haunted the man
who brought the lamb
to the altar
to die
so his sin could be
forgiven?

What went through his mind
as he placed his hand

on the head of the lamb

to transfer his guilt
to the one
without guilt?

Did his heart race
as he pulled the blade across its throat
and felt the lamb
shudder?

Did he avert his eyes
with remorse
as innocent blood
spurted to the dirt
with each heartbeat –
until it slowed

and then
stopped?

I would cringe to know
an innocent lamb
had to die
so my sins could be
forgiven.

Oh!

And what sadness haunted the Father
when we dragged His Lamb
to the cross?
What went through His mind
as our hands pressed thorns on
The Lamb's head
and our guilt transferred
to the one
without guilt?

Did the Father’s heart ache,
and heaven shudder,
as our whip
ripped across His Son’s back?
Did He
avert His eyes

as we drove spikes into His hands
and feet
and His blood dripped to the dirt
and then slowed . . .

and then
stopped.


I tremble.
Oh, I tremble
to know the Lamb of God
had to die

so I could live
forever.

But [Christ] was pierced through for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities; the chastening for our well-being fell upon Him, and by His scourging we are healed. All of us like sheep have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; but the LORD has caused the iniquity of us all to fall on Him (Isaiah 53:5-6).

Something Far More Pure

But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you . . . (Matthew 5:44)

If we fall for Hollywood's version of love, we'll think love is something you do in bed with whoever happens to be available at the moment. But, like most things coming out of popular culture, that version is a crass corruption of truth.

Love is something far more pure.

St. Paul's definition of love is the best we'll ever find. He tells us love is patient and kind. It's not envious or boastful, proud or rude, self-seeking or easily angered. It doesn't keep a record of wrongs, doesn't delight in evil, but rejoices with truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails (see 1 Corinthians 13).

By that definition, it's hard enough to love those who love us. But the Lord ratchets it up a few notches when He says: "Love your enemies."

That commandment couldn't run more counter to our human nature. We usually prefer to get even. Maybe even more than even. But that's not what Christ wants for us. He set the bar at, "Father, forgive them, for they don't know what they are doing."

So, how can we actually live to that standard? Scripture tells us often enough. The answer lies in becoming increasingly submitted to Christ.

Sunday-Christianity is not enough. It never will be.

Through faith in His atonement, God makes us new creations (2 Corinthians 5:17). Christ now lives in us (Galatians 2:20). We increase our obedience to Christ -- to the point of being able to love even our enemies -- as we participate with integrity in the Sacraments, and daily join our hearts to Him through prayer and Scripture study -- permitting the Holy Spirit an ever increasing freedom to live - and love -- through us.

That kind of Christianity moves mountains -- and changes cultures.

Time With God

The child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the desert until the day of his manifestation to Israel. (Luke 1:80)

I’ve wondered how long John was alone in the desert. A year? Several? A decade? This text in St. Luke's gospel suggests it was a lot longer than I’d like to spend away from civilization. I even take my laptop when I go on vacation for a weekend.

As I've read the stories about the Church's heroes of faith I realized there is a strict connection between the time each spent with God and their ability to serve Him well. Moses spent forty years shepherding sheep on the back side of Midian before he met God in the burning bush. David spent his youth with his family’s flock before God placed him in leadership over Israel. The apostle Paul lived three years in the desert before God sent him to the Gentiles. Brother Lawrence cloistered himself in a monastery for much of his life. St. Francis of Assisi came apart from his parents and friends to live in the solitude of his newly formed community. St. Therese of Liseux lived her short years in a convent before she died at the young age of 24.

Few of us, however, are able to seek God in such solitude. We cannot afford years away from work and family obligations. Bills come due every month. Our families need nurture and protection. Careers require focus and attention.

But what about spending thirty minutes -- or even an hour -- each day with Christ in the solitude of a prayer closet? (see Matthew 26:40).

The Kingdom message is way too important to handle lightly. The eternal destiny of those we meet could depend on how well we teach and live the message of how God gave His Son to love us, embrace us, and remove our sin, guilt and judgment.

But teaching and living His message requires of us a personal relationship with Him. And relationship requires time alone with Him, nourished by his Word and blending our hearts with His through worship and the reception of His graces through the Sacraments.

We can't share with others what we ourselves don't have.

What's the Use?

Have you ever gotten to wondering if anything you are doing for Christ is of any use? You pray. You share your faith. You read. You do. But when you look around, nothing seems to be happening as you would expect for all your work.

I’ve wondered those things from time to time over the last 34 years. And those same doubts lingered in my mind even as recently as last evening before I went to bed. I was struggling – quite significantly -- with that very question. What’s the use of writing, of praying, of teaching, of sharing my heart? Why am I wasting my time?

It was in that frame of mind that I showered, dressed for bed, and opened my Bible to the place I’d left off the night before. And a moment later I read these words of Christ: If anyone wishes to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily and follow Me (Luke 9:23).

Sometimes it surprises me – although I know such things shouldn’t surprise me at all – that, with such great love and compassion, God is able to orchestrate tens of thousands of minute details of my life, even over the course of years, to arrive at a specific moment in time to meet a specific need. Why was I reading through St. Luke’s gospel last evening, and not Romans, or 1 Corinthians, or Ephesians? Why was I on chapter 9, and not 2, or 15, or 20? Why had I decided months ago to read the Old Testament in the morning and the New in the evening? And why did those particular words ring so true to my heart, when I could have just as easily glazed over them?

If anyone wishes to come after Me, let him deny himself.

In that clause, I found one answer to my soul-searching. If I want to follow the Master, I must remind myself my life and activities are not about me. They are all about Him. In denying myself, I am to put aside my expectations and desires in deference to His. If I don’t care for that equation, then I’m the one at fault. Not Him.

And take up his cross daily and follow Me.

And there was the second answer to my soul-searching. Carrying His cross of humility, of sacrifice, of utter commitment to the will and purpose of God is not a one-time decision. It is a daily commitment. And it doesn’t matter if I understand His will and purpose. I am only required to carry my cross in the same way He carried His.

My confession to you is difficult for me to make. No one likes to bare his soul before strangers. But just in case some of you have entertained thoughts like mine, I reasoned it might be helpful to remind you, as the Holy Spirit reminded me last evening, we are not our own. We are bought with a price (see 1 Corinthians 6:19-20).

Abram Knew What to Do

The Lord appeared to Abram and said, "To your descendants I will give this land." So Abram built an altar there to the LORD who had appeared to him (Genesis 12:7).

When God appeared to Abram, the patriarch knew what to do.

He built an altar.

Old Testament altars were more than places for animal sacrifice. They played a vital role in the religious life of God's people. When God appeared to His servants they typically built altars to consecrate the ground. Altars also provided the people opportunity to confess their sins and seek His forgiveness. At altars, Israelites sacrificed the best of their flock, counting it a privilege to return something valuable to their God. At those altars they set aside their mundane tasks and focused on the sacred. They turned from self-seeking to enter the supernatural presence of God.

The more I contemplate the spiritual significance of Old Testament altars, the more I appreciate the importance of taking time before Mass to prepare for that supernatural encounter.

On my knees in the pew, before most of the congregation arrives, God gives me opportunity to create a private altar and ask Him to strengthen my obedience. At my private altar I can lay aside my will for His will, my opinions for His commandments, my sense of self-importance for His holiness. When the Holy Spirit changes bread and wine into the body, blood, soul and divinity of the Lord Jesus, I have the privileged opportunity to walk toward sacred ground and offer myself to God as a "living sacrifice." (Romans 11:1-2).

Abram knew what to do when he met God.

I want always to do the same.

A Powerful, Fiery and Holy Love

Taking the book of the covenant, [Moses] read it aloud to the people, who answered, "All that the Lord has said, we will heed and do." Then he took the blood and sprinkled it on the people, saying, "This is the blood of the covenant which the Lord has made with you in accordance with all these words of his." (Exodus 24:7,8).

I stopped for a while at the end of verse eight and let my mind consider an important principle of Christian faith illustrated in this text:

First comes the promise to obey God, and then comes the sprinkling of the blood which saves. As St. Peter wrote in his first epistle, "To those who . . . are chosen . . . to obey Jesus Christ and be sprinkled with His blood: May grace and peace be yours in the fullest measure" (1 Peter 1:1-2).

I sometimes wonder if many in today’s Church have forgotten -- or have minimized -- the strict relationship between obedience and forgiveness, obedience and salvation, obedience and the Blood of Christ.

“Why do you call Me Lord, but do not do what I say?” Jesus asked (Luke 6:46). And St. Paul boldly warned the Corinthian Christians, telling them whoever takes Holy Communion without first repenting of sin and promising to obey Jesus, takes the precious body and blood of our Lord unworthily and “eats and drinks judgment” to himself (1 Corinthians 11:27-31).

When was the last time anyone heard that warning prior to receiving Holy Communion?

God loves us very much. This is true. But His love is not a warm, fuzzy and doting emotion. It is powerful, fiery and holy. And He requires us to live holy lives: "You shall be holy, for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16). Neither should we ever forget, “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God.” (Hebrews 10:31).

Some Things Never Change

Amen, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter will pass from the law, until all things have taken place (Matthew 5:18).

Who doesn’t know life can change in a moment? A doctor explains an MRI result to a young woman. An employer hands out the proverbial pink slip. A spouse walks away from a marriage. A parent from a child. Like a train rumbling toward us, life happens. Change happens. It’s only a question of when change will arrive at our station.

That’s why this text in Matthew's gospel can be a comfort. When life quakes around us, God’s word is an immovable rock. When the runaway locomotive races at us, God stands at our side. When we doubt God will forgive sin, Scripture’s promise stops that train dead in its tracks.

As change roils through our culture -- even through many churches - the unchanging word of God provides a solid foundation of truth. In the midst of cultural and religious upheaval, where definitions of sin shift with popular opinion, Catholics can find the stability of moral certitude as the Church interprets sin and righteousness in the light of Scripture and Sacred Tradition. Through her guidance, we can know absolute and unchangeable truth from godless and deceptive error.

St. Paul reminded Timothy, the Church is "the pillar and support of the truth" (1 Timothy 3:15). And the Psalmist wrote, “Your word, Lord, stands forever; it is firm as the heavens. Through all generations your truth endures; fixed to stand firm like the earth” (Psalm 119:89-90).

Isn’t it good to know some things never change?

Sealed With A Kiss

When I was a teenager during the 60s (long before email) boyfriends and girlfriends often sent handwritten notes to each other and penned these letters -- SWAK --on the back of the sealed envelope. They stood for "Sealed With A Kiss."

I do not think it coincidental that during the past several months, as I permitted myself to get spun up about the political issues facing America, a passage in Isaiah grabbed my attention, and with it, the memory of SWAK resurfaced: And He will be the Stability of your times, a Wealth of salvation, wisdom And Knowledge; The fear of the Lord is his treasure (Isaiah 33:6).

Despite what seems to be storm clouds on the horizon, and regardless of the machinations in places of political and financial power across our nation and world, God reaches toward those who trust Him, toward those who love Him, toward those who seek Him in obedience -- and Seals them With A Kiss.

Surely, our trust in God is our stability during these troubled times. And for those who believe Him, He is a wealth of salvation, wisdom and knowledge. Our fear (and reverence) of Him is our true treasure.

And that is something to contemplate.

Loops and Thread -- and Purpose

“Make the tabernacle with ten curtains of finely twisted linen and blue, purple and scarlet yarn, with cherubim worked into them by a skilled craftsman. All the curtains are to be the same size-twenty-eight cubits long and four cubits wide” (Exodus 26:1-2)

I admit it. Reading through the chapters in Exodus which detail the construction of the Tabernacle can be, well, mind-numbing. Loops and clasps, boards, sockets, pillars, almond blossoms, curtains, poles, pegs and hooks and bands and . . . .

It never seems to stop.

For a people who spent generations slogging through mud pits to make bricks for Pharaoh’s empire, such precision, such detail must have seemed burdensome.

Then I noticed something I’d not seen in my many times reading through these “better-than-a-sleeping-pill” chapters.

I noticed precision.

Every loop had its place. Every socket a reason. Every curtain and hammered blossom and length of thread and slice of wood, a purpose.

Sometimes I get to feeling like I’m slogging through days of fighting traffic, paying bills, and punching time clocks. I wake up, go to work, return home, go to bed, wake up and start all over.

It never seems to stop.

But as I read this text I remembered again something I always forget: In the midst of God’s plan for my life, every loop has its place. Every socket has a reason.

And just as the Tabernacle of loops and sockets and wood and thread was the place God met His people, God meets me – He meets each of us -- even as we slog through traffic jams, punching clocks, and paying bills.

If we wonder about that -- and I have -- we should quiet ourselves long enough for His glory to have a chance to settle into our tabernacles.

Manipulating Pharaohs and Kings

I'm sure the Holy Spirit tries to get my attention every day about this matter. Most of the time I hear Him only once or twice a month.

Or less.

So, there I was reading Exodus this morning, and He caught me with this verse: "But I will harden Pharaoh's heart that I may multiply My signs and My wonders in the land of Egypt" (7:3).

Then my thoughts turned to the words in Isaiah: "Behold, the nations are like a drop from a bucket, and are regarded as a speck of dust on the scales; Behold, He lifts up the islands like fine dust . . . All the nations are as nothing before Him, they are regarded by Him as less than nothing and meaningless" (40:15-17).

And finally, this passage from Proverbs: "The king's heart is as channels of water in the hands of the Lord. He turns it wherever He wishes" (21:1).

I know I wouldn't get nearly as spun up as I get about current political issues if I was truly confident in the absolute, unequaled and transcendent sovereignty and power of God. If all the nations on earth combined are as specks of dust on God's scales -- then how much less are those who lead those nations?

God remains on His throne. His plan for the redemption of humankind has not been sidetracked. It is precisely on target and on time. And, as He manipulated pharaohs and kings in the past to accomplish His purpose, so He still does today.

My challenge is to more fully trust Him, and "lean not unto my own understanding" (Proverbs 3:5).

That's something worth contemplating.

Hiding His Word

A few posts ago I suggested a Bible reading plan that will take the reader through the Old Testament once and the New Testament three times in a year. Several of you commented privately that you plan to implement my recommendation.

Now let me challenge everyone to do something else. If we believe it is important to not only read the Bible, but to also let it guide our lives, then it should also be important that we memorize Scripture. And memorization is relatively easy with my plan. Here's my recommendation:

I commit myself to memorize at least one verse of Scripture a week. That computes to at least 52 verses of Scripture a year. That's a lot of God's word seeding your mind. Some people like to use 3x5 index cards, but I prefer business-card sized cards. They are easier to carry with me.

One the front of the card, write the Scripture reference. On the back, write the verse. As you memorize the text, first say (aloud) the reference, and then the text, and then repeat the reference. For example:

"Romans 5:8. But God proves His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8"

And so, week One: I spend a few minutes each day rehearsing the text in my mind. By the end of a few days, I know it pretty well. At the end of the week, I can say it without hardly thinking about it.

Week two: I do the same thing with the next verse, but I also rehearse the verse from week one.

Weeks three and four, and following: I repeat the pattern, rehearsing all of the texts I have memorized over the preceding weeks.

After a while (and you will determine the time for yourself), I stop rehearsing the earlier verses because I know them so well. I usually return to them only once or twice in a month or so, just to keep them fresh. Most of the time I only carry with me a handful of cards . . . maybe ten or fifteen that I am actively committing to memory, or actively rehearsing.

How to select your memory verses?

I find mine as I read the Scriptures. If a particular verse catches my attention, and I'd like to keep it in my mind, I memorize it that week -- or I add it to my list of verses I plan to memorize (my current list is nearly 30 verses long).

To get you started, here are several recommendations: Romans 5:8, 1 John 1:9, Revelation 12:11, John 3:16, 2 Chronicles 7:14, Joshua 1:8, Isaiah 53:5-6 (I know that's two verses, but often it is easier to memorize a couple of verses together when the thought flows better, than a verse in isolation).

God's word is "Living and active, and sharper than any two-edged sword." The Psalmist tells us God's word is "a lamp to my feet and a light to path." St. Peter exhorted, "Hunger for the sincere milk of the word, in order that you may grow thereby."

One verse a week is both manageable and, you will surely find, very profitable to your life.

Court Not Death

So, there I am reading through Wisdom and these words grabbed my attention:

Court not death by your erring way of life, nor draw to yourselves destruction by the works of your hands. Because God did not make death, nor does he rejoice in the destruction of the living . . . . But by the envy of the devil, death entered the world, and they who are in his possession experience it. (Wisdom 1:12-13; 2:23-24).

God called everything He made during the six days of Creation, “good.”

Death was not part of that creation. Death came with our fall.

Then my mind drifted to Ezekiel 18: Cast away from you all your transgressions which you have committed . . . For why will you die, O house of Israel? For I have no pleasure in the death of anyone who dies," declares the Lord God. "Therefore, repent and live."

I can almost hear the emotion catch in His throat as he pleads with us to turn from our sins, to “not court death by our erring way of life.”

God, who gave His Son to pay for our sins, did not make death. It was because of sin that death entered His good creation.

And so I contemplated a sober truth. God, "who has no pleasure in the death of anyone who dies," gives us a choice: Repent and live, or ignore His pleas . . . and die.

Don't Be Afraid

Do not be afraid. You have done all this evil; yet do not turn away from the Lord, but serve the Lord with all your heart (1 Samuel 12:20).

The Israelites blew it (again). They wanted to be like the nations around them, so they harangued the prophet Samuel to give them a king.

It would be an understatement to say God wasn’t happy about their decision. You can almost hear His voice choke with emotion in chapter eight when He says, “They have not rejected you (Samuel), but they have rejected Me from being king over them.”

So, Saul became Israel's first king. But Samuel made sure Israel understood they had stepped into dangerous territory. “You’ve done all this evil,” he said. And then he followed with this exhortation “Yet, do not turn away from the Lord, but serve the Lord with all your heart.”

In other words, “Okay, guys. You really, really blew it. Yes, God is angry. But don’t be afraid. His mercy is greater than His anger, His compassion deeper than His displeasure. Don’t let your guilt or remorse keep you from turning back to Him. Repent, and press on to serve the Lord."

What Samuel said to Israel, the Holy Spirit says today to you and me.

Sure, we've blown it (again). But God is still a loving and merciful Father. His mercy remains greater than His anger, His compassion deeper than His displeasure.

That is why we can return to the Lord -- for He will abundantly pardon the repentant one.

Superficial Healing

Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever does not take up his cross and follow after me is not worthy of me. (Matthew 10:37-38)

From the perspective of some of Jesus’ first century listeners, this must have seemed an outrageous statement. Despite His miracles and moral teaching, many in Israel wondered who this man thought He was to make so arrogant a proclamation.

However, from a 21st century perspective, Christians know what Christ's first century audience didn’t. Jesus had the right to say what he did because He is – well, because He is God in the flesh. That is why He has the right to say anything He wants, demand anything he chooses, and require whatever He pleases.

And yet, although we know that, why do so many of us grouse at those requirements? As Catholics, do we not know the Lord Jesus called Peter and subsequent popes to shepherd His sheep? So why do some of us look for other pastures when the Church proclaims its historic standards of holiness? Why do we consider her position on marriage, procreation, abortion, and other matters of morality so outrageous and untenable that we simply ignore them?

In the second and third chapters of Revelation, Jesus repeatedly warns the Church, “He who has an ear to hear, let him hear with the Spirit says to the churches.”

The substantive issues of morality and faith they faced in the first century are surprisingly similar to the issues we face. And we do a dangerous disservice to each other when we speak only of God’s love and mercy, without warning about sin, righteousness and judgment.

To proclaim only one and not the other is to, as God said through Jeremiah, “heal the brokenness of the daughter of My people superficially.”

Nothing Could Be Worse

Now one of the criminals hanging there reviled Jesus, saying, "Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us." The other, however, rebuking him, said in reply, "Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? . . . . Then he said, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom" (Luke 23:39-42).

Each time I read that passage I think of the three men. They hung for hours between earth and sky, ravaged by thirst, and mocked by the mob.

And for hours, the two watched the One in the middle.

Nothing escaped their notice. They heard His groans, His agonized, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” And they heard Him pray for those who hated Him: "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.”

Yet, despite what the two witnessed, only one was changed.

Sometimes as I read that text I feel as if I can see through the lens of eternity, and I watch the Lord hanging on that cross, bloodied and dying to purchase my reconciliation with the Father. It is that image – when I think to focus on it during Mass -- that makes Mass so meaningful for me. Each time the priest consecrates the bread and wine, eternity slips into our timeline. Christ steps into our presence through the readings, the hymns, the prayers. And we receive Him in the Eucharist.

It remains one of my greatest fears that, after meeting Him, I remain unchanged – or worse, I grow lukewarm; that I hear Him and receive Him – but become passionless about knowing Him, loving Him, imitating Him.

What could be worse than to see and hear the King during each Mass, and not be changed? What could be worse than to witness His love and sacrifice, and remain satisfied with tepid faith?

Nothing could be worse.

A Bible Reading Plan

From time to time I am asked to suggest a pattern for daily Bible reading. So, I thought this might be an appropriate forum to do so.

As I've said in earlier posts, I read at least two chapters each morning from the Old Testament (OT) and two each evening from the New Testament (NT). Each sitting takes about 15 minutes, or 30 minutes/day. That pattern gets me through the OT once a year (maybe 13 months if I am slow), and the NT three times in a year. I place a check mark in my Bible’s table of contents to help me keep track of what I’ve read and what I need to read.

For new readers, I recommend only partial readings of books such as Exodus and Numbers because the chapters that I don't list below contain pages of laws and family genealogies, etc, that can become tedious to read – and possibly discourage continuation. I deleted Leviticus from the list for the same reason.

I am NOT suggesting those chapters/books are not valuable. I have read those entire books many, many times. But for a first-read, I think it more important to first get the “big picture.” On your second and subsequent readings year by year through the Bible, you can read the chapters you omitted here.

My Old Testament and New Testament pattern follows below. I suggest you read the books in the order I have listed them. Doing so will help coalesce your understanding of important events and people. You might also find it helpful to print the following list and keep it with your Bible.


Old Testament

Genesis
Exodus (chapters 1-24, 32-34)
Numbers (chapters 10-25)
Deuteronomy
Joshua
Judges
1 & 2 Samuel
Psalms 1-72
1 & 2 Kings
Psalms (73-150)
Job
Isaiah
Hosea
Joel
Jonah
Micah
Ecclesiastes
Song of Songs
Jeremiah
Lamentations
Baruch
Habakkuk
Obadiah
Zephaniah
Esther
Ruth
Daniel
Ezra
Nehemiah
Haggai
Jonah
Wisdom
Amos
Proverbs 1-15
Ezekiel 1-40
Proverbs 16-31
Zechariah
Malachi
1 Chronicles 10-21, 28-29
2 Chronicles
1&2 Maccabeas
Judith
Tobit
Sirach


New Testament
Luke
Acts
1 & 2 Corinthians
Galatians
Ephesians
John
Revelation
Matthew
Colossians
1 & 2 Peter
James
Philippians
Romans
Mark
1&2 Thessalonians
1&2 Timothy
Titus
Hebrews
1-3 John
Philemon
Jude

The Jewish priest, Ezra, "Set himself to study the law of the Lord, and to practice it, and to teach His statutes and ordinances in Israel" (Ezra 7)

May God help us do likewise.

Working for Him instead of Loving Him

On my way through the Revelation, I stopped a moment at this passage in chapter 2:

"To the angel of the church in Ephesus write . . . ‘you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them false. You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love.’ "

As I concluded the passage I reflected on how often I get my proverbial dander up, defending the faith, sharing the faith, teaching the faith -- that I forget to live the faith. Too often I have forgotten to turn my eyes toward Jesus, and instead satisfied myself with working for Him instead of loving Him.

Catholic author, Christopher Maricle, says it well: Heeding the example of Jesus to do what is in our power to do means that we need to worry less about what happens to us and more about what happens because of us. Being a source of healing means exercising our capacity to love. Love is within our power. In the act of loving unselfishly we touch that part of God’s spirit within us. Touching this love is healing for both us and for those to whom we reach out.

Good words, I think, for anyone to heed.

God Meant it for Good

During my time with the Lord this morning I rehearsed one of my memory verses, "As for you, you meant evil against me. But God meant it for good, to bring about this present result, to preserve many people alive" (Genesis 50:20).

You might remember the context. Many years earlier, Joseph's brothers planned to kill him, but sold him into slavery instead. And now, Joseph is vice-regent of Egypt, and his brothers are afraid he might decide it's payback time.

Joseph did not dilute his brothers' sin. He recognized it -- and he forced them to do the same. But Joseph also looked beyond the past and to the power of God to turn even evil into something good.

As I reflected on Joseph's words, my gaze drifted to the crucifix on the wall in front of my couch and recognized the connection.

The people who cried out, "Crucify Him. Crucify Him" meant it for evil. But God -- oh! But God meant it for good, to bring about the present result that anyone who calls on the name of the Lord -- anyone who recognizes his or her complicity in Jesus' death -- will live forever.

Who can ever understand the power, the mercy, the love of God?

Year of Jubilee

Has it really been forty-two years since I killed my baby? It seems like only last week. I remember what my girlfriend wore when I drove her to the clinic, where I parked and how many dimes I dropped into the meter.

I was seventeen. My girlfriend was eighteen. Too young – I told myself – for the responsibility of raising a child.

After the abortion, my life didn’t get any better. Sexual immorality, drug abuse, blasphemy, drunkenness, deception . . . . I added a lot of weight to my sin of premeditated, callous killing of my unborn baby.

But when I was twenty-two, I stumbled upon a wonderful, glorious, nearly incomprehensible truth: God looked beyond my sins and saw my desperate need. And so He sent His only begotten Son to free me.

Quoting from the prophet Isaiah, the Lord Jesus said to those gathered in a Nazareth synagogue, The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because He has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord (Luke 4:18-19).

In my utter spiritual poverty, oh, how desperately I needed the riches of God’s forgiveness! How else could I live with my memories? How could I live with such blood on my hands?

Jesus proclaimed liberty to captives. There is no prison so inescapable as that formed by guilt. But, Jesus' death shattered those bars and, though my memories still linger, He delivered me from guilt's captivity.

Jesus set the oppressed free. Oh, talk about oppression! Where else but through Christ's blood could I find the oppressive weight of my sin removed? Where else could I find such mercy – even for killing my baby?

Jesus proclaimed a year acceptable to the Lord. In Old Testament language, He proclaimed the Year of Jubilee.

For me, that year was 1972 -- the year of my redemption, pardon, forgiveness and new birth.

When was your year of Jubilee?

An Inviolable Promise

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me (Isaiah 49:15-16).

Who has not known deep loneliness, or soul-rending sorrow, or the kind of rejection that shatters our heart like fine crystal dropped onto concrete? An unfaithful spouse; A devastating illness; A wayward child who never calls home; parents who abandon their children . . .

When hope evaporates, when heartache engulfs us, when we give voice to our doubt that God even knows our address, Oh! That we would hear His voice: "Though all forsake you, I will never forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands."

Think of it! Though sorrow seeps through our lives, our Father yet leans toward us, cups our face in His hands and whispers, “You are Mine. I love you. Though hell laps at your heels, I am always at your side.”

On that inviolable promise of God, you and I can eternally rely.

Who Am I?

So, I'm sitting there talking with the Lord this morning, and in my mind's eye I'm watching Him struggling for breath as He hangs from the cross.

It was a very sober image.

And as I watched Him, I thought, Jesus took His closest friends -- Peter, James and John -- to the place where He would pray in Gethsemene, and He asked them to stand vigil with Him.

But they fell asleep instead.

A little later, when the mob came to take Jesus away, every one of His disciples -- those with whom He had shared His life for the past three years -- they all fled for their lives. And even Peter, the one to whom Jesus gave the keys of the kingdom, denied and cursed three times that he ever knew the Man.

All these thoughts filtered and fluttered in my mind as I am watching the Lord struggle for breath.

And then I asked myself, who am I that I should expect to be treated any differently than my Lord, even when I labor for Him?

It was a very sobering thought.

And I apologized to Him again.

It's Not About Us

I am the LORD, this is my name; my glory I give to no other . . . (Isaiah 42:8)

It’s all about God, about His kingdom and His will. It always has been. It always will be.

But ancient Israel had unwittingly lost God’s perspective. They had perfected the trappings of religion. They knew the right rituals and the correct words -- but their hearts were full of pride, rebellion and selfishness.

It had become about them, not about God.

It would be a mistake to point our finger at the Israelites and not take careful note of ourselves. We, too, can lose our perspective and wrap ourselves in rituals and form. We also can unknowingly substitute activity for a relationship with God.

It's a danger we all face -- and one we can all avoid -- by regularly seeking God in humble prayer, honest participation in the Sacraments of the Eucharist and Confession, and meditation on His Word.

To be careless about our walk of faith is to open ourselves to the power, deception and poison of sin.

God of the Hills, Plains . . . and Eternity

But if we fight them on the plains, surely we will be stronger than they. Do this . . . raise an army like the one you lost-horse for horse and chariot for chariot-so we can fight Israel on the plains. Then surely we will be stronger than they (1 Kings 20:23-25).

The ancient Syrian army made a fatal mistake. Israel had beaten them in battle, and the Syrians assumed it was because Israel’s god was centered in the hills on which they fought.

And that was their problem. They thought Israel’s god was bound to a piece of real estate. They soon learned their error.

I suppose it’s easy to point the finger at the Syrians and snicker that anyone could think God is so small and limited. And yet, I find myself acting like the ancient Syrians more often than I like to think I do.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said to myself, “God answered my prayers in the past, but I’m not sure He will do it again.” In other words, God is the God of the then, but not the now -- or the tomorrow.

I've said, “God forgave me that sin before, but I can’t believe He’ll do it again.” In other words, God limits His forgiveness to a fixed number – once, a dozen, three dozen. And then the axe falls.

Or, “God took care of us when I was working, but now that I'm retired, I wonder how we will live?” In other words, God has to ration His limited resources to adequately take care of all His children.

What nonsense.

The Syrians made a fatal mistake when they believed Israel’s god was limited to a small parcel of geography. Let’s not make the same error. Our God is not bound by time, geography or distance. And just as important, His power and compassion are the same yesterday, today and forever.

If We Fail Christ Now . . .

I just re-read Acts 4 where St. Peter and the others were hauled before the Court and ordered to stop preaching about Jesus. You know the story. The apostles refused to capitulate, and answered, "We must obey God instead of men."

Then I thought of Jeremiah 12:5 in which God challenges the Prophet: If running against men has wearied you, how will you race against horses? And if in a land of peace you fall headlong, what will you do in the thickets of the Jordan?

And then the Holy Spirit brought me back to 2009 and connected the dots: If Catholics do not speak boldly about the moral issues facing us for fear of losing the Church's tax-exempt status, or of offending some politicians, or of incurring the wrath of the media, or even of offending some of it's own members . . . then what will we do when it becomes illegal to even tell others about Jesus?

If we fail Christ now, what will we do then?

St. Paul said it a long time ago, and our Church martyrs understood very well the implication: All who live godly in Christ Jesus will suffer persecution (2 Timothy 3:12). And the words of Christ ought to make us shudder: For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will also be ashamed of him when He comes in the glory of His Father with the holy angels." (Mark 8:38).

You Can't Give What You Don't Have

I was thinking this morning about an incident that happened to me more than thirty-seven years ago. It seems like it occurred last week.

My friends and I went to a nearby restaurant for breakfast. When someone distracted the cashier at the front door, I sneaked by and hurried to the food line. I still don’t know why I did it. I had very recently become a Christian, but easily fell back into old patterns.

As I piled food onto my tray, I dismissed my nagging guilt. When my friends joined me a few minutes later, I bowed my head and silently gave thanks to God for my food. That’s when Tom snickered, “Look at Maffeo. He sneaks in without paying, and then thanks God.”

They laughed with sarcasm. But I wanted to crawl under the table.

I worked at that company for another year, growing in my relationship with Christ as I studied the Bible, attended church regularly and committed myself to prayer. But I could never share my faith with any of those men. They had painted me with a brush dipped in hypocrisy.

St. Paul urged Timothy: “Flee the evil desires . . . and pursue righteousness . . . .” (2 Timothy 2:22).

For good reason, Scripture commands us to live in obedience to God. We can't effectively share Christ’s love with others, rescuing them from the devil’s snare, if we ourselves are tangled in his web.

Or, put another way, "You can't give what you don't have."

At His Bidding

Peter and the others were exhausted -- and disappointed. They'd worked hard all night without success. Now they were on shore, washing their nets and getting ready to head for home empty handed for all their labor.

Then Jesus comes along and tells them to push out again into the water and let down their nets.

And that's when St. Peter says something I hope to never forget -- and to always put into practice, regardless how tired or discouraged I might be:

Master, we worked hard all night and caught nothing, but at your bidding I will let down the nets (Luke 5:5).

My responsibility is not to assess the outcome of my work for His kingdom -- even if my work looks useless. My responsibility is to simply do what He tells me to do -- again and again -- even if I don't see the value in it.

But at Your bidding I will let down the nets.

Addendum to God is not mad at you . . .

An couple of hours after I posted the last message about God's love, I was sitting on my porch re-reading Jacques Philippe's Time for God. What he says on page 54 is a valuable adjunct to my post. He writes:

In the relationship with God our first act of love, one that must remain the basis for every act of love for Him, is this: to believe that he loves us, and to let ourselves be loved . . . just as we are, quite apart from any merits or virtues we may possess. With this grounding of our relationship with God, the relationship is on a sound footing. Otherwise it is distorted by a certain Phariseeism, its center not ultimately occupied by God but by our own selves, our activity, our virtue, or some such thing. (My emphasis).

This is a very demanding attitude, since it requires that we shift the center of our existence from ourselves to God and forget about ourselves . . . God is not primarily looking for us to do things. We are "unprofitable servants" (Luke 17:10. "God does not need our works, but is thirsty for our love," said St. Therese of Lisieux. He asks us first of all to let ourselves be loved, to believe in his love . . . ."

Those last words by St. Therese resonate with me. "He asks us first of all to let ourselves be loved."

That's hard to do when we are convinced God is always (or usually) mad at us.

God is NOT Mad at You

In the last week I’ve spoken with two Christians who believe God is angry with them. Worse. To hear them tell it, God is perpetually angry with them because they do not live up to (what they perceive is) God’s standard.

Yet, God the Holy Spirit tells us “God is love” (1 John 4:8). And God also gives us the definition of love. You can read it here, but let me pull out a few nuggets:

Love is patient
Love is kind
Love is not jealous
Love is not arrogant
Love is not quick-tempered
Love does not brood over an injury
Love never fails

To insist God is always angry with us is to say God is always looking for something to fault us for.

Is that what Love does?

To insist God is never happy with us is to argue what He says about us is not true: “God demonstrated His love for us in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).

Does Love lie?

One of my favorite memory verses is from St. John’s gospel. You will find this promise embedded in the Lord’s High Priestly Prayer (John 17:23): “. . . so that the world may know that You sent Me, and [You] loved them, even as You have loved Me.”

Don’t miss that last clause: The Father loves you as much as He loves Jesus.

The Holy Spirit reminds us again and again, through texts such as the above, as well as in this Psalm, that God really, really does love us: Just as a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him. For He Himself knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust (Psalm 103).

God is not perpetually mad at His children. But I sure think we hurt His feelings when we live as if He is.

Storms and Foundations

I got to thinking about this text in St. Luke's gospel: I will show you what he is like who comes to me and hears my words and puts them into practice. He is like a man building a house, who dug down deep and laid the foundation on rock.

When a flood came, the torrent struck that house but could not shake it, because it was well built. But the one who hears my words and does not put them into practice is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation.

The moment the torrent struck that house, it collapsed and its destruction was complete. (Luke 6:47-49)

The way I see it, you and I have two choices: dig deeply or cut corners. But digging deeply requires time and perseverance. That's why it's hard work. Cutting corners requires little time or perseverance. That's why it's easy.

But when storms blow across our lives, I know the foundation I'd rather have.

By Name

According to my internet search, on July 1, 2009, the world's population stood at 6,768,167,712.

I cannot conceive of that kind of number.

Nor can I conceive of the idea that, among six billion, seven hundred sixty-eight million, one hundred and sixty-seven thousand, seven hundred and twelve. God actually knows . . . . . me.

Not a hair falls out of my scalp without Him seeing it. A word doesn't cross my mind that He didn't already know about it. And not a tear fills my eye that His hand isn't already poised to wipe it away.

It is thoughts like this that remind me of the text in Isaiah: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine (Isaiah 43).

God knows me by name.

And so, also, He knows you, too.

What if God Says, "No"?

And so I was thinking this morning, what if God says "No" to our prayers -- especially prayers we've prayed so fervently about, something we really, really, really want to see come to fruition?

What if God says, "No"?

Some I've known turned away from God -- first by degrees, and then in full. They might not have said it, but their hearts moved in the direction of: "If He's not willing to help me with this, then I don't want anything to do with Him." And so their passion for God cools. They stop attending Mass or church services on a regular basis. They stop praying more than a few words, and that only once in a while. They stop reading their Bible. They stop volunteering to help others. They grow inward instead of out.

In contrast, two examples from Scripture come to my mind over this question of "No." The first is Job, who said, "Though He answers none of my prayers. Yes, even if He kills me, I will still trust Him" (paraphrase of Job 13:15). And the second is from Hebrews 11 in which the faithfulness of God's saints is rehearsed: "All these died in faith, without receiving the promises . . . and all these, having gained approval through their faith, did not receive what was promised, because God had provided something better for us . . . (Hebrews 11:13 and 39-40).

And if you read the next verse in Hebrews (chapter 12:1) we find the outcome of such faith, despite the "No" to their prayers.

What will we do when God says, "No" to our prayers?

Using Prayer

I've heard it said often enough when God has not answered someone's prayers, "I guess God's not hearing me."

Certainly, there are reasons God does not hear us. Unrepented sin tops the list. For example, "If I regard wickedness in my heart, the Lord will not hear" (Psalm 66), or "But your iniquities have made a separation between you and your God, and your sins have hidden His face from you so that He does not hear" (Isaiah 59), or "You husbands . . . show [your wives] honor as a fellow heir of the grace of life, so that your prayers will not be hindered" (1 Peter 3).

But, sin aside, it could be that God has heard our prayer, but has simply said, "Not yet."

Or even, "No."

What we want to assiduously avoid is to use prayer -- even unconsciously -- to try to manipulate God into doing our will.

If Only We Will Come

When he saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he had sat down, his disciples came to him. He began to teach them . . . (Matthew 5:1).

I don't know how I always missed it, but I used to read this passage as saying the crowds came to Jesus on the mountain. But what it actually says is, his disciples came to him.

Disciples -- as in those whom He called as individuals and not as a group.

Mother Teresa once said, God calls us away from our daily routines, to enter His Presence and linger in His love.

Of course, she was right. Sometimes we need to get alone with Christ and just be silent. Expectant. How else can we learn from Him unless we rid ourselves of distractions vying for our attention -- crowds, television, email, voice mail and cell phones?

Oh, what treasures He will teach us, if only we will come.

Enough Evidence?

For many years my various pastors asked the congregation this question: If it becomes a crime in this country to be a Christian, will there be enough evidence to convict you?

As for me, I sure hope so.

The New Goshen

In chapter 46 of Genesis, Jacob and the rest of the 70 family members set out to reunite with Joseph (who is now vice-regent of Egpyt). Verse 28 tells us Jacob "sent Judah before him to Joseph, to point out the way before him to Goshen; and they came into the land of Goshen."

As I finished the verse I wondered why Jacob chose Judah -- who was the fourth oldest son -- and not Reuben, the eldest. In that culture it was virtually always the first born who had honors such as that placed on him.

I believe the choice was prophetic, that Jacob's choice looked forward toward Jesus our savior, who is of the tribe of Judah. In fact, Jesus is called "the Lion of the tribe of Judah" in Revelation 5:5.

Jesus said of Himself, "I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father but by me" (John 14:6); The Lord also said to those who rejected Him: "Unless you believe that I am He, you will die in your sins" (John 8:24); and St. Peter added, "There is no other name under heaven that has been given among men by which we must be saved" (Acts 4:12).

Unless we follow the Lion of the Tribe of Judah, who goes before us "to point out the way" to the new Goshen (we call, heaven), we will surely, without doubt, lose our way -- and our souls.

No More Important Question

I recently re-read St. Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, in which he wrote: “In (Christ), you also, after listening to the message of truth, the gospel of your salvation – having also believed, you were sealed in Him with the Holy Spirit of promise . . . ” (Ephesians 1:13).

Why do words impact people so differently? How can a passage like John 3:16 & 17 generate hope in the hearts of some, and mockery in others? Why does a promise like Matthew 11:28-30 draw some to Christ’s side, while those words push others away?

I don’t know.

But I do know this from personal experience – and watching it work in the lives of others: the Gospel of Christ changes hearts, heals broken lives, restores relationships, shatters addictions, washes sins . . . but only for those who believe the message.

The Lord Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do men say that I am?” (Matthew 16:13). Some said, John the Baptist, some, Elijah, others, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets. Only Peter recognized who stood before him.

“You are the Messiah,” he said. “The Son of the living God.”

For two thousand years since then, Jesus has asked the same question – the answer to which will guide our emotions and passions, our philosophies and politics. It will determine what gives us courage and what causes fear. It will set our course on what we find amusing, and what breaks our heart. It will dictate how we live -- and especially how we die.

We will never be asked a more important question. And we can never give a more important answer: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”

Another Drop of His Blood

I just re-read the story of Joseph and Potiphar's wife -- and I again was caught up by Joseph's statement: How then can I do this wicked thing, and I sin against my God? (Genesis 39:9)

It was because of God’s grace and His direct intervention that Joseph prospered above all other slaves in Potiphar’s house. Nothing was kept from him – the finest food, clothing, comfort . . . . Potipher refused him nothing.

Except, of course, his wife.

But Mrs. Potiphar had other ideas. She wanted Joseph. For days, perhaps months, Joseph resisted her increasingly bold invitations to her bedroom until, one day when she cornered him, Joseph literally fled from the house.

“How can I do this wicked thing and sin against my God?”

Joseph recognized what I (Lord, help me) must never forget. When I sin, I do not sin only against others, but also against God. As King David acknowledged after his sin with Bathsheba centuries later, “Against Thee, Thee only have I sinned and done what is evil in Thy sight” (Psalm 51).

Oh, Holy Spirit, open my spiritual eyes that I might see Christ recoil from the whip that slices into His back with my every transgression. Lord, I do not want to drive another nail, or draw another drop of His sacred blood.