Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle A

Matthew 16:21-27

If you remember the gospel from last Sunday, you heard Jesus give Simon a new name -- Peter.  Today poor old Peter gets another new name -- Satan.  And you see in the story today that Jesus calls Peter an obstacle.  Actually, in Greek he calls him skandalon, which means a rock you stumbled over.  Peter goes from a rock upon which Jesus will build his church to a rock that Jesus could stumble over.  

Peter is acting in a very human way.   He has heard Jesus predict his suffering and death.  He doesn’t want that for his friend, so he protests.  Does Jesus over-react?  I wonder if Jesus is remembering his temptations in the desert, not too long before this.  There Satan tempted Jesus with the easy way; if you are hungry, turn these stones into bread; if you worship me, I’ll give you the kingdoms of the world, Satan tells him.  And these were real temptations, just as what Peter is proposing is a temptation.  Jesus is a human being and doesn’t want to be nailed to a cross and hang there waiting to die any more than you or I want that.  Jesus knows that he has God’s power, and he can draw huge crowds; it wouldn’t be hard for him to overthrow the Roman empire and reform the Jewish religion.  And maybe that’s why Jesus reacts to Peter’s statement -- he’s been thinking the same thing.  

And then he proceeds to tell his apostles how God thinks, and how they must think.  “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself; whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; what can one give in exchange for his life?  And if you look at Jesus’ public life, you can see that he puts this way of thinking into practice, not just at the time of his suffering and death, but in many other cases.  He attracts huge crowds, but then in the middle of the night moves on to another city.  He alienates some potential allies, the Pharisees, who are sincerely trying to live according to God’s law, by calling them whitewashed tombs.  The gospels for the weekdays this past week contained statements to this effect.  And he says things that drive away all but the most devoted; he tells the crowds that they must eat his body and drink his blood.  So Jesus keeps his eyes on what he knows is his destiny, but what as a human being he truly dreads.  And eventually most of the apostles get it -- because you can’t be much of an apostle if you don’t think the way God thinks.

When I was growing up, I lived in a town that was roughly 30 percent Catholic and 70 percent other, mostly protestants but ex Catholics, Mormons, and oddly enough, we even had a Baha'i meeting house that I rode past on my bicycle to school.  A lot of religious diversity.  But everyone had roughly the same morality.  It wasn’t a golden age by any means.  There was a lot of prejudice, especially toward native Americans, and the few Chinese and African Americans that lived in our small town.  But even the most red necked of us recognized that this was wrong.  There was anti-Catholic prejudice as well, and we Catholics didn't think much of the local Lutherans, and so on.  But we agreed that religion was a good thing.  I don’t know if there were any gay people -- almost certainly there were, but that topic never rose to the level of being part of anyone’s conversation.  And when someone stepped outside the bounds of our public morality, there were various degrees of pressure put on him or her, by family, friends, the community, in the hopes that the person would come back into the fold.  My dad had a friend who was a physician.  When that individual left his wife and kids for another woman, he lost my dad’s friendship as well as that of many others, so much so that he moved to a different city.  We were far from perfect, but we knew right from wrong.

Today we, and I include myself, are afraid of thinking as God thinks.  We are like Peter.  We don’t want trouble, for us or our friends or anyone else.  There are things we Catholics are against officially at least, ranging from abortion to euthanasia; to sex outside of marriage, to the tremendous imbalance between rich and poor, to ignoring the homeless and hungry.  But the voices on the other side are so loud and ours are so quiet.  And our silence is like Peter’s temptation to Jesus; our silence tells our society that we don’t really mean what we believe.

Jesus does not hold back.  He tells his friend that he is not just wrong, but that his being wrong puts him in danger of losing his immortal soul, losing his true life.  And he gives us, his disciples, an insight into how God thinks.  And it’s our job to tell our friends and relatives, especially our children, how God thinks.  If we live and speak the way Jesus taught, and teach that to those around us, we have nothing to fear when the Son of Man repays every person according to his conduct.   

Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle A

Matthew 16:13-20

They used to make a big thing about names.  They still do, in many parts of the world.  Some of the tribes of Native Americans would give different names to a person  as he or she passed through different stages in life.  Little Squirrel would eventually become Soaring Eagle, and so forth.  Giving a new name to someone often meant being endowed with new powers, with new authority, with new responsibilities.  We see some traces of that in our own Catholic traditions.  When we baptize someone, we baptize them by name; it’s as though we name them in the presence of God.  When someone is confirmed, he or she traditionally takes the name of a saint.  Mine was Thomas after Thomas Aquinas.  One of my classmates wanted to take the name Arthur, because he really liked the stories he’d read of King Arthur.  In those days we didn’t have Google, so Sister Mary Susan made him take another name.  But  Google showed me that there was a Saint Arthur of Glastonbury, who was one of the English martyrs.  Finally, it’s traditional in many religious orders for those who profess their final vows to take a new name.  Growing up, almost all the nuns who taught me were Sister Mary Something or Other.  If you called out “Sister Mary” many heads would turn.  

Taking a new name in our tradition means that we recommit to leading a holy life.  We in a sense turn our backs on the past and fix our gaze on the future, keeping in mind that we are always getting closer to that point in time when the opportunity to grow in holiness, in closeness to God, in friendship to Christ, will no longer exist.  At my age I can feel this moment approaching.  

Jesus gives Peter a new name in today’s gospel.  He calls him “Peter”, Petros, in Greek, and Cephas in Hebrew.  He might have called him “Rocky” in English.  And Jesus makes a little pun on that name, he says Blessed are you, rock, upon this rock I will build my church.  The Greek word for Church is ekklesia, which means drawing people out.  Peter’s job is to be used by Jesus to gather people together out of the world’s population.  

Not everyone is saved.  We’d like to think so, and sometimes we turn to scripture to support our view.  But it’s a thin support. There's a lot more to support that those saved are in a sense drawn out of the human race.  We don’t know what percentage.  If you go by Sister Faustina, everyone gets three chances after they have died to accept God’s mercy and therefore his salvation.  If you go by Saint Theresa of Avila , she had a vision in which she saw souls falling into hell like snowflakes.  And Jesus himself tells us that many will enter through the wide gate that leads to destruction.  

The point is not that we should worry about how many souls are lost.  The point isn’t even that we should have an opinion about this.  It’s not a question we can answer.  The only question we can answer is whether we are working on our salvation and whether we are in any way being obstacles to other people who are seeking salvation.  

I’m sure many of you have read the recent pastoral letter from Bishop Strickland of Texas who offered seven statements which he holds are unchanging truths handed down from the apostles.  His concern is that several of these truths are being threatened by modernist tendencies in the church, including the forthcoming synod on synodality.  I hope you will read it and see if you agree.  But the very first statement is that “Christ established One Church—the Catholic Church—and, therefore, only the Catholic Church provides the fullness of Christ’s truth and the authentic path to His salvation for all of us”.  The sixth statement begins “The belief that all men and women will be saved regardless of how they live their lives (a concept commonly referred to as universalism) is false and is dangerous, as it contradicts what Jesus tells us repeatedly in the Gospel.” 

The bottom line is that the Church Jesus established at the moment we read about in this gospel is still around, and still has as one of its main purposes to draw people out of the world onto the path to salvation, using you and I, who have been called by name, at baptism, at confirmation.  The gates of the netherworld, or hell, will not prevail against the Church, Jesus promised that.  But each of us can decide whether we are part of that mission or whether we will stand aside passively.  So today let us pray that like Peter, we will know how to answer our Lord when he asks us, “Who do you say that I am?”  Because we Catholics believe that Jesus is the head and the Church is his body, and they can’t be separated.  Pray for the future of our church and for the strength and wisdom to uphold what Jesus, the Messiah, the son of God, teaches through her.  

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle A

Matthew 15:21-28

When you hear the gospel today, it doesn’t sound very much like the Jesus we think we know. Here is a desperate woman who calls out for his help, and he ignores her. She keeps calling out and the disciples tell him to send her away. Finally, she gets his attention, and he rebuffs her. “I was sent only to the lost sweep of the house of Israel,” he tells her. But even that doesn’t stop her. So he insults her. “It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.” Of course we know how this ends, because I’ve just read the gospel to you and it’s very familiar; the woman seems to make a little joke and Jesus is so pleased that he compliments her on her faith and heals the daughter.

So there are two people to learn from in this story. One is the Canaanite woman. Jesus, according to Matthew’s story, has crossed the border from Israel into the land of Tyre and Sidon. This was pagan territory. This was where the remnants of the people that had been defeated by the Jews lived. Caananites had once had a kingdom in what was now Israel. A Canaanite would have to be very desperate or even foolish to expect anything from a Jew, even if she had the nerve to ask for something. But she didn’t give up. I recently met a man in a nursing home who had been raised a Catholic, married in the Church, raised his children Catholic, and continued to be active in his parish until his wife died. He told me that this was the moment when he lost his faith, because God didn’t answer their prayers. A few doors down from that man was a lady who had lost her husband of just a few months before being admitted to the hospital for fractures sustained in a fall. They had also prayed for a miracle, but even though she was sad and missed him, she was convinced that he was in heaven and waiting for her, and his death had only increased her faith that God had everything under control.

We could perhaps say that Jesus’ treatment of the Canaanite woman was to demonstrate to those around him the depth of her faith, or perhaps strengthen her faith. Saint Augustine, after all, said that God sometimes withholds what we ask for so that our faith will increase. Or perhaps it was to show that we should persist in prayer, never giving up on God, as the man I mentioned seemed to have. Because finding the hand of God in our lives is perhaps the object of prayer. The Canaanite woman did get what she requested. The lady I mentioned seemed to have received the assurance that all was well with her departed husband. God answers prayers, you just have to look for the answer.

The other person to learn something from is our savior, Jesus. As we heard in the first reading, the idea that salvation would come to the Jews first, and then to other nations, was not original with Jesus. Isaiah foretold it and so did other prophets. Jesus himself explicitly says “salvation is from the Jews” when he is speaking to the woman at the well in the gospel of John. So it is not surprising that Jesus and his apostles react to this woman as they initially did. Some people read into this story that it’s there to tell us that Jesus’ message is for everyone. But Jesus didn’t change his plan -- he continued to minister to the Jews as he had been doing before this event. And the earliest Christians mostly Jewish people, clearly saw their role in salvation history -- to receive the message and bring it to the world. So I see this as a moment in which Jesus re-examines his own beliefs.

Jesus is, after all, human, and even though he is also God, we are told in the gospel of Luke that he grew in wisdom and stature. Of course God knows everything, but God can’t be a human being if he can’t learn. How do I explain this? I don’t. But I do think this story is here partly to tell us that we should be open to changing our deeply held beliefs if the evidence is there. Jesus probably hasn't given much thought to whether Canaanite pagans had faith; they worshiped different Gods and didn’t follow Jewish dietary and purity rules, which of course had been given to the Jews by God through Moses. Why would they have faith? But confronted by the evidence, Jesus commends the woman for her faith and works a miracle for her.

Don’t give up on prayer, even if it seems that God is not answering prayer. He always does. Look for evidence.

If you are in a situation where your prejudices are challenged, don’t be afraid to open yourselves up to change. Jesus did.

If you have someone who has fallen away from the faith, or never seemed to have faith in the first place, remember that Jesus is showing us that God is not bound by our rules. Jesus came for the lost sheep of Israel, but steps out of his mission in answer to someone’s prayer.

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle A

Matthew 14:22-33

Can you remember a time when you were really, really afraid? Once when my family and I were vacationing in Acadia National Park, I took my two youngest down to the water, which meant climbing down some not too difficult rocks. After a while we decided to go back up by another route, a more difficult climb. As we climbed the tide came in, making it impossible to go back down. And I had two children perched on the cliff wall and had to figure out a way to get them to the top. That was a moment of intense fear but after collecting myself and breaking down the problem into smaller pieces, I managed to get us all to the top of the cliff, back to the road, and back to our campsite.

You and I probably have irrational fears as well. I’m afraid of heights. I don’t like to stand on balconies looking down, even when there is a railing in place. I know someone who is afraid of going out of her house. I remember a word I learned a long time ago -triskaidekaphobia-- the fear of the number thirteen. What is your irrational fear?

The apostles had a real fear -- that they were going to drown; and an irrational fear -- that what they were witnessing was a ghost. The world today is a fearful place, we have both rational fears -- like atomic war breaking out, or climate change destroying our world; and irrational fears -- of the stranger that turns up in our midst, the one with a foreign accent or odd looking clothes or wearing a hijab. And we and the world long to cry out for a savior.

And that’s what this miracle is all about. It’s not just another case of Jesus demonstrating that he is capable of miracles, that he is the Son of God, that he is God incarnate. If we are reading through Matthew or in fact any of the gospels, we soon become immune to the miracles. Another healing, another exorcism, more drowning pigs, more escaping the clutches of the Pharisees.

The apostles were deathly afraid. They would have given anything to get out of there, to escape the danger they were in. Real dangers. Imagined dangers. To be somewhere else, on dry land, away from ghosts. And that’s usually what we pray for when we are very afraid -- “Get me out of here, Lord.”

But that’s not Jesus’ way. Jesus comes to the disciples through the storm. When you think about it, this makes sense. After all, God is in the storm, in the water. He created everything and wherever something of his creation exists, he is there. When the angel tells Joseph to take Mary into his home despite the fact that she is with child, he calls the child Emmanuel -- which means “God with us”. Jesus is God with us, that’s the whole point of the Incarnation.

So the apostles, in their fear, realize their helplessness, and in that moment God comes into their lives in Jesus. Our storms and fears are where we abandon ourselves to God. But most of the time, we don’t do this until we feel that God has abandoned us. It’s in the very midst of the storm that threatens us that new life emerges. That of course is the crucifixion and resurrection -- we need to become empty before God can fill us up.

Of all the apostles, Peter seems to get it this time. “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” The other apostles are content to stay in the boat; Peter recognizes Jesus in the middle of the storm and one his word, steps out of the boat, and we can assume walks on the water for at least a few steps. And when Peter’s fears overcome his confidence in Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us, he sinks, but he has enough faith to cry out again, “Save me”, and Jesus does.

Sometimes when we read about saints we envy their faith, their certainty. But what we know of Peter is that sometimes his faith was strong and sometimes weak or non-existent. I think that’s the way most of us are. When things are going well, we have the sense that God is on our side, blessing us with his generosity and love. But when things turn bad, when the storms of life begin to rock our boat, we ask, “Where are you, God?” forgetting that He is with us, holding out his hand, promising he will save us.

Peter must have grown in his faith. Legend has it that when he was condemned he asked to be crucified upside down, because he wasn’t worthy to die as Jesus had died. But it took a lifetime to get to that point. Follow Peter through the New Testament and you will see someone who is like you and I even after the resurrection, even after spending three years watching Jesus do the works of God. According to John, after the Resurrection Peter didn’t know what to do next, so he said, “I’m going fishing”. I’m going to return to where I feel safe where I know how things work. And after Peter received the great commission, to feed Jesus’ lambs and sheep, he had to be reprimanded by Paul because he stopped eating with the Gentile converts. So don’t be disheartened if your faith wavers; so did Peter. And remember that even with a little faith, Jesus is there to take you through the storm.

Feast of the Transfiguration

Matthew 17:1-9

You’ve probably heard sermons on the Transfiguration many times.  The Transfiguration is described in Matthew, Mark and Luke in slightly different ways, and referred to by the author of the first epistle of Peter, who claims to have been an eyewitness.  But the essential story is the same.  

What do you do with this story that we’ve just heard?  There are three themes that people seem to concentrate on.  One is that Jesus does this so as to assure his inner circle, Peter, James and John, that he is the Messiah that the Jews have been expecting, so that when his crucifixion takes place, they will be the ones who convince the rest of the disciples to keep the faith.  That of course didn’t work out so well, because as we all know, Peter claimed he did not know Jesus, and the rest of the apostles deserted him as well.  John tells us that “the beloved disciple” stayed at the foot of the cross, but most scholars think John is using the beloved disciple figure as a stand in for the ideal Christian.  

A second motif is to point out that here is old Peter again, missing the point, speaking before thinking.  Kind of like you and I, right?  In the gospels Peter comes across as the disciple who always misunderstands, especially in Mark.  In fact, for a long time because of this people thought of the gospel of Mark as sort of a transcription of what Peter remembered.  Matthew and Luke and John all try to paint Peter, who by then is a hero to the church, a leader who got things off to a good start, a martyr who died hanging upside down on a cross -- as someone who finally learned his lesson -- but Mark, taking down the words of Peter, paints him as continuing to be foolish and hardheaded.  So, you and I are like Peter, we misunderstand, we get things wrong, we are not very good disciples.  But like Peter, God works with the clay that we are, and will continue to build up his church using us, the imperfect ones, the flawed rocks that make up his church.

A third motif is that Peter and the others want to stay up on top of the mountain, preserving this moment when God shows himself.  That’s well and good, but should they be up there when the message they are meant to proclaim is down here, at the foot of the mountain, where the people who are like sheep without a shepherd live?  Shouldn’t the shepherds be down there smelling like their sheep, not up on the mountaintop contemplating divine things.  But Jesus actually says nothing about this.  All he says when things are all over, is that they are to tell no one.  And of course, “do not be afraid”, which might be easier said than done after you’ve heard the voice of God the Father. 

And of course, I could mention that Jesus is the culmination, not only of the law, represented by Moses, but the prophets as well, represented by Elijah.   

Well, maybe there is another way to look at this event in the story of Jesus.  The Transfiguration after all, is a moment of clarity.  Peter and the others behold Jesus as he really is -- a man out of whom divinity shines, the Son who reflects the light of the Father.  Peter has a moment when he not only sees the divinity of Jesus, but he also sees in one moment what that divinity is all about -- Jesus became Man so that we may become God.  Not literally, of course, but Jesus did make it possible for human beings to take on divinity, to reflect the glory of God in their beings, to enjoy the great heavenly banquet for all eternity.  Jesus shows them how we all are meant to be.  And Peter gets it right for a change.  “Let us build three tents here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.”   Let us preserve this moment when we can look at what humans are to become, what God has meant for us to be.  And Jesus does not say, “No, you don’t understand, that’s not why I did this.”  He says instead, “Rise and do not be afraid”.  Because what God has in store for us should make us afraid, a little bit.  Because we clearly don’t deserve it, what God has destined is indeed that he draws us into the ocean of his grace, that we become children of Jesus’ Father, that for us, death will be the mere turning of a page in our destiny of eternal life.  That’s the vision of Peter, that’s what we need to carry down from the mountain -- that God loves us so much he wants to give us his own life, immortal life, life without limitations.  

Peter is wrong about one thing, though.  He wants to build tents for Moses and Elijah, but he doesn’t need to build a tent for Jesus -- Jesus' body is the tent, the tabernacle, that shines forth with the presence of God.  

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle A

 

Matthew 10:37- 42

What is your image of God? I think we all have an image of God, but of course with any sort of reflection we know that isn’t how God looks. Many Christians imagine Jesus when they think of God, but what we really imagine is some picture we’ve seen of Jesus. And you would have to go far and wide to find a picture that was not of a white man with blue eyes and a beard. And we can probably say that is not at all how Jesus looked. When I was a kid my image of God was pretty conventional -- in the Cathedral of Saint Helena, my parish church, you could see God reaching out to bring Adam to life, and he was elderly, long flowing robes, grey beard, being held up by a pack of angels -- and God did not look like a loving father, more like a king.

That’s one of the problems we have nowadays. People don’t resonate with the images of God that we put out there. We call him Creator, and that’s fine, though it’s hard to relate to that. We call him Father, and sadly, a lot of people in the world, especially the western world, really have very little positive experience with a father. A common complaint is that fathers are too busy making their way in the world to be truly present to their children. I’m guilty. And of course for others “father” connotes an abuser, or maybe someone who comes by every other weekend to take you out for ice cream and a movie. And then there are those who have never known their father. We call him a just judge, and in the same breath the fountain of mercy. And we have prayers and songs about how Jesus, and sometimes Mary, spends a lot of time interceding for us so as to stay the righteous anger of God.

Today’s gospel is divided into two parts. The first is a bit scary. Can I really say I love Jesus more than anyone else? I’m not even sure what that means. And taking up my cross and following? I automatically began to draw comparisons: I know people who have taken up their cross in spades, and others who haven’t touched their cross, and I hope I’m somewhere in between. And I’ve had a very privileged life, all through no fault of my own. And even though I’m old, I don’t want to lose my life, if I’m honest with myself. As the old country song goes, “Lord I want to go to heaven, but I don’t want to go tonight.”

Jesus is God, I believe. And that’s Jesus talking to you and me. And I fall short. Maybe you do as well.

But then we hear some other lines -- who receives you receives me, and receives the one who sent me. Whoever receives a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward, likewise for a righteous man, likewise for even giving a glass of water to someone because he is a disciple -- I get the same reward as those. So what does “receive'' mean in this context? It’s like the first reading -- the woman who made it easier for Elisha the prophet to go about his mission. Now that's the kind of God I can go along with, right? My charitable contributions are buying me points. When I give up some time and energy to be of service -- well, I’ll be rewarded.

And Jesus is God, and he is talking to you and me. And maybe I won't fall short. Because even though I’m not a great saint, even though I haven’t given up everything, I do some things to make the efforts of God’s messengers a little easier. And thus I receive Jesus, and receive the Father who sent him into the world. What could be better than that?

Which is your God? Which is your Jesus?

Sometimes we get a better idea of God when we look at Jesus’ actions as opposed to his words. Words are always tricky. When you say something very clearly -- to you -- others can misinterpret. But it’s harder to misinterpret actions. During Jesus’ active ministry he went about the towns and villages of Galilee -- farm country, seaside towns, places far from the temple and official religion. And he would meet people where they were and give them what he could give them. He didn’t ask much except from the apostles and the rich young man. Some of those he healed wanted to join his movement and yet he sent them home to bring the good news to their families. When he met people who needed something, he gave them what they needed -- always in the direction of making them whole, bringing them back into the mainstream of human life. And then he turned toward Jerusalem and during his last weeks on earth he alienated most of his followers, and died alone, except for his mother and the beloved disciple.

And that’s what we should do as well. Encourage those who seem to have a mission from God; help those in our path that need something we can give them; be sensitive to the cry of the poor, and poor comes in many flavors. If someone needs a drink of water, I can take care of that. And if we go about doing what Jesus did, meeting the needs of our fellow human beings, supporting those who are trying to bring the world to Christ, we will gradually find ourselves walking towards Jerusalem, where our faith will be tried, where we will recognize that we have been taking up the cross, and we have been loving him more than any others, and that his resurrection will be ours as well.

So deep in our hearts we have to answer the question, who is God for me? For some, it will be the God to whom I give everything; and to others it will be the God who rewards even a drink of water offered because we see Jesus in the other person. And it is the same God.

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, cycle A

Matthew 10:26 - 33

Today is the anniversary of my parent's wedding. I don’t know all the details, of course, but sometime in the fall of 1940 my mom, who was a nurse in training, met my dad, who was a patient recovering from removal of his appendix.  Sparks must have flown, because by June of 1941 they were married, and by December of 1942 they had me.  In between their marriage and me, the United States formally entered world war 2.  I’m told it was not my fault.  Nevertheless, my dad and many of his friends enlisted in the military, and before you know it, Dad was in Tennessee learning to fly fighter planes.  When I was just about 18 months old, my Mom and I traveled from Montana to Tennessee to be together again.  Dad had almost qualified as a fighter pilot when the war ended.  Fighter pilots who actually fight had a mortality rate of about 50%.  So I guess my two sisters were lucky.

Dad enlisted partly because the alternative would be to get drafted, and enlisted men had some choice in the direction of their military careers.  But what motivated most of the young men entering the military was a deep love of their country and a hatred for those who would harm it.  And I suspect that’s true of most successful armies -- at some level those soldiers are willing to put their lives on the line for their country.  That, apparently, is a big difference between the Ukrainian soldiers and the Russian ones.  

How can you put your life on the line?  Only by realizing that you are part of something greater than yourself.  Your mind and heart tell you that your cause will live on, your country will continue, in that sense you are immortal.

Today Jesus talks about the same thing, only far more real.  The reason we Christains can boldly proclaim the Gospel is because the Father loves us.  Jesus reminds us that God cares about even the birds of the air, and undoubtedly all creatures, from Blue Whales to bacteria -- they exist entirely because He loves them into existence.  And we are so much more than that. Jesus did not become a Blue Whale or a bacteria, he became a human being, making us part of something infinitely great -- we are part of God’s family and a Parent can never forget his or her child, and would do anything he could to keep them from harm and make them happy.  Our Father will never forget his children, and has the power and desire to keep them from harm and make them happy.  

This last week we celebrated the feast of Saint Thomas More  and Saint John Fisher.  We know something about the details of More’s death.  Before he was executed, we have his defense at his trial and two letters written to his daughter, a final letter smuggled out of the Tower of London, and the epitaph he wrote for himself.  We can see that this was a man who deeply loved his family, and insisted that he bore nothing but good will toward the King; he just couldn’t acknowledge the King as the head of Christ’s church on earth.  He was given several opportunities to compromise even in some small way.  He was finally sentenced to life in prison, and then told that despite that, he still had to acknowledge the King as head of the Church.  His failure to do so led to his sentence to death.  

As he was about to be decapitated, he forgave his executioner, asked that his beard be spared, since it had done no harm, and finally declared, “I die the King’s good servant, but God’s first.”  

Consider the complete trust More had in God.  Not just trust that he would live on, that he would be in paradise.  We all believe that or we wouldn’t be here.  But we can all sympathize with that line from a country song, “Lord I want to go to heaven, but I don’t want to go tonight.”  We’d all like one more day, at least, because life after death will be nothing like this life, and we prefer the familiar..  But More not only believed he would live on after death, but he trusted that God would look after his family and his country, for he was a patriot.  And putting everything you care about in God’s hands is never easy.  

But More took Jesus’ words to heart -- “do not be afraid of those who can kill the body, but not the soul.”  

Maybe being a Christian would be easier if we had to worry about martyrdom.  John Fisher and the other English martyrs all made the conscious choice to continue their efforts knowing that death was highly likely.  Nowadays, to stand up for Christ doesn’t mean we’ll be martyred.  But often it means we will be ridiculed -- maybe our jobs will be in jeopardy.  Maybe we will be canceled.  But we can still take comfort in the fact that we are part of something too big to kill, too good to destroy -- the family of Jesus Christ whose Father never forgets his children.