Friday of the Twenty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time
(I Corinthians 15:12-20; Luke 8:1-3)
A famous painting by the French master Georges de La Tour hangs in the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. It shows a loosely-clad woman sitting in front of a looking glass in meditative stupor. She is fingering a skull, which sits in front of, and almost blocks from view, a burning candle. “What’s it all about?” she seems to ask herself as she contemplates life and death, herself and Christ, the light.
The painting is called “The Repentant Magdalene,” but this may be a misnomer. That title reflects a popular but unfounded belief that Mary Magdalene was a reformed prostitute. Preachers through the ages have concluded that Mary Magdalene, mentioned for the first time in Luke’s gospel today, is “the sinful woman” who bathed Jesus’ feet with her tears of yesterday’s gospel passage. But today’s gospel only identifies her as the woman “from whom seven demons had gone out.” Demon possession in the New Testament is associated with sickness and hysteria, not moral depravity. Mary Magdalene’s relation to the woman of the previous chapter is likely one of inclusion, that is the evangelist Luke includes the story of the women accompanying Jesus following that of “the sinful woman” to indicate how Jesus attracted different kinds of women as well as men to himself.
But certainly the questions that La Tour’s Magdalene seems to ask are likewise inclusive of all humanity as well. What’s the point of it all? Is our destiny just dry bones that will whither completely in time? Or is Jesus the fire who enlightens our minds today and will empower our resurrection from the dead tomorrow? We Christians know the answers to these questions. Our task is to live their implications in our everyday lives.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Memorial of Saints Cornelius, pope, and Cyprian, bishop and martyr
(I Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 7:36-50)
Albert Camus, the twentieth century French existentialist, wrote in The Myth of Sisyphus that suicide is the most important philosophical question. First and foremost, he opined, one should decide whether life is worth living before bothering to think about any other thing. In a similar vein, it might be said that the most important religious question for us Christians is whether Jesus rose from the dead. We might suspend every other article of faith until we address that issue.
In the first reading today Paul faces the question head-on. He tells us not just that Christian witnesses have testified to Jesus’ resurrection since it presumably happened, but also that he personally, and quite unlikely, saw the risen Christ. He admits that the vision was a special grace and that it completely turned around his life.
Reading the letters of St. Paul, we feel like he is a contemporary. There is no stiltedness to his words or lack of sensibility in what he says. Rather, he writes as honestly and passionately as Rachel Carson in The Silent Spring or John Steinbeck in Travels with Charlie. The witness of these letters, confirmed by Paul’s enduring multiple hardships to proclaim it to others, reassures us that Jesus’ resurrection from the dead is no fiction. He rose to give us, like he gave Paul, the grace to conquer sin in our lives and to survive the death that is to come.
(I Corinthians 15:1-11; Luke 7:36-50)
Albert Camus, the twentieth century French existentialist, wrote in The Myth of Sisyphus that suicide is the most important philosophical question. First and foremost, he opined, one should decide whether life is worth living before bothering to think about any other thing. In a similar vein, it might be said that the most important religious question for us Christians is whether Jesus rose from the dead. We might suspend every other article of faith until we address that issue.
In the first reading today Paul faces the question head-on. He tells us not just that Christian witnesses have testified to Jesus’ resurrection since it presumably happened, but also that he personally, and quite unlikely, saw the risen Christ. He admits that the vision was a special grace and that it completely turned around his life.
Reading the letters of St. Paul, we feel like he is a contemporary. There is no stiltedness to his words or lack of sensibility in what he says. Rather, he writes as honestly and passionately as Rachel Carson in The Silent Spring or John Steinbeck in Travels with Charlie. The witness of these letters, confirmed by Paul’s enduring multiple hardships to proclaim it to others, reassures us that Jesus’ resurrection from the dead is no fiction. He rose to give us, like he gave Paul, the grace to conquer sin in our lives and to survive the death that is to come.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows
I Corinthians12:31-13:13; John 19:25-27)
Besides Jesus himself the most prominent and the most sympathetic character in Mel Gibson’s drama “The Passion of the Christ” is Mary, his mother. She is present in many of the flashbacks and in the graphic scenes of his being whipped (where she takes it upon herself to preserve his precious blood as a treasury of grace). She also stands as his cross, a loving witness of the world’s redemption. Nothing is said in the Gospel of John, the only one of the four that pictures Mary on Calvary, of how she feels to see her son crucified, but who could doubt that her emotion is one of inexpressible sorrow?
An ancient Eastern Christmas prayer speaks of Mary as the fairest of the human race and thus the perfect gift for the Christ child. Perhaps we should reserve the distinction of being the fairest for the infant himself, but Mary does represent the Church in her semblance of perfection. As she agonizes, we too are moved with deep sorrow to see Jesus die. While she lets go of a son, we part with a brother. He is, we know too well, better than we in every way – more generous to the needy, more ready to forgive, more insightful and wiser. The experience of watching him die slowly, painfully, and unjustly is almost unendurable. Graciously, however, he is not lost to Mary or to us forever. God will acknowledge his goodness and raise him to everlasting life. Sorrow will not reign as the definitive Christian virtue. It is only a step in the journey to full love.
I Corinthians12:31-13:13; John 19:25-27)
Besides Jesus himself the most prominent and the most sympathetic character in Mel Gibson’s drama “The Passion of the Christ” is Mary, his mother. She is present in many of the flashbacks and in the graphic scenes of his being whipped (where she takes it upon herself to preserve his precious blood as a treasury of grace). She also stands as his cross, a loving witness of the world’s redemption. Nothing is said in the Gospel of John, the only one of the four that pictures Mary on Calvary, of how she feels to see her son crucified, but who could doubt that her emotion is one of inexpressible sorrow?
An ancient Eastern Christmas prayer speaks of Mary as the fairest of the human race and thus the perfect gift for the Christ child. Perhaps we should reserve the distinction of being the fairest for the infant himself, but Mary does represent the Church in her semblance of perfection. As she agonizes, we too are moved with deep sorrow to see Jesus die. While she lets go of a son, we part with a brother. He is, we know too well, better than we in every way – more generous to the needy, more ready to forgive, more insightful and wiser. The experience of watching him die slowly, painfully, and unjustly is almost unendurable. Graciously, however, he is not lost to Mary or to us forever. God will acknowledge his goodness and raise him to everlasting life. Sorrow will not reign as the definitive Christian virtue. It is only a step in the journey to full love.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross
Number 21:4b-9; Philippians 2:6-11; John 3:13-17)
Although the swastika has been used for eons with varied significances, most people see it today as a symbol of Nazism. As such, it conveys the idea of a misconceived super-race with the supposed right to conquer and suppress any nation or people. Analysts have found this meaning stemming from the design of a cross that is turned in upon itself.
Since Jesus death and resurrection, the cross has been associated with human transcendence through belief in Jesus’ divinity. The horizontal bar symbolizes human destiny without Christ doomed to destruction. But Christ, symbolized by the vertical bar, gives humanity eternal possibilities if humans but attach themselves to him through faith. However, the right angles of the swastika represent humanity’s turn to itself again intercepting the hope of transcendence.
All this may sound like heady speculation, but it also may give us a better appreciation for the Feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross that we celebrate today. In Roman times the cross was a sign of death, much like a hangman’s noose today, because it was used to execute criminals. Jesus, however, transformed it into a symbol of life by embracing death in perfect love according to the Father’s will. Following him as our Lord and Savior, we can view the cross as an assurance of our new destiny.
Number 21:4b-9; Philippians 2:6-11; John 3:13-17)
Although the swastika has been used for eons with varied significances, most people see it today as a symbol of Nazism. As such, it conveys the idea of a misconceived super-race with the supposed right to conquer and suppress any nation or people. Analysts have found this meaning stemming from the design of a cross that is turned in upon itself.
Since Jesus death and resurrection, the cross has been associated with human transcendence through belief in Jesus’ divinity. The horizontal bar symbolizes human destiny without Christ doomed to destruction. But Christ, symbolized by the vertical bar, gives humanity eternal possibilities if humans but attach themselves to him through faith. However, the right angles of the swastika represent humanity’s turn to itself again intercepting the hope of transcendence.
All this may sound like heady speculation, but it also may give us a better appreciation for the Feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross that we celebrate today. In Roman times the cross was a sign of death, much like a hangman’s noose today, because it was used to execute criminals. Jesus, however, transformed it into a symbol of life by embracing death in perfect love according to the Father’s will. Following him as our Lord and Savior, we can view the cross as an assurance of our new destiny.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Memorial of Saint John Chrysostom, bishop and doctor of the Church
(I Corinthians 11:17-26.33; Luke 7:1-10)
Last year in the Catholic Campaign for Human Development annual collection some people showed their disgust with the organization by placing messages of protest in the collection basket at Mass. Whether or not their protest is legitimate, we can ask if it is appropriate to publicly show division among the faithful at the Eucharist. Is it not expressing factions in a similarly offensive way that St. Paul criticizes in his First Letter to the Corinthians?
As theologians will remind us, the Eucharist is the primordial sacrament of reconciliation. Because the Lord becomes physically present in the elements of bread and wine, we should approach it humbly. Following Jesus’ recommendations in the gospels, we first seek reconciliation with those whom we find offensive and then come to thank him for giving us peace. It is not the time to express indignation.
We owe thanks to God for that division in the Corinthian church. Because of it, Paul gives us the earliest extant reflection on the Eucharist. The text reassures us that our Mass is not an invention of the early Church to conjure the spirit of Jesus. No, it is a true memorial established by the Lord to make his life-giving body and his sin-forgiving blood present to us.
(I Corinthians 11:17-26.33; Luke 7:1-10)
Last year in the Catholic Campaign for Human Development annual collection some people showed their disgust with the organization by placing messages of protest in the collection basket at Mass. Whether or not their protest is legitimate, we can ask if it is appropriate to publicly show division among the faithful at the Eucharist. Is it not expressing factions in a similarly offensive way that St. Paul criticizes in his First Letter to the Corinthians?
As theologians will remind us, the Eucharist is the primordial sacrament of reconciliation. Because the Lord becomes physically present in the elements of bread and wine, we should approach it humbly. Following Jesus’ recommendations in the gospels, we first seek reconciliation with those whom we find offensive and then come to thank him for giving us peace. It is not the time to express indignation.
We owe thanks to God for that division in the Corinthian church. Because of it, Paul gives us the earliest extant reflection on the Eucharist. The text reassures us that our Mass is not an invention of the early Church to conjure the spirit of Jesus. No, it is a true memorial established by the Lord to make his life-giving body and his sin-forgiving blood present to us.
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