Invited

"Many are invited, but few are chosen," says the Lord. Though we must rejoice in the good fortune to have accepted the invitation to the wedding feast of heaven and earth, it is also our task and privilege to make the wedding garment we received at our baptism shine ever more brilliantly. My homily for this weekend is posted here.

Lost Opportunity

I'm always disappointed when I don't think of the right thing to say until long after an encounter. Today while I was walking up Broadway in Manhattan (in secular attire) a hasid came up to me and asked, "Are you Jewish?" When I said that I was not, he went away. Who knows what it was about.

But for the rest of the day, better responses have been occurring to me, such as:

"I am an heir to the promises made to Abraham and the royal covenant of David."

"I am of the nations whom Isaiah the prophet saw streaming to the Lord's Temple."

"I belong to what your brother Saul of Tarsus called 'the Israel of God.'"

And the best one, "That's my favorite line from Pulp Fiction!"

Quotes

Someone passed this one on to me at a meeting last night:

A painter may work for what the burning of his picture, or an accident of death to the admirer, may wholly destroy...The only just literary critic is Christ, who admires more than does any man the gifts he Himself has bestowed.

From a letter of J. R. R. Tolkien to C. S. Lewis, paraphrasing Gerard Manley Hopkins.

And going from the deep to the silly, here's one from the content of last night's meeting:

What's that thing you get on Sunday...I mean besides grace...that paper...oh yeah, the bulletin!

Going even further afield, a quote from Federico Fellini from a few seconds of something, I know not what, I caught on TV. For whatever reason this one really speaks to me:

After a certain age, the idea of dying becomes more and more present… And yet, I’m endowed with a particular psychological mechanism whereby all disagreeable things like old age and physical decay, obligations or money worries become material for a story which then becomes a film.

Why Doesn't God Intervene?

In the weekday cycle of readings for today's Mass we hear the story of Jesus receiving the hospitality of the sisters Martha and Mary:

Now as they went on their way, he entered a village; and a woman named Martha received him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted with much serving; and she went to him and said, "Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me." But the Lord answered her, "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things; one thing is needful. Mary has chosen the good portion, which shall not be taken away from her." Luke 10:38-42

This is one of those passages from Sacred Scripture that has such an intense exegetical history that it can be hard to see it in another way; we are trained to concentrate on the distinction between the sisters and to decide what it means for us. So this morning I've been reflecting not on Martha and Mary, but on the image of our Lord in the story.

Jesus refuses to intervene; he will not get involved in the personal drama of the two sisters. Where Martha sees an injustice outside of herself--and who is to say that Mary should have perhaps been helping--Jesus responds by pointing out that Martha's problem is inside herself.

It makes me think of the question that alleged atheists always ask: if there is a God, why does he allow people to suffer so horribly? Why doesn't God just destroy or otherwise rid the world of evil and suffering? It seems to me that such thinking imagines the power or almightiness of God in a human way. It's the same thing as when people joke that someone will be struck by lightning for doing something bad. The power and Lordship of God are just not expressed by control and coercion of the creation or the human heart. Rather, the Incarnation of the Word reveals the God who "takes the form of a slave," placing himself below us as servant.

Forcible intervention, coercion, and disregard for each other's freedom to flourish are at the root of our own suffering in the first place; thus, to imagine that God would act that way is only to create a god in our own image. Instead, just like Jesus does with Martha, God's response to suffering takes the form of invitation rather than intervention. And the invitation is to look at ourselves; to examine the many ways we cause our own suffering and pass that suffering on to others. To refuse to pass our suffering on to another is to embrace the saving power of the Cross. To return to others a blessing instead is to accept the gift of the Resurrection.

Blessing of Animals

Here I am leading prayer at the traditional Franciscan blessing of animals. Among those blessed were several dogs and cats, two rats, a duck, a hedgehog, a guinea pig, a baby squirrel, and a hermit crab. One each of the dogs and the rats, being named Francis, were also celebrating their name days.

Performance Review

As workers in the vineyard of God's creation, we are expected to cultivate a harvest of righteousness, justice, and peace. God will accomplish his creative purpose, and if we don't help, the privilege will be taken from us and given to someone else. Let us consider ourselves warned. My homily for this weekend is posted here.

Happy Feast Day From My Confessor

I just don't see how you can like everybody, but you have to love them, to desire their good. With the mob of guys we have, sometimes I wonder what boat they came in on...and I just don't see how you can like everyone. But you have to love them, and you have to try to order your life in accordance with loving them, washing their feet and making up for their faults and shortcomings--though not their sins. Doing that is what nails you to the Cross each day. That's the cross of fraternity. Find your joy in it and have a happy feast of St. Francis.

These are the words of a wise old friar during my confession before beginning the vigil of the feast of our holy father Francis.