Fifth Sunday of Lent, cycle A

John 11:1-45

They say there is nothing as certain as death and taxes. Another thing that is almost as certain is to experience the death of a loved one. That isn't a universal experience, to be sure; but it is very common, and very hard to go through. I still remember the first time I did so – it was the death of my grandfather John. I remember him as a grumpy old German farmer, who nevertheless demonstrated a sense of humor, a sort of dry wit that my wife tells me is wierd. He and my grandmother had sold their farm and moved to the little community of Belt, which held about 600 families. And it wasn't too long after that that he became ill and after a few weeks, passed away. He was waked in his own living room, and I remember standing there looking down on him. Suddenly death was real to me. And it was many years later when my father died suddenly at the age of fifty-seven when I had an overwhelming reaction to the death of another person. I was in my first year of a fellowship in cancer medicine and in those days most of my patients would die sooner or later. My father's death resulted in several weeks of waking up with panic attacks and having nightmares about being in a coffin with no way out.

The gospel we've just heard contains a lot of deep theology. We could listen to Jesus assure us that He is the Resurrection and the life; we could marvel at the miracle. Or maybe we could listen to an all-too-familiar story and not react at all.

But in reading this story once again, I was struck by the fact that both Martha and Mary say the same thing to Jesus: “If you had been here, my brother would not have died”.

We've met Martha one other time in the gospels when she asks Jesus to tell her lazy sister to come out to the kitchen to help with supper. And Martha is apparently her same self here. She goes out to meet Jesus, and maybe there is a little accusation in her statement; is she angry that Jesus has delayed his coming? Probably. I would have been. And Jesus responds to Martha by talking about what she believes, what her own faith teaches her and what she believes about Jesus. Despite having lost her brother, despite being angry that he has not provided a miracle she knows he could have done, she does not lose her belief that Jesus is the Messiah and the Son of God. The loss of a loved one is always a threat to one's faith – who hasn't prayed that God will send a miracle? And who hasn't been disappointed and maybe even angry with God?

And when Mary speaks the same words, you can hear those words not as accusation but as part of her grief. She falls at his feet, it says. Like Martha she expects nothing from Jesus at this time, but only invites him into her own grief. He has delayed his coming; does he care that his friend has died? And at that point, Jesus himself experiences deep emotion – his weeping is not an act. The Greek words mean “he groaned within himself”. And Mary and the other mourners see from this that Jesus really loved Lazarus.

It is then, of course that Jesus prays and commands the stone be rolled back. We pass right over this statement, but if you were there on that day, why would you have thought Jesus asked that the stone be rolled back? Along with the other mourners, he was weeping. No one expected a miracle, John makes sure we know that. Lazarus has been dead four days, and everyone knew the soul lingered around the body for three days, then went to the afterlife. Martha doesn't expect anything but the smell of a rotting body, even though she has just finished professing her faith. Sometimes we tell each other that if only we have enough faith God will provide a miracle. But in this particular story, no one has faith, no one is expecting a miracle; dead is dead, four days dead is really dead.

And Jesus works the miracle, and Lazarus returns from the dead, lives the rest of his life, and dies again.

So what can we take away from this Gospel story, this famous story of the Raising of Lazarus? First of all, it confirms the words Jesus speaks to Martha – “I am the Resurrection and the life, whoever lives and believes in me will never die.” When we lose someone we love, this is what we can cling to, this is our certainty because Jesus demonstrated to that group of people that he was the source of life. Our faith is real, but maybe like Martha's it is not perfect; but Jesus nevertheless promises that eternal life is yours and mine and our loved ones as well. Second, I think we learn that when we mourn, when we feel completely alone in the depths of our sadness, Our Lord feels what we feel and weeps with us and is moved as we are moved. Our world is the way it is because God gave us freedom, and for freedom to exist there must be consequences of freedom. But when we experience those consequences, he is not a bystander; he shares our grief.

And the third thing he teaches us is that it isn't within our power to bring about a miracle; there is nothing we can do that can change what God has in mind. In this story no one expected a miracle and yet one took place. We should never say, “If only I had more faith ---” or “If only I had prayed harder...” or “If only I had been a better person ...” I might have changed God's mind. As Jesus hinted in this story, miracles are to show God's glory as they did here; they are not rewards.

So when you lose a loved one, and you will and I will, reflect on this story and see yourself in Martha and Mary, and let your faith be strengthened and know that in your sorrow God weeps with you, and accept Jesus' assurance that those who believe in him will never die.

Fourth Sunday of Lent, cycle A

John 9:1-41

So John is telling us about still another miracle of Jesus, right? And the Pharisees are up to their usual tricks, right? And the apostles come across as a little dense, as usual. And I the end Jesus comes across as the only adult in the room. And that's about it, I suppose. Now we can get back to thinking about what we are going to do when Mass is over.

But I don't think any of that is why John tells us this story and spends so much time on the details. I think he is inviting us to look at those Pharisees and look carefully. Because maybe that's where we are in the story.

The blind man is healed. And the first thing the Pharisees debate is whether it is that same blind beggar, or someone who looks like him. The man himself says, “That was me”. They ask him, “how did you gain your sight?” He tells his story. Now they have another problem. Since this healing took place on the Sabbath, the healer violated the Sabbath so couldn't possibly have performed a miracle. “How can a sinner perform such signs?” So they send for the man again, who sticks to his guns. Then they ask the man's parents if he really was blind from birth. They say yes. Then the Pharisees go to the man a third time, and accuse him of lying. He turns their own logic on them; if only the godly can call upon God for a miracle, then obviously this Jesus is of God. And the Pharisees finally give up and kick him out of the synagogue.

We might say those Pharisees are prejudiced. They refuse to believe what is as plain as can be – that a man who was blind has been healed by Jesus. It just doesn't fit their belief system, so it couldn't have happened. This of course isn't the only place where Jesus encourages his followers to see things as they really are, to get past all the pre-judging we do before we look. You remember the story of the Good Samaritan – told by Jesus to people who believed the only good Samaritan was a dead one. Or the story of the Rich Young Man where the apostles learned that being rich does not guarantee your salvation; you can't buy your way into heaven.

And it may be that Jesus was talking about this issue another time when he told his disciples that they had to become like little children if they wanted to enter the kingdom of heaven. I recently entertained one of my smaller grandchildren. She looked at me and told me I didn't have hair on the top of my head. Another time she told me I was very tall. At least she didn't tell me I smelled bad. But like any little child, she calls them like she see's them. No prejudice, no holding back, to her, what you see is what you get.

Our Church has an incredible collection of great thinkers, from the Apostle Paul to Pope Benedict, from Augustine to Theresa of Liseaux. One thing they had in common was the idea that part of being a faithful follower of Jesus was an earnest passion for the truth. And if we want to perceive the truth, we have to know where we have prejudices. When we use that word, of course, we think of issues having to do with race, religion, people who speak other languages; but everything we think we know is sort of a prejudice. And if we think we know something our tendency is not to think about that – or, if we are forced to confront a reality that tells us that what we thought is wrong, we tend to get upset. That, of course, is what is polarizing our nation; no one is willing to change his mind, even when the evidence is there.

Why should we care? Why should we confront our prejudices and try to appreciate reality without blinders? Why should we admit, in all humility, that we might be wrong about something, that a deeply held belief might be an error?

The answer is that what we believe governs what we do. Out of false beliefs come sin and futility in what we do. If we lie to ourselves, we lead sterile lives. If we believe that God favors one group of people more than another, we are denying his infinite love for everyone. If we say that some human beings are not worth keeping around because they are burdens, we deny that to God every human being has purpose and is irreplaceable in his plan. Even false beliefs about the natural world can be harmful. We may believe that climate change is not happening – or we may believe we will soon face a catastrophe of planetary proportions. What we believe will influence what we choose to do, and if we are wrong, all kinds of harm can come from a wrong belief. Doesn't it make sense to seek the truth about this issue rather than side with whichever celebrity or politician is most persuasive? And the same could be said of many other things. But there is more.

Father Ronald Rolhauser makes an interesting point. God is, among other things, Truth. Thomas Aquinas said God was perfect Unity, perfect Goodness, and perfect Truth. We think of the “next life” as heaven, hell, and purgatory, and our human minds conceive of these as “places”. But maybe another way to describe the afterlife is that we will see God without blinders, without the filter of our prejudices, and if we have been in love with truth, we will enter into his perfect life. If we have a lot a prejudgments, we will probably have some pain as we confront truth – like the Pharisees did in this story, like we all do when a deeply held belief is shown to be wrong. And if the Truth of standing before God is too much for us, if we absolutely refuse to dismiss our prejudices, if we decide we hate the truth, as the Pharisees did, well, that's hell.

So there are lots of reasons for Catholics to love the truth, to seek it out, to clear away the cobwebs of prejudice, to listen to each other and to the saints and the scriptures and our Church. God is Love, John tells us. And Jesus calls himself the Truth. Truth and Love – what a wonderful combination for God's people.

Third Sunday of Advent, cycle A

John 4:5-42

In a church somewhere there was a convert named John Smith who was not very well educated, but very enthusiastic. He kept bothering the pastor, asking for something to do, some assignment. Finally the pastor gave him a list of members of the church who had not been to Mass in many months and who had stopped contributing to the church. The assignment was to try to get these people back to active participation in the Church. A few weeks went by and the pastor forgot about the whole thing until one day he got a letter with a check for 1000 dollars. The letter read “Dear Father: Enclosed is my check to make up for all the weeks I've failed to contribute. And I promise that I won't miss Mass on Sunday anymore, you can count on that. By the way, please tell Mr. Smith that there is only one T in Dirty and no C in Skunk.”

Today we meet the woman at the well. She is honored in the Eastern churches as Saint Photini, a name which means 'Equal to the Apostles”. In Russian that name translates as Svetlana. In some parts of the Western church she is also honored. Legend has it that she was an evangelist and a martyr.

I think the Samaritan woman reminds us that being an evangelist is part of our calling as Christians. It is not enough to pray, to fast, to give alms; we need to follow Jesus' command to make disciples in whatever way we can. But it's certainly true for me, and I'm sure for some of you, that making disciples in this day and age seems unnatural; it seems to go against the current; it seems to violate the separation of church and state. Why should we rock the boat? After all, if God wants my friend or neighbor or co-worker to hear his good news, why does he need me?

I think this story tells us so much about evangelizing. Jesus is the first evangelist here, and he begins with an ordinary conversation – he asks for water. I imagine Jesus was actually thirsty; he wasn't just pretending. When we enter into dialogue with someone about faith, our temptation is to feel as though we are giving something to them that they need. How much harder it might be, and maybe more effective, to find something we need that they can give us. Mother Theresa won many converts by this very technique. The story goes that she went into a wealthy man's office in New York and asked for a certain amount of money to open a center. He listened sympathetically and then told her that he couldn't do it right now, but maybe another time. At the end of the day as he walked out into the waiting room he saw her sitting there. “What are you doing?” he asked. “You told me maybe another time,” she said, “and this is another time.” She got the money. She always needed something, and wasn't afraid to ask for it. The same was true for Mother Angelica who founded EWTN. To be vulnerable to the other is a wonderful first step.

Then Jesus identifies what he can give her – living water. She is curious and interested. Notice that Jesus uses what is going on at the moment. He doesn't talk about lofty concepts; he uses what is going on to introduce her to the next step. As the relationship grows, Jesus gently demonstrates that even though he knows she is not perfect, he accepts her anyway. I think this is the reason she recognizes that he is a prophet – not the fact that he knew something that probably everyone in the village knew, but that despite this he accepted her. Finally Jesus finds common ground with her; she points out the difference between Samaritans and Jews, and he points to a future time when true worshipers will worship the Father in Spirit and truth. It is at this point that she begins to recognize that Jesus is the Messiah, and feels impelled to go and tell her neighbors, even though before this whole episode she was probably trying to avoid them, because she had come out in the middle of the day for water – a time when most people would be in their houses out of the noonday sun.

Now obviously this encounter caused the Samaritan woman to become an evangelist herself. Notice that she didn't go to school or spend a lot of time wandering around listening to Jesus. Her simple message was “I have found the Messiah! Come and see!” There's nothing wrong with learning a lot about our faith, in fact, that also is an obligation – we all should learn all we can, so that we take advantage of the wonderful things our faith can bring us. But we don't need to know much to evangelize; we need to tell people that we have found the Messiah and then know where to bring people.

The news is full of stories about the decline in religion in our country. Even among people who identify with a particular faith, those who actually participate are in decline. In my rounds on Friday I met a woman who in answer to my questions told me she was Catholic and she identified with a particular parish – but it turned out that she hadn't actually been to church for about ten years. She gave no reason except that she had gotten too busy and gotten out of the habit. She did intend to return someday, but when she was ready.

The Samaritan woman simply told some of her friends what a difference Jesus had made in her life; he had “told her everything she had done”. That's our job as well, to tell our friends and neighbors everything Jesus has done in our lives. And some of those might indeed someday say, “I no longer believe because of what you have said, because I have heard for myself, and know that he is the savior of the world.”

I was struck by the words of a friend of mine, another deacon who is in his mid-eighties. He tries to evangelize through his writing, among other things. And he said, “I don't want to come before the Lord empty-handed.” The Samaritan woman, despite her failings, despite living in what we might call a state of sin, was not empty-handed when she came before the Lord. And shouldn't you and I desire this as well? Next year this time will someone you know have returned to Church because you have spoken up, because you have said, “I have found the Lord, come and see?” I pray that God will use us, the people of Saint Mary's, to bring new souls to him and old souls back to him.

Second Sunday of Lent, cycle A

Matthew 17:1-9

As you know, Pope John Paul II added five mysteries to the Rosary; he called them the “Mysteries of Light” or as we say, the Luminous mysteries. We normally say them on Thursdays. They basically are little snapshots of the life of Jesus between his being found in the temple and his agony in the garden. They remind us that as important as Christmas and Easter are, Jesus spent three years wandering around Palestine, teaching, working miracles, and above all, forming his disciples.

One of the mysteries of light is the Transfiguration. The story is told in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke, all a little different, but basically the same. In the Gospel of John, the author may have been referring to it when he says, “We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”

The Transfiguration was carried out in the presence of three of the twelve apostles. Why these three? It makes sense that Peter was there, after all, he had been made the head of the apostles by Jesus. Thomas Aquinas says that James was there because he was the first apostle to be martyred. And John, who according to tradition was the only apostle not to be martyred, was also the last to die. John, of course, was also the one Jesus trusted to take care of his mother. So these three are the closest to Jesus, and the only ones who will actually witness the transfiguration.

But after this life-changing event, which leaves the three apostles nearly speechless, except for Peter, of course, Jesus tells them to tell no one about what they have witnessed until after he rises from the dead. So the whole event is kind of puzzling.

When I was going to Catholic grade school I remember one of our teachers telling us that Jesus did this so that the apostles would have faith and be strengthened when they witnessed his crucifixion. That seemed to make sense, but then if that was the case, it didn't work. The apostles abandoned Jesus when he was crucified; Peter denied him three times; and after the crucifixion they went into hiding. They don't seem to have been strengthened. In fact, up until the Resurrection, the three apostles may have thought they had just had a bad dream. After the transfiguration everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye.

But there may have been another reason. When you think about Jesus' life, he worked miracles, of course. But he wasn't the only one. In the Old Testament, many of God's prophets worked miracles, including Moses and Elijah. Jesus was a great teacher; but except for a few things, most of what he taught could be found in the writings of the Prophets, especially Isaiah. In fact his teachings about how we are to care for each other were found in other religions as well. And even rising from the dead – Although Jesus' resurrection was different, the people of that time did not see being wakened from the dead as something that indicated that you were God. Jesus himself raised some people from the dead – as did the apostles Peter and Paul, as did the prophet Elijah.

And that is probably why the Transfiguration is so important. Once Jesus rose from the dead and the apostles remembered the Transfiguration, you had the beginnings of the central doctrines of Christianity – the Incarnation and the Trinity.

The apostles remembered three things from the Transfiguration – first, something happens to Jesus which reveals his divinity. His face shone like the sun, and his clothing became white as light. I'm sure the apostles remembered that when Moses had encountered God people could not look at his face. Second, Jesus is conversing with Moses and Elijah. Moses founded the religion of Israel. Elijah was the great prophet who single-handedly withstood the attempt by Queen Jezebel to substitute her religion for the Jewish religion. And perhaps the apostles remembered Jesus saying “Before Abraham was born, I am!” Because here was Jesus, speaking with people long dead. And finally, they hear the voice of the Father naming Jesus his Son, and commanding the apostles to listen to Him. The Father, who has spoken to Moses and Elijah, as well as Adam and Noah and Abraham and various others throughout Jewish history, speaks to the human race this one last time; from now on his Son will speak for him.

The transfiguration by itself could have been a dream, a hallucination. The Resurrection by itself only proved that God could raise someone from the dead. But put them together, and you can see that Jesus is divine as well as human; that is what the light shining from his face and the garments show them. And the seeds of the Trinity are here as well; because we see Jesus is divine; we see that he transcends time and space; we see that he is called “son” and we hear the Father tell us to listen to him. When God becomes Man he makes it possible for us human beings to take on Divinity. Because we are brothers and sisters of Jesus, we share in his inheritance. We are adopted children of God, and divinity can shine through us as well. And when we understand that God is Trinity, three persons emptying themselves out into each other, we understand that at the heart of creation is love, that Love is why there is anything at all.

Christianity is unique among all the religions of mankind, because we believe in the Incarnation and the Trinity. For two thousand years we have believed, but we are still working out what these mysteries mean and what they tell us about God and our relationship to him. And perhaps that is why the Transfiguration is so important – because Jesus gave them a glimpse of these two central mysteries of our faith there on the mountain.

First Sunday of Lent, cycle A

Matthew 4:1-11

My earliest memories are pretty foggy. But I think I can still resurrect some images from about the time I was four. I know I wasn't in school, my mother was working as a nurse, my dad was working for my mother's father in another city, having just come back from being in the army. I spent the days with my grandparents – who doted on me. I knew I was special. And this was reinforced when my mother had a day off. She would take me shopping, and part of that was to go to the local Woolworth's where she would buy me an ice cream soda. Sometimes she'd buy some little toy. I was the center of the universe! I was special.

As time went on I would now and then get hints that in the eyes of the world I wasn't so special. Being fairly unathletic I would generally get picked last when they were choosing teams for baseball. I didn't belong to the in crowd in high school; I was kind of a nerd in those days and that probably hasn't changed. But there were many times when the world reminded me that I wasn't special. One of the biggest shocks of retiring from my job as a physician was the sudden loss of being special, because like it or not, doctors are considered special.

I think all of us feel special and we like that feeling. We gravitate towards situations where we can be special. And it starts when we are small children.

I think Jesus felt special. He had, after all, just before this passage today, undergone baptism by John, and he heard a voice from heaven saying “this is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased!” That's got to make you feel special. But today we hear of the three temptations in the desert. And what is the common theme running through these temptations? I think the devil is trying to tempt Jesus to believe he is not special, that he is not really the Beloved Son.

Jesus is hungry, as you would be after fasting for 40 days and nights. The devil tells him to turn stones into bread. “If you are the beloved one, why are you standing here hungry?” he seems to be saying. And Jesus does not give in to the temptation. He can be hungry, he can be starving, but he still knows he is the beloved of the Father. He doesn't need proof.

And the same is true when Satan offers him all the kingdoms of the world. He seems to be saying, “If you are so special, why do you have no power at all? Shouldn't special people have more than you have?” And Jesus, of course, redirects the conversation – Only God is deserving of worship; to worship someone or something else, like power, is futile and a waste of energy.

And when Satan suggests he throw himself off the tower to prove that he is special and that God will send his angels to bear him up, Jesus again refuses to yield to this argument. He does not need to put God to the test; he doesn't need any concrete proof that he is God's beloved.

I know a young woman who is dying of cancer. She and her family have stormed heaven for a miracle. It doesn't look like they will get the miracle they want. Certainly she must feel tempted that she is not special, that she is not Beloved of the Father. But that is the assurance we all receive at Baptism. We too step out of the water and our souls hear those words, “You too are my beloved, in whom I am well pleased!” We can wander far, we can live lives of sin, we can fail to live up to our potential, we can lie, cheat, steal and murder – and we can run away from the Father and live with pigs. But nothing can take away the fact that we are beloved, that the Father continues to love us, that it is as though we are his only one, his only child.

In Lent we remember that we are flawed, that we are sinful creatures. And we undertake penances to discipline ourselves, to turn our back on our sins and repent, and to demonstrate with more than words that we want to return to our Father, that we are sorry for drifting away from his love. And the Father delights in what tokens we offer him. And when we make these little efforts, he reaches down and loves us and helps us to draw closer to him.

My brothers and sisters, Lent is a time to remember that we are beloved, despite the fact that the world keeps telling us otherwise. The world steps on us, the world tells us that we are just one of some seven billion people, that we are subject to accident and disease and ultimately death, that our plans seldom turn out the way we want them to – Oh, yes, the world is always telling us that we are nobody, that we are alone, that we are victims of fate, that once we are gone we will scarcely be missed.

But that is the devil talking, who is constantly tempting us, who is telling us that we are nobody, that we are at the mercy of fate, that God isn't really interested in me, or what I do. The devil is telling us that God only loves the people who are perfect, the people who do harsh penances, the people who live lives as monks or nuns. The devil says that if we want God's love we need to do more, pray more, sacrifice more. The devil tells us that we might as well give up, we will never be Beloved.

But we are, and we need to remind ourselves and each other of this every day.. Husbands should remind their wives that they are beloved, and vice versa; and parents should tell their children, and employers should tell their employees. What a world we would live in if we were constantly reminding each other that we are beloved, and that we are pleasing to God – without doing anything; just be being.

Ash Wednesday, 2017

Just recently we visited my oldest daughter who lives outside of Washington DC. I was greeted excitedly by her youngest daughter, age almost six, who followed me around telling me about whatever was on her mind. I sat down and she disappeared for a few minutes, then brought me a piece of candy which she had apparently unwrapped for my convenience, leaving chocolate marks on her hands. And do you know, I was deeply touched. It wasn't that she gave me her last piece of chocolate – it turned out she had more. It wasn't that I needed the chocolate. It was simply that I recognized she had done this out of love.

Therese of Liseaux, the Little Flower, is a doctor of the Church, primarily because she brought to the attention of the Church that little acts done with great love are precious to the Father. The Father needs nothing we can give him. But, being a Father, it seems likely that he takes delight in the little things we do out of love for Him.

We are about to embark on another Lent. You are here getting marked with ashes as a reminder that our time on earth is limited. We are reminded that everything we can do, everything anyone can do, is in the long run, so much ash. The great men and women of the past are just distorted memories now. And the ashes remind us that this is our fate as well – in this world.

And it's traditional for Catholics to select a penance for lent. I don't think Penance is the best word. What we are really trying to do is put something in our lives, or take something out of our lives, so that when Easter rolls around we are closer to God. And if you are like me, you might have selected something and a week into lent you may have fallen and gotten up again a few times, and maybe eventually you gave up. Or maybe you persisted to the end, hardly being able to wait for Easter, when you can go back to your old self; eating that candy, drinking that cocktail, watching that television program. On Easter Sunday it will be as though you never underwent a penance.

But remember that little acts done with great love are precious to the Father. This year instead of a dramatic penance, I invite you to select something little, something that you can do in a few minutes, something that doesn't require much on your part. And when you do this, talk to the Father; tell him you love him, and you are offering this little token of your love, just like my granddaughter offered me her sticky piece of chocolate. And do this every day during lent – the little action and the words of love and affection.

So what might that look like? One person was used to having two cups of tea in the morning. He gave up the first, drinking hot water instead and offering this little token to the Father. Then he would have his second cup of tea as usual. Or you might set the alarm for five minutes earlier than usual, and when it goes off, give those extra five minutes you could have been sleeping to the Father, and speak to Him with love. Or if you are in the habit of reading the newspaper starting with the sports page, start with the comics instead and offer that to the Father, with your love. Little things, done with prayers of love, might just bring you closer to the Father than most of the things you've done in the past.

Now I would suggest that you do something like this every day. But you should also do something once or twice a week. We have stations of the cross every Friday evening followed by a communion service. That will take a little more than half an hour out of your week. We have a course on the Book of Revelation – I always enjoy learning new things and believe me, most Christians know very little about the Book of Revelation. We have bible study in the afternoon and again in the evening; check the bulletin. And between two thirty and three fifteen every Tuesday we have adoration before the Blessed Sacrament (that's spiritual radiation therapy, by the way) along with the recitation of the Rosary, the chaplet of Divine Mercy, and formal repose of the Blessed Sacrament. Under 45 minutes! And remember that you are making a commitment for just a short duration – a commitment to a little act done with great love every day, and a commitment of time to do something to bring yourself closer to God once a week.

God isn't asking you to be a martyr or wear a hair shirt or completely upend your life. As you undertake your Lenten practices, remember why you are doing them – They are to show your Father that you love him and that you are aware that He loves you in return. This is the way to use Lent, This is the way to undergo transformation. Today as you receive the ashes, remind yourself that maybe this is the last Lent you will have. And ask the Father and our Blessed Mother to help you make a good Lent.

Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle A

Matthew 6:24-34

A few years back, there was a cartoon which showed a man curled up on the floor while his wife sat in a chair looking horrified. There was a bomb on the floor and the fuse was lit. Shards of glass from the broken window were all around. The man was saying, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't worry enough about this happening!” Do you know anyone like that?

Someone did a study once. 40% of what people worry about never happens; 35% involve things that can't be changed. 15% of the worries actually turned out better than expected. And 8% had to do with small, insignificant things which the person recognized as not worthy of worrying about, but did so anyway. But still I worry.

So Jesus tells us not to worry? I don't think so. We human beings are designed to worry. If it weren't for our ancestors living in caves worrying about food and shelter and how to keep away the wild animals, we wouldn't be here. If it weren't for our ancestors who struggled every day to get enough to eat – if they hadn't worried, we wouldn't be here. We have inherited a strong tendency to worry. But Jesus couldn't be more clear.

So what if I stopped worrying? If I didn't worry about food, God would see to it that the Big Y would deliver a package every day, right? If I didn't worry about shelter, God would send a check to the town of Longmeadow to pay my property taxes, right? Isn't that what Jesus is saying?

And when you think about it, the birds of the air who never worry seldom live through a year or two before they become someone's dinner or freeze to death because they forgot to fly south. And yes, the flowers are beautiful, but only for a little while and then they dry up and turn brown and what good are they?

So what is Jesus getting at?

When I was very young I had every intention of becoming a cowboy. My parents got me a cap pistol and a pair of cowboy boots and I was all set. However, that didn't work out. When I was in high school, I wanted to learn all I could about mathematics, and thought I would become a professor. But that didn't work out. In college I decided to become a missionary, and wanted to have a medical degree, so I majored in biology. But after I had the medical degree a few years later, I also had a family and my impulse was long gone. And here I am in the tail end of my life and I look back and see that everything I planned to do never happened. And everything I worried about never happened. And yet, somehow, God led me down a path which I probably wouldn't have taken if I had made all the decisions. And I'm really very happy with the way things turned out, even though I had very little to do with it, except go along with the flow.

And I can see how during the course of my life the rough edges of my personality have been ground off, (God isn't quite done with that, my wife tells me) and the selfishness and self-centeredness have been partly removed; and my ability to empathize with other people has increased somewhat. God has been at work in my life.

And I think, what if I had learned not to worry a long time ago? What if I learned not to worry right now? How much more could God do if I didn't constantly stand in his way because of worry? Because worry presumes that I can actually influence my future. But all I have to do to disabuse myself of that notion is look back on my life. And how many times did I start down the wrong path because I worried about the future?

Jesus is, after all, not saying we shouldn't be prudent. There's nothing wrong with saving for retirement or your kid's education. But tomorrow you could have a heart attack. Or some terrorist could decide to blow himself up a few feet away from you. Or you could begin that long slide into Alzheimer's disease that you can't do anything about. Everything is contingent.

What Jesus wants us to remember is that for us Christians, God has our back. Do you remember how Jesus told his apostles that he had to go to Jerusalem and be tried and crucified? Jesus knew, as a human being, that if he went to Jerusalem, it was extremely likely that he would be killed. He didn't have to go. If he had worried, he would be headed in the other direction. And on the cross, he cried out “My God, why have you forsaken me?” But in the end, he said, “Into your hands I commend my spirit.” Jesus as a human being did not know what would happen beyond death. If he knew that he would rise again in glory, his suffering would be a sham. But Jesus knew what you and I know – God has our back. He proved it when he raised up his Son.

Many translations of this passage tell us that we cannot serve God and money. But the original word was “Mammon” which was a Greek word that reflected the Aramaic word Jesus used. We aren't sure what that word means; it is the only place in the bible that we find it. Some of the semetic peoples who were not Jewish had a word like that. It seemed to mean something like “The Wealth that I can trust”. And that is why Jesus contrasts God with Mammon. Where do we put our trust. We can't have it both ways. And only by trusting in God, which means fighting to get rid of all those chronic worries which kind of imply that I am in control, can we let God into our lives so that he can transform them.

Whenever you worry, remember, God has your back. Then stop worrying and invite God to take over. I'm still working at it, but that's the point; don't give up.