Growing in faith



September 19, 2021





At the beginning of the year, there was the uplifting news that a new podcast Bible In A Year (with Fr. Mike Schmitz) topped the Apple Podcast chart not just for religious or for Christian offerings but for every type of offering. It was noteworthy for a few reasons.


The first is because the Bible, and a Catholic priest, had debuted at the top of the Apple Podcast charts, beating out formidable competition from the New York Times’ the Daily, Dateline NBC, Crime Junkie, and many other popular, well-established offerings. At a time when Christians in general are feeling marginalized and the world is trying to pronounce the Church irrelevant, it was a helpful reminder of the influence Catholics still can and do have. The second is because Catholics are listening to the Bible by the millions. For years I have been recommending, asking, encouraging, exhorting, and calling Catholic faithful, young and old, as well as seminarians, religious, brother priests to take up the Bible and read it, reminding them that reading the Bible in a year only takes about 15 minutes a day. For Christmas, I purchased several copies of the Augustine Institute’s Bible in a Year: Your Daily Encounter with God and distributed them as gifts, but lighting these spiritual matches unfortunately never ignited a bonfire. This podcast has, as dozens of Catholics I know who previously had never read the whole Bible, including family members, have been faithfully listening to Fr. Schmitz’s daily editions.


That brings us to the third and I think most notable aspect. The success of Fr. Schmitz’s Bible in a Year shows the power of a podcast to foster growth in faith. I have often said that for Catholics who want to grow in their knowledge of the faith, there has never been a greater time to be alive. There are now several 24-hour Catholic television stations and hundreds of Catholic radio stations that are no longer restricted to particular geographical areas but can be streamed anywhere in the world. We have immediate access, in multiple formats, to the Bible in every spoken language as well as to so many great commentaries and websites that help us to understand and live it. There is free digital access in most modern languages to the works of the Fathers and Doctors of the Church and almost every spiritual classic.


There are also so many great Catholic publishing houses printing inspiring works from authors old and new. There are Catholic newspapers and magazines that through the web have increased their scope to form and inform from an authentically Catholic perspective. There are the extraordinary apostolates of Bishop Robert Barron’s Word on Fire, the Augustine Institute’s Formed, Matthew Kelly’s Dynamic Catholic, and Ascension Press’ array of scriptural and theological courses, which help people better understand the faith, live it, and teach it to others. There are, finally, millions of authentically Catholic websites and blogs, showing the beauty of the faith, carrying out the crucial work of apologetics, presenting Catholic commentary on every topic under the sun, and providing a digital narthex for millions.


But whenever I have mentioned those litanies in articles and homilies, I have never included podcasts — because, until recently, I had no exposure to them. That changed last fall, when the podcast Crisis: Clergy Abuse in the Catholic Church by the Catholic Project at the Catholic University of America came out. I could find no way to listen to the series online. I had to subscribe to the podcast. So, I did, and began to listen to its ten episodes, conveniently at 2x speed, walking in the neighborhood or driving to my next engagement. It did not take me long to recognize what I had been missing, both in terms of medium and message. Since then, I have been trying, methodically and joyously, to make up for lost time.


I began with a couple of podcasts. One is Conversations with Consequences, produced by the Catholic Association and run on EWTN radio. It is hosted by Grazie Christie, MD, who interviews two to three guests each week discussing the most consequential issues of the day from a Catholic lens. After reading one of Arthur Brooks’ columns on “How to Build a Life” in The Atlantic, I saw in the bio-line that he was also the host of a podcast called The Art of Happiness. I decided to give it a try. It quickly became my favorite, as with the help of psychology, philosophy, theology, art, science, literature, humor, common sense, a variety of intriguing guests, and Brooks’ extraordinary ability to interview and synthesize, he makes practical how to live a better and happier life, something that helps me as a human being as well as work as a priest. I also began to listen to The American Story podcast by Chris Flannery of the Claremont Institute. These six- or seven-minute podcasts focus on what has made America beautiful and worthy of love, featuring stories of figures and episodes from American history told with extraordinary eloquence by a raspy Flannery. They are a healthy, relentlessly uplifting antidote to the barrage of unpatriotic America bashing that has become popular, while at the same time not ignoring the problems that summon us collectively to improve.


One of my most moving listens each week is to Bishop Robert Barron’s Sermons podcast. These 15-minute gems, listened to at 2x in half the time, are a great preparation for my hearing the Word of God on Sunday and for preaching on it. That’s only one of several impressive offerings by Bishop Barron’s Word on Fire apostolate. Insofar as faith comes from hearing (Rom 10:17), I do know that podcasts are a particularly powerful medium to grow in faith and pass it on — one of which believers, the Church, and her pastors should make increasing use.



the confessor



September 12, 2021





In his beautiful 1984 Apostolic Exhortation on the Sacrament of Penance entitled “Reconciliation and Penance,” Pope St. John Paul II names four “extraordinary apostles of the confessional.” I have had a lot of fun in seminars, lectures, and retreats over the years challenging groups to name these four “extraordinary apostles.” Most are able to get the first, St. John Vianney (1786-1859), whom Pope Benedict declared to be the patron saint of all priests. Few get the second, St. John Nepomuc (1345-1393), who was killed by order of King Wenceslaus after he refused to break the seal of confession and divulge what the queen had said to him. Only one person has ever gotten the third, St. Joseph Cafasso (1811-1860), who, in addition to being St. John Bosco’s mentor and a great seminary professor, distinguished himself by the heroic extents to which he would place himself in danger in order to confess the hardest of criminals. No one has ever guessed the fourth, whom I think is the most endearing of them all: Bogdan Mandic (1866-1942), known now, but unfortunately not too well, through his religious name, St. Leopold of Castelnuovo.

I must confess that I had never heard of St. Leopold either until I saw his name listed by St. John Paul II during my first perusal of his apostolic exhortation. So, I tracked down books that brought me into contact with this obscure but great saint, whom, ever since my ordination, I have invoked as a beloved intercessor. St. Leopold was a Croatian, born in what is now called Hercegovina. When he was young, his father, a fisherman, lost everything and the family was reduced to destitution. St. Leopold never forgot what it felt like to be in need of everything and always showed a great compassion for those in need.

When he was sixteen, he left his parents to enter a Capuchin friary in Italy. He dreamed of becoming a missionary in Eastern orthodox lands, to try to heal the Great Schism of the Church, but because of multiple health problems, he was deemed unfit. He was only 4’5” tall, could not walk well, and suffered from terrible stomach ailments, bad eyesight, and arthritis. The Capuchins were known as great preachers of parish missions, but Leopold could not share in that work, either, because he had a stuttering problem that made it impossible for listeners to hear the message.

His superiors could imagine only one ministry for him, the ministry of the confessional, and to that he was assigned. Looking at his confessional, he began to call it “My Orient” and said “I will be a missionary here.” And before long he became a modern St. Francis Xavier of the Confessional. Looking back later he realized how the Lord had prepared him for this crucial missionary work. When he was eight, he recalled, he had gone to Church to confess a venial sin against his sister. The priest gave him as a penance to kneel in the middle of the Church in the sight of all. It was the birth of his vocation.

“I stayed there deeply saddened, and wondering within myself: Why treat so severely a child for such a slight fault? When I get big,” he vowed to himself and to God, “I want to be a religious, a confessor, and treat the souls of sinners with much goodness and mercy.” That is precisely what he did. For most of the 52 years of his priestly life, the vast majority of them spent in Padua, he heard confessions 12-18 hours a day. His confessional was besieged by penitents won over by that “goodness and mercy.”

Many of the friars thought he was too easy on penitents. He routinely responded to the criticism with a smile but with seriousness, saying, “If the Lord wants to accuse me of showing too much leniency toward sinners, I'll tell him that it was he who gave me this example, and I haven't even died for the salvation of souls as he did.” He would tell penitents who were afraid of returning to the sacrament because of the penances other priests were known to give, "Be at peace place everything on my shoulders. I will take care of it.” And he did take care of it. He would give the penitents light penances but, in reparation for the evil they had done, would do the rest of their penance himself, staying up most of the night in prayer as penitential satisfaction for their sins.

Some charged that he was simply killing himself in the confessional. “A priest must die from apostolic hard work,” he would reply. “There is no other death worthy of a priest.” He would even eat in the confessional, saying to those who thought he was extreme, “How can I desert so many poor sinners on the excuse of seeking food for my body?” When he had to leave, there was a bell for penitents to ring, and no matter what time of day they rang it or what inconvenience it caused, he would come running saying, “Here I am, sir, here I am!,” lest they become discouraged and leave.

One experience shows the great extent to which he had gone to make his penitents comfortable. One absolved sinner recalled, “I had not been to confession for several years. I finally decided to go and went to see Fr. Leopold. I was troubled and anxious. I had just come in when he got up from his chair and greeted me joyfully like a long-expected friend: ‘Please, come in,’ he said. Troubled as I was, I went to sit in his armchair [rather than kneel down]. Without a word, he knelt down on the floor and heard my confession. When it was finished, only then did I realize my blunder. I wanted to excuse myself but he said with a smile: ‘It's nothing, it's nothing. Go in peace.' This show of goodness remained engraved in my memory. By it, he had entirely won me over.”

When people would thank him for his love for them in the confessional, he would always deflect their attention to the Lord. He would point to the crucifix with tears in his eyes and say, gently and warmly, “It’s he who forgives! It’s he who absolves!” St. John Paul II said at his 1983 canonization that it was this “heroic fidelity to Christ,” the Good Shepherd who lays down his life to save every lost sheep, that constituted his holiness. He understood and lived by the principle that heaven rejoices more for one repentant sinner than for 99 who never needed to repent.

“If you wanted to define him with just one word,” John Paul II stated, “then he is ‘The Confessor.’ His only expertise was how to ‘confess.’ But this is where his greatness is found.” He disappeared so as to make room for Christ, the “true Pastor of souls.” He desired to be nothing other than a nearly-hidden “shadow” of Christ’s saving love from the Cross.

Shortly before his death of esophageal cancer in 1942, he predicted that during the World War, then ongoing, “The Church and the friary will be hit by bombs, but not this little confessional-cell. Here God exercised so much mercy for people and it must remain as a monument to God’s goodness.” That is precisely what happened in 1945, when the Church and friary were almost completed destroyed, but his confessional left unscathed. It, and he, remain as testimonies to the goodness of God in extending His mercy and the goodness of priests, like Leopold, in dispensing it so lavishly at such a cost.

May St. Leopold intercede for all the priests of our archdiocese as they exercise that same ministry.


Labor day message 2021



September 5, 2021





During the last years of his service to the Church and the world, St. John Paul II addressed leaders of the “Catholic Action” movement in Italy on the Feast of St. Joseph the Worker. He referred to what he called the “gospel of work.” In the address, our Holy Father of happy memory was proclaiming another effect of grace, that in and through the redemptive work of Jesus Christ all human work has now been transformed.


One of John Paul II’s favorite passages from the Second Vatican Council contains these words: “The truth is that only in the mystery of the incarnate Word does the mystery of man take on light. For Adam, the first man was a figure of Him Who was to come, namely Christ the Lord. Christ, the final Adam, by the revelation of the mystery of the Father and His love, fully reveals man to man himself and makes his supreme calling clear. It is not surprising, then, that in Him all the aforementioned truths find their root and attain their crown. He who is "the image of the invisible God" (Col. 1:15) is Himself the perfect man. To the sons of Adam, He restores the divine likeness which had been disfigured from the first sin onward. Since human nature as He assumed it was not annulled, by that very fact it has been raised up to a divine dignity in our respect too. For by His incarnation the Son of God has united Himself in some fashion with every man. He worked with human hands, He thought with a human mind, acted by human choice, and loved with a human heart. Born of the Virgin Mary, He has truly been made one of us, like us in all things except sin” (GS 22).


In proclaiming the “gospel of work,” St. John Paul II developed a theme rooted in the Sacred Scriptures and desperately needed in this age, the dignity and meaning of human labor. In 1981, he authored an Encyclical entitled “On Human Work” which presents the Christian vision of human work. We live in an age that has lost sight of this Christian vision. This is one more bad fruit of the rupture which was wrought by sin. In the industrial age, men and women were often reduced to mere instruments in a society that emphasized “productivity” over the dignity of the human person, the worker. The technological age promised something different but has failed to deliver. Too often, men and women are still viewed as instruments and objects rather than persons and gifts. To grasp the truth that the dignity of all human labor derives from the dignity of the human person who engages in it requires what St. Paul rightly called a “renewal of the mind” (cf. Romans 12:2).


St. John Paul II told those assembled that because work "has been profaned by sin and contaminated by egoism," it is an activity that "needs to be redeemed." He reminded them that "Jesus was a man of work and that work enabled him to develop his humanity.” He emphasized that "the work of Nazareth constituted for Jesus a way to dedicate himself to the 'affairs of the Father,'" witnessing that "the work of the Creator is prolonged" through work and that therefore “… according to God's providential plan, man, by working, realizes his own humanity and that of others: In fact, work forms man and, in a certain sense, creates him.”


He emphasized the need for work to be rescued "from the logic of profit, from the lack of solidarity, from the fever of earning evermore, from the desire to accumulate and consume." When the focus of work becomes subjected to what he called "inhuman wealth,” he said, it becomes a "seductive and merciless idol." That rescue occurs when we "return to the austere words of the Divine Master: 'For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?'" Finally, the “servant of the servants of God” proclaimed that Jesus, the "divine Worker of Nazareth" also "reminds us that 'life is more than food' and that work is for man, not man for work. What makes a life great is not the entity of gain, nor the type of profession, or the level of the career. Man is worth infinitely more than the goods he produces or possesses.”


What a profound message for our time and for this Labor Day! This “gospel of work” needs to be proclaimed anew as we celebrate Labor Day. Our Catechism instructs us: “Human work proceeds directly from persons created in the image of God and called to prolong the work of creation by subduing the earth, both with and for one another. Hence work is a duty: "If anyone will not work, let him not eat." Work honors the Creator's gifts and the talents received from Him. It can also be redemptive. By enduring the hardship of work in union with Jesus, the carpenter of Nazareth and the one crucified on Calvary, man collaborates in a certain ... fashion with the Son of God in his redemptive work. He shows himself to be a disciple of Christ by carrying the cross, daily, in the work he is called to accomplish. Work can be a means of sanctification and a way of animating earthly realities with the Spirit of Christ. In work, the person exercises and fulfills in part the potential inscribed in his nature. The primordial value of labor stems from man himself, its author and its beneficiary. Work is for man, not man for work. Everyone should be able to draw from work the means of providing for his life and that of his family, and of serving the human community. The primordial value of labor stems from man himself, its author and beneficiary. By means of his labor man participates in the work of creation. Work united to Christ can be redemptive."


A Catholic vision of work views it in light of the Incarnation of Jesus Christ: God became a human person! The early Church Father, Gregory of Nazianzus, reflecting on the Incarnation, proclaimed: "Whatever was not assumed was not healed!" The entirety of our human experience was assumed by Jesus, including our labor, our human work, no matter what form it takes. All work was transformed by Christ the worker! The Son of God worked. Even as a child He learned from St. Joseph, the carpenter, and worked with wood, with His Holy hands. Certainly, He sweated, got dirty, and even experienced tedium at times, but because He was in communion with His Heavenly Father all of His work was joined to the Father’s work. That is the same relationship we now have with the Father through Baptism. For the Christian, work can be a participation in the continuing redemptive mission of Jesus. Jesus viewed His entire life and mission as work. He was always doing the "work" of the One who sent Him (John 9:3-4). We are invited by grace to live in the same way.


The early Christians knew the dignity of all human work. Even their early worship became known as "liturgy" which literally means the "work" of the Church. For them, the real world was not a place to be avoided – it was their workshop! They were there to bring all of its inhabitants to Baptism and inclusion in Christ and then prepare the real world for His Real return, through their prayer, their witness, their worship, and their work. The Incarnation, Saving Life, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ, the “Paschal Mystery,” began a process of transformation — not only in His followers, but also in the cosmos created through Him and for Him and now being re-created in Him. The work of Jesus’ redemption continues through the Church – which is placed in that creation as a seed of its transfiguration. This is part of what St. Paul calls the "plan" and a "mystery" of God, to bring all things together under heaven and on earth in Christ (cf. Eph 1: 9-10). All things were created in Christ (cf. Col 1:15-20) and are now being re-created as His work continues through His Body, the Church, of which we are members.


For the Christian, "work" is an invitation to participate in that extraordinary plan, if it is joined to Jesus Christ. No matter what we are doing, we are, as the Apostle wrote, to "do it as unto the Lord" (cf. Col 3). Our work then changes “the world,” both within us and around us. This means all work has redemptive value. All human work sanctifies and changes the world which God still loves. St. Paul captured the hope of all creation when, in the eighth chapter of his letter to the Romans, he reminded us that all of creation "groans" for the full revelation of the sons and daughters of God. We can have a new relationship with the entire created order – beginning now – because we live in the Son, through whom and for whom it was all created and is being re-created.


That is why this insight from St. John Paul II is important for us to consider on Labor Day. There truly is a “gospel of work.” Let us renew our minds and live this “gospel of work” in the way in which we engage in labor. In His Ascension, Jesus did not leave us orphans. Rather, He lives in us and we now live in Him, through the Holy Spirit. He has capacitated us to live differently, NOW, through the Grace poured out through the Holy Spirit and mediated to us in the Sacraments. We can live this “gospel of work” in an age which desperately needs a new living witness of its dignity, meaning, and true value. Happy Labor Day!



Martyrdom of
St. John the Baptist



August 29, 2021





It haunted him – that grizzly sight of John’s head on the platter. He had never meant it to come to that. Even after he had had John arrested and thrown into jail, he still would listen to him sometimes. He was drawn by John’s words – they had a way of reaching deep into his soul. He knew in a way that he could not deny that John spoke the truth. And yet John’s words also scared him. He did not want them to be true. He did not want to think of a coming judgment. He did not want to think of a God who knew the secrets of his heart and remembered everything he had ever said, done, thought, felt – who would expose his entire life before His throne and render a verdict upon him. But he listened because he could not help himself. And yet, he still wanted to do what he wanted to do. He was not about to give up his new wife, though now that he had her, he was not quite satisfied with her either. Why else had he been so captivated by her daughter and that suggestive dance? What a fool he had been that night, to make such a stupid promise! What a fool not to guess how Herodius would have her revenge on the prophet she hated! He was not thinking straight. Too much partying. He thought he would do better someday. But the someday never came. He never seemed to think straight anymore.

And suddenly all these rumors spreading around the countryside. Unheard of miracles worked by some prophet from Nazareth! Some folks said the long awaited King of the Jews was at hand. But his own guilty conscience gave him another answer: “You can’t escape. It’s John. John came back from the dead – came to confront you with your evil, your weakness, your sin, your cowardice, and failing.” Just thinking about it, he started to tremble. As though that head on the platter with the open eyes, looked straight at him: it was the look of pity from a free man gazing at a poor slave.

For Herod was a slave, make no doubt about it. He may have lived in a fine house. He may have feasted royally day after day. He may have stumbled from party to party and he took whatever he wanted. And that is how he showed his slavery. He was a slave to his own appetites, his own desires. He did not conquer them they ruled his life. And when he heard John preach, shackled and bound as he was, he knew he was in the presence of a free man.

John was no slave. From the time he was a little six month old fetus in his mother’s womb, he was free. Already there the Holy Spirit had filled him and he had confessed by his leaping in the presence of his Lord. At his circumcision, his father Zachariah had said of him: “You, my child, will be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare His way to give His people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins. Through the tender mercy of our God when the Day shall dawn upon us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” John was a free man. Filled with the Holy Spirit, he did not bother about what folks thought of him. Good thing, too. He was a little strange. Clothed in camel’s hair, chomping on grasshoppers, and dipping his fingers in wild honey, he lived out in the wilderness. A free man!

He knew he had a task to do and he did it with zeal. He called Israel to repentance – no two ways about it. The Lord was near at hand, the kingdom was about to break in, and so lives had to change. His message hit hard. Folks came to him from all over. “What shall we do?” they cried. His message was one of mercy. They all went into the water and came up new people. Those who were wealthy, who had two tunics, were to share with those who had none. Tax collectors were welcomed too – and they were told to stop thieving and take no more than their due. Soldiers came, their swords red with blood, and they were welcomed as well. Their sins washed away and he told them: “Do not extort money from anyone by false accusation” and “be content with your wages.” He welcomed everyone but the self-righteous. Them he challenged: “Bear fruits befitting repentance. It’s not a show. It’s not a game. You need to turn from these sins that enslave you and let God set you free. If you don’t, you will meet Him in a way you don’t want to. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he’ll clear his threshing floor and gather the wheat into his barn. But the chaff? You know what he’ll do to the chaff? Fire. Unquenchable fire. Repent while you can!”

But John wasn’t all law. His call to repentance was to prepare the people to greet with joy another One. His finger pointed to that One as He walked along. “Look!” he cried. “Look, one and all. THAT’S the Lamb of God. THAT’S the One who takes away the sin of the world. He’s the reason I’ve come – to point Him out to you all. He’s yours. Your Lamb!”

John was so utterly free because he knew that he was unworthy, as he confessed when the Lord came to him for Baptism: “I need to be baptized by you.” He knew that he was a sinner in need of mercy and forgiveness. But he knew also that the Lamb of God had come into the flesh to forgive his sin and that of the whole world, and to take on death and destroy it. There is no man so free as the man who knows his sin is forgiven, his death is destroyed, and that he is a beloved child of the heavenly Father. Such a man is free to face the executioner’s sword – he lives by faith alone and so he lives still, even though he dies.

John wanted everyone to know that kind of freedom. Even Herod! But Herod declined the gift. He chose to stay in the prison house of his sinful desires and refused the freedom that he was offered. And all he had at the end were his regrets, his fears, his terrors.

And you? Which will it be for you? Will you like Herod stay a prisoner of your own passions, enslaved and bound to your own desires? Or will you receive from the same Holy Spirit who set John free, the gift of freedom? Will you rejoice that Jesus is your Lamb, that His death on the cross is your righteousness, that His resurrected life is your very own, and that nothing absolutely nothing – not even peril or sword - will ever be able to separate you from His love?

God is calling you today to freedom – to the freedom that John enjoyed, freedom from the long shadows of the sins that haunt you, freedom that the Spirit gives, that the Son won for you, that your heavenly Father summons you to enter. Bid farewell to the ways of Herod. There is forgiveness bigger than all sin. Come, behold the Lamb of God, let Him put His undying body and blood into you as the promise that your sins are forgiven and that they have no power to hold you a slave anymore. Come, feast with John the Baptist and all who live in Him, whom death has no power to destroy. To Him, our Lamb, be the glory forever with the Father and the Holy Spirit unto the ages of ages! Amen.


an ignatian year



August 22, 2021





The most memorable Christmas present I have received was not from Santa during my infancy or sneakers, sports equipment, or gadgets from my folks during my adolescence. It was the four-volume Butler’s Lives of the Saints my parents got me for Christmas when I was a college freshman that I read nightly for about five years and still have with me at my bedside. Reading the inspiring stories of the great heroes and heroines of the faith each night helped me to discover more clearly my vocation not just to the priesthood but to Christian holiness, to purify and recalibrate my ambitions, and to commit to the means to achieve them. When people approach me asking for recommendations for good spiritual reading, I often suggest titles to help them grow in prayer and in the integration of their relationship with God into daily life. I always encourage them, however, “every other book,” to read the life of a saint, because hagiography is easier to read — and irresistibly attracts and inspires us toward greater contemplation, unity of life, and generosity.

The most famous example of the impact reading the lives of the saints can have occurred 500 years ago this year. A 30-year-old Basque soldier had his right leg shattered and left calf torn off by a cannonball during the May 20, 1521, Battle of Pamplona. Spiritually, however, the projectile was shot straight from Damascus. Iñigo López de Oñaz y Loyola’s stoutheartedness on the battlefield was magnified when his leg needed to be reset multiple times and a large protruding bone spur needed to be sawed off, to which he consented without anesthesia or complaint. To pass the time in what would turn out to be a nine-month convalescence at his family’s castle, the only option for him — centuries before modern media — was reading. He tried without avail to get his hands on the epic tales of chivalry and romance common to the epoch. The only volumes to be found were a life of Christ and a book on the lives of the saints. In desperation he began to read them — and not only were his heart and the direction of his life changed, but also the history of the Church and the world.

López was pierced by his own shallowness compared to the saints’ substance and roused by the courage of the martyrs in fighting the good fight on the battlefield that mattered most. In contrast to his vain pursuit of earthly honors, their seeking and seizing the most lasting and valuable treasure captivated him. After reading about Francis of Assisi and Dominic of Guzman, two 13th-century mendicants who extravagantly gave up so much of what the world treasured in order to obtain a much more valuable fortune, and who formed religious families to help the whole world rediscover true riches, he asked one of the most important questions in history: “These men were of the same frame as I. Why, then, should I not do what they have done?”

Led by their example and many graces, the one we now know as Saint Ignatius of Loyola made the commitment to serve the true King and to sacrifice everything to extend His kingdom. His transformation was arduous. Once he had recovered enough to journey, he traveled to Montserrat, where he laid down his sword before the famous statue of Our Lady, exchanged his expensive clothes for sackcloth, spent 11 months praying in a cave in Manresa, and journeyed to the Holy Land where he intended to defend the holy places and the true faith, before the Franciscan superior sent him home lest because of his zealous provocations he be killed.

To be of use to God, he discerned he needed an education. With extraordinary humility he went literally to grammar school in order to learn Latin with young boys, before heading to the Universities of Alcala, Salamanca, and Paris. There his roommates were the future Saints Francis Xavier and Peter Favre and God through him set in motion the plan for the founding of the Jesuits. As we mark the quinquecentenary of his conversion, seeing and celebrating what God accomplished in his life, it is important for us to raise the same question God inspired him to ask after reading the lives of the founders of the Orders of Friars Minor and of Preachers. Ignatius, after all, is of the same frame as we, with virtues, vices, and 46 chromosomes. Without the help of cannonballs and orthopedic surgeons, why can’t we do, why shouldn’t we do, what he has done? This summons to saintly imitation obviously does not mean that God is calling us to be Jesuits or found worldwide religious orders, any more than the light God gave Ignatius did not mean He was asking him to replicate all Saints Francis’ and Dominic’s choices and deeds. But God is indeed calling us to respond to the grace of conversion and holiness just like the intrepid Basque did a half millennium ago.

Pope Francis recently reiterated that summons in his 2018 apostolic exhortation on the call to holiness in today’s world, Gaudete et Exsultate. “A Christian,” he wrote, “cannot think of his or her [life] on earth without seeing it as a path of holiness, for ‘this is the will of God, your sanctification’ (1 Thess 4:3). Each saint is a mission, planned by the Father to reflect and embody, at a specific moment in history, a certain aspect of the Gospel” (19). The Holy Father cautions us against the temptation “to think that holiness is only for those who can withdraw from ordinary affairs” (14) or, as St. John Paul II once said, “as if it involved some kind of extraordinary existence, possible only for a few ‘uncommon heroes’ of holiness” (Novo Millennio Ineunte, 31). Rather, Pope Francis urges us to look toward the “holiness found in our next-door neighbors, those who, living in our midst, reflect God’s presence” and constitute, so to speak, “the middle class of holiness” (7). Holiness, he underlines, is found not just among the formally canonized saints and martyrs, but often in fellow parishioners, hardworking moms and dads, godparents and grandparents, permanent deacons and their wives, and so many others who live the little things of each day with heroic faith and love.

On May 20th, the Jesuits began an “Ignatian Year” dedicated to the 500th Anniversary of his conversion and the 400thanniversary of his canonization on March 12, 2022. It will conclude on his feast day on July 31, 2022. We can take advantage of this extended year of grace to ponder his life and try to imitate in our life what is imitable in his. We can, first, imitate his prioritization of prayer as well as some of its content. His time in the cave of Manresa led to his spiritual classic, The Spiritual Exercises, a guide for meditation, for discernment, and for retreats. His own prayers have formed countless souls. In his renowned Suscipe, for example, we learn how to treasure God more than His gifts: “Take, Lord, and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding and my entire will, all I have and call my own. You have given all to me. To you, Lord, I return it. Everything is yours do with it what you will. Give me only your love and your grace. That is enough for me.”

Second, we learn from him how conversion is not so much turning away from sin and vanity but turning toward and with God. Above the place in the Loyola Castle where his metanoia happened through reading the lives of the saints, it says, not “Here, he converted,” but rather, “Here he gave himself to God.” Third, we can emulate his courage and zeal to share the faith, something that contagiously led his spiritual sons to found so many educational institutions and to become missionaries, like the North American Martyrs close to home. Fourth, we can imitate the great warmth of his friendship, one example of which were the more than 7,000 letters he wrote, especially to the Jesuits who even soon after the founding of the Society of Jesus headed toward the ends of the then-known earth.

Finally, we can model our lives on his love for Christ and for Christ’s vicar on earth, which led him and the Jesuits to make a fourth vow — beyond poverty, chastity, and obedience — of special obedience to the Pope in regard to the missions. Ignatius lived through some of the most notorious papacies in Church history, the ugliness of which helped trigger the Protestant Reformation, but he, with special trust in Christ and the Holy Spirit, promised special submission not just to the Successor of Peter but of those popes. That is a model not just for his Jesuit sons but for every Catholic in every age.

In each of these five ways, there is the opportunity to imitate the generosity of Ignatius’ response to God, a holy dedication for which he incessantly himself prayed in words that we can make our own: “Lord, teach me to be generous. Teach me to serve you as you deserve to give and not to count the cost, to fight and not to heed the wounds, to toil and not to seek for rest, to labor and not to ask for reward, save that of knowing that I do your will.”


the Assumption: the goal of our struggle



August 15, 2021





No one likes to be quoted out of context. Our concern is to be understood properly, without distortions of any kind. Many misunderstandings have led to many heartaches, to many a prejudice, and perhaps even to all-out conflict.

To say Our Lady was assumed body and soul into heaven is a statement which, if taken out of context, seems incredible to some, laughable to others. I have even heard people annoyed and envious that this woman should be so exaggeratedly honored. The feeling one gets is that some people are saying to themselves: “What was God thinking of when He assumed Her into heaven if indeed that is actually true!” If the dogma of the Assumption is not understood in context, it is easy to be cynical about it, and even to say it never happened, or that it is irrelevant. In the context of our salvation, however, the Assumption of Mary is far from irrelevant, especially in an era when the human body is either treated with clinical contempt or is exalted to the point of idolatry. It is also far from irrelevant at a time when the destiny of the human person is effectively seen as being nothing other than the grave. It is as if it were being said: “Exploit the body now, in industry and entertainment, for later it has no use at all!”

In such darkness, the light of the Assumption emphasizes that the human person is a unity of body and soul we are neither all body nor all soul rather, we are all body and all soul. The fact that Our Lady was physically assumed into heaven because her soul was without sin shows the importance of the life of grace for the life of the body. The Church teaches that the soul of the individual human person is created at the moment of conception She also teaches that after death’s separation of body and soul – a separation not willed by God – both are destined to be reunited at the moment of resurrection. The Assumption is Mary’s participation in the grace of the resurrection, willed and worked by Her Son because of Her free and total cooperation with grace as with Christ, so with Mary, death had no power to hold Her because it found no sin in Her. The grave is not the destiny of the human person except from the short-sighted perspective of mortal thinking. The Assumption of Mary shoots across the deck of such pessimism as the glorious woman of the Apocalypse, She is above and beyond the Dragon and the stars themselves, that is to say, beyond the reach of sin and the passing nature of creation infected with death. Of course, no-one would think of such a thing as the Assumption! Of course, no-one marked by mortality could believe it of their own accord! Of course, therefore, this dogma of Church doctrine is interpreted as abstruse and fabulous: but in reality, Mary is a sign of hope and comfort for us all on our pilgrim way, and the dogma of the Assumption reveals this to us with the certainty of the Risen Christ Himself.

The Assumption also teaches us that, as human persons, our end is in our beginning. There is no doubt that Mary is an exceptional woman insofar as She was preserved from the stain of original sin we might even feel annoyed that She got such special treatment, an attitude typical of Satan’s envy. But the truth is that Mary had the toughest calling any human being ever had. Because She was preserved from original sin does not mean that She was preserved from temptation to personal sin. If Christ was tempted in every way that we are, so was Mary. In fact, the more filled with grace you are, the more sensitive you are to sin and temptation, and the more likely you are to be the object of Satan’s craftiness. Eve too was at first immaculate. Therefore, the greater the grace, the more you must exercise your freedom, perform the hard work of renunciation, and accept the daily challenge of fidelity and responsibility. Our Lady was far from being cocooned in spiritual protection, naïve or romantically preserved from the human struggle. Grace does not replace freedom: it strengthens it and so makes it more enticing to the Devil. Mary is full of grace, but She had to make Her free choice regarding God’s proposal. Her exceptional situation was and is a privilege in many senses, but not in the sense that it preserved Her from the hard work of freedom and the renunciation of sin. We can “get away” with many things precisely because we are weak, and the Lord will be understanding, patient, and forgiving. But Mary, had she sinned, would have had no excuses.

We need, therefore, to appreciate the true meaning of Her extraordinary person, life, vocation, commitment, and sufferings. If we do then we will better understand that Her Assumption is not the result of a kind of divine nepotism, but of the singularly heroic and complete way in which She surrendered Herself to the will of God. Her Immaculate Conception was Her beginning Her Assumption is Her end but the road in between was the way of the Cross and a heart pierced with a sword. Because of Her humility and obedience to God, She is the most powerful woman who exists She is at the heart of the Church She is the Mother of all humanity She is at the right side of Christ She is the model of all human persons She is the exemplary disciple, woman and mother. It is at least unwise to suggest that because She has not sinned, She cannot completely understand our condition in fact, it is precisely because She has not sinned that She understands our condition better than we do ourselves. Sin is not something to be emulated but to be eradicated, and there is no more powerful advocate to help us, and example to inspire us than Mary Assumed into Heaven.

At a time when the Church is struggling in many quarters to keep its focus on its origins, vocation, mission, and destiny, the Assumption of Our Lady is especially relevant – not to avoid facing reality, but to face it with the most realistic perspective possible, which is not dictated by anything or anyone other than the definitive reality of the Resurrection. Mary is the first and greatest member of the Church. Yet the Church understood as the Catholic fullness of Christ’s presence and action among us is greater than Mary. But we must remember that Christ chose to begin the work of Redemption, the work of His Church, in the soul and body of Mary. She is His first point of contact with humanity She represents humanity at one with God, sharing in the sufferings and in the life of God. Since She walked with Him from the crib to the Cross, She now walks with Him in the garden of God and across the raging seas of the centuries. It is to Her that the Church calls out “Mother” it is to Her faith, hope, and love that the Church in its entirety and in its individual members, must look for inspiration and assistance.

St. Elizabeth cried out: “Why should I be honored with a visit from the Mother of my Lord?” Such should also be our cry: visit me, visit us, visit the Church, visit humanity, dear Lady, and bring to us the glorious love, humility, and life of the Savior! Elizabeth also said: “For the moment your greeting reached my ears, the child in my womb leapt for joy.” We, too, need to hear Her greet us we need to ask Her to greet us as She visits us, so that the deepest truths of our hearts, buried under God knows what trash and nonsense, can leap again for joy. The world and even the Church today seem to seek pleasure, convenience, popularity, and all manner of things mundane: but where is our joy? Surely, without the hope of heaven, without confidence of our victory over the grave, without the perspective of the Assumption, there can be no joy? The joy and glory of Christmas are empty without the joy and glory of the Resurrection. We look back to the incarnation for one main reason: so as to look forward to the resurrection of the dead and life everlasting! The most beautiful baby will one day face death the joy of birth, great though it may and should be, cannot replace the lasting joy of rebirth. Is not Our Lady assumed into heaven the great and glorious Mother of our rebirth? Did She not say “yes” to God’s taking flesh from Her so that all our flesh might one day be given eternal life in God?

A strange form of intellectual snobbery and diffidence has crept into recent attitudes to Our Lady. In the past, there have surely been excesses in Marian devotion, but the excess does not mean that we now exile Her from our Catholic lives and, thus, from the world. Maybe certain philosophies of freedom, self-sufficient, and the absolute autonomy of science have led to discontent with Our Lady as the model believer and woman. Whatever the complex truth of that may be, another truth is certain: the servant, the friend, the child of Mary will never perish, because there where Mary is, Christ will also be. We can get so wrapped up in our personal concerns, persuasions, outlooks, opinions, and all the rest, that we relegate the thought of our final destiny to a very distant back of our minds.

The Assumption is a day on which to focus ourselves anew on our final goal, our final hope of glory, and to let our other occupations and preoccupations fall into line. We need to see ourselves standing up there with Mary with the moon beneath our feet, clothed with the sun and the stars as the crown on our heads. We need to let the dragon and the desert be kept in their true perspective, and seek, each of us, through grace, and with the help of the Immaculate, to give birth, albeit with wailing pain, to Christ in our lives. Then our own Resurrection, body and soul, will be assured then our own lives will have found their final and truest context then we will realize that the truth proclaimed in the dogma of the Assumption is actually the fulfillment of the deepest desire of our lives.

“What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his own soul?” What can you possibly lose if the Assumption is your goal?


the importance of a true education



August 8, 2021





St. Thomas More was martyred because of his refusal to swear an oath of loyalty to King Henry VIII. The king defied the authority of the Pope and declared himself the head of the Church of England because he did not wish to accept the Catholic Church’s teaching on marriage. Saint Thomas More’s principled resolution in refusing to swear the oath was not only the result of much reflection but also of his keen intellect, which contributed to forming his conscience in order to make wise decisions. His holy example of martyrdom demonstrates the true value of an education: the ability to apply the reality of our faith to concrete life decisions that occur on our path to holiness.

So often, we are preoccupied with statistics, no less so in the field of education. “Did I receive an A- or a B+ on my last test?” or “Is this standardized test score high enough that I will receive a scholarship?” Statistics are often indicators of academic success, and I am certainly proud of our students at St. Elizabeth Ann Seton Catholic School for their achievement in these areas. Students in various grade levels excel in their standardized test scores and many receive various levels of recognition. Our alumni are leaders in today’s workforce. While all of these achievements are laudable, there is an even richer component to Catholic education.

In a quote popularly attributed to him, Saint Thomas More wrote, “Education is not the piling on of learning, information, data, facts, skills, or abilities—that is training or instruction—but is rather making visible what is hidden as a seed.” It is not that practical subjects are unimportant, but rather that everything a student learns in the classroom should be related to who he or she is as a human person. The very first article of the Catechism teaches us, “He (God) calls man to seek Him, to know Him and to love Him with all his strength” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, no. 1).

Without a sound education in the faith, Saint Thomas More would not have known God in the way the Catechism describes. He would not have recognized the importance of loving God with all of his strength to the point of losing his elite status in society and, eventually, his life. In a similar fashion, we too must recognize God’s call to learn about our faith and to teach that faith to others. Primarily, children learn from their parents, through their words, their instructions and, most of all, through their example. What better way to learn about the importance of prayer than by a daughter watching her mother rise early to pray each morning? How much does a son learn from a father who will occasionally give up watching a favorite sports game to spend an hour at Eucharistic Adoration? Parents know that children learn by imitation. The next time you are caught in an ethical quandary—Should I drive excessively over the speed limit? Should I cut corners on my taxes? Should I allow others to take responsibility for my mistakes? — think about the persons you wish your children to become. Yes, adults have a great responsibility in educating children, not only about the truths of the faith, but also in the way in which they live out that faith in their daily lives.

We are blessed here at Divine Mercy Parish to have a Catholic School which is committed to the mission of providing an education rooted in the Gospel of Jesus Christ where Catholic doctrine and values and academic excellence prepare each student for a life of faith, service, and integrity. We must always remember that the natural goods of a Catholic education are, in the end, worthless without that eternal direction and supernatural context which make Catholic education unique. To make the standards of the world the standards of our school is to build our house upon sand – and one day, the floods of secular values will do away with that house. We are committed to making our school a place of Christian witness, to continue to build our school upon the solid rock of Christ and the peace that only He can offer.

The Gospel records that Christ opened the Scriptures for His Apostles in the upper room He opened their eyes to the significance of His own life, death, and resurrection. In a similar way, a Catholic school should open the student’s eyes to the significance of his or her own life, but more importantly to the connection between the student’s life and the life of Jesus. Jesus must be taught as the principle of interpretation to life, to the world, and to one’s own destiny. To neglect to share the person of Jesus with one’s students is a grave injustice to the souls with whom we are brought into contact. We must pray for the grace and strength to proclaim His name with vigor and joy.

Young people take in much information from the world around them: at school and at the mall, from their smartphones and from their friends. Too often, youth are exposed to the falsehoods that there is no such thing as the sanctity of life, that there is no true religion and that, in the end, each person must only do what makes them happy, instead of what is right. Sadly, relativism has become prevalent in our culture, making it a challenge for young people to receive a true education which will prepare them for the challenges of living a life of holiness. For these reasons, we must vigilantly defend and teach the truth not only in our classrooms, but in our homes and workplaces, ever witnessing to our faith and the gift of life the Lord has given us.

Though we may never be called to martyrdom like Saint Thomas More, each of us is called to use our education every day. The focal point of our education is that “Man is made to live in communion with God in whom he finds happiness” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, no. 45). When young mothers are faced with the “option” of abortion, they must recall that each of us is imbued with dignity by God and that life is precious. When an entrepreneur is offered a job in a morally corrupt corporation, he or she must remember we have a responsibility to defend the truth in the public sphere. When we are tempted to treat another with disdain because of the person’s race or creed, we must remember Christ calls us to love our neighbor.

Yes, at some point in our lives, we are each asked to make difficult decisions. These dilemmas are not easy the alternatives to making ethical decisions can often be very attractive. Hence, we must value our own true education and seek to teach others that Christ is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. The next time you are confronted with a difficult decision, I challenge you to pray to Saint Thomas More for the fortitude and the wisdom to glorify the Lord with your educated choice.


The Catholic Resistance



August 1, 2021





What ought to be the response of Catholic believers to the rise of militant secularism in the West that is seeking to exile the Christian faith from relevance, cultural history, and the public square? Archbishop Emeritus Charles Chaput of Philadelphia gave a profound answer to that question on August 24, 2010, then the Bishop of Denver, in a speech before Church lawyers in Slovakia.


Against the backdrop of the Slovakian Church’s 50 years of suffering under Nazi and Soviet regimes that brutally repressed and mercilessly massacred many of the country’s faithful, Archbishop Chaput examined what happens when a society tries to order itself as if God did not exist and when those who do believe in God fail adequately to resist this secularizing trend. He called upon Catholics in the West to recognize the signs of the times and not to be caught asleep as a dictatorship of practical atheism seeks to “repudiate the Christian roots and soul of our civilization.” His analysis, sobering at times, needs not just to be read but studied by all those who care about the future of the Church, the future of our country, and the survival of western civilization.


Archbishop Chaput began by reviewing a brief history of what helped to make the United States of America historically great and free in contrast to the bloodshed that bathed many parts of Europe after the Enlightenment: the positive role of faith in American culture. America, he stressed, was established as a non-sectarian state, but one in which faith was expected and fostered as a pre-requisite for a free society. Contrary to the opinions of revisionist, secularist historians today, the founding fathers had “no desire for a radically secularized public life,” Archbishop Chaput stated. “They had no intent to lock religion away from public affairs. On the contrary, they wanted to guarantee citizens the freedom to live their faith publicly and vigorously, and to bring their religious convictions to bear on the building of a just society.”


The danger today is, he continued, that in both the U.S. and in Europe, “we face an aggressively secular political vision and a consumerist economic model that result—in practice, if not in explicit intent—in a new kind of state-encouraged atheism. To put it another way: The Enlightenment-derived worldview that gave rise to the great murder ideologies of the last century remains very much alive. Its language is softer, its intentions seem kinder, and its face is friendlier. But its underlying impulse has not changed—that is, the dream of building a society apart from God.” He said that their vision “presumes a frankly ‘post-Christian’ world ruled by rationality, technology, and good social engineering. Religion has a place in this worldview, but only as an individual lifestyle accessory. People are free to worship and believe whatever they want, so long as they keep their beliefs to themselves and do not presume to intrude their religious idiosyncrasies on the workings of government, the economy, or culture.”


Despite the “rhetoric of enlightened, secular tolerance,” government agencies in the United States, he explained, “now increasingly seek to dictate how Church ministries should operate and to force them into practices that would destroy their Catholic identity. Efforts have been made to discourage or criminalize the expression of certain Catholic beliefs as ‘hate speech.’ Our courts and legislatures now routinely take actions that undermine marriage and family life and seek to scrub our public life of Christian symbolism and signs of influence. In Europe, we see similar trends, although marked by a more open contempt for Christianity.” He drew stark conclusions from these trends: “These are not the actions of governments that see the Catholic Church as a valued partner in their plans for the 21st century. Quite the opposite: these events suggest an emerging, systematic discrimination against the Church that now seems inevitable.”


How are believers to respond to this attempt to organize western societies without God? Archbishop Chaput suggested that believers must learn from “the Catholicism of resistance” demonstrated by the Slovakian Church in response to a half-century of repression by atheistic totalitarian regimes. That resistance was seen above all in responding to the culture of the lie—the rampant lying in practice that was a staple of communism as well the anthropological mendacity and propaganda at the basis of atheistic “inhuman humanism”—with the truth. Archbishop Chaput said we need to be guided practically by Jesus’ words “the truth will make you free” as well as by Vaclav Havel’s application of those words to “live within the truth.” For Christians, living within the truth, Archbishop Chaput says, means living according to Jesus Christ, “proclaiming the truth of the Christian Gospel, not only by our words but by our example. It means living every day and every moment from the unshakeable conviction that God lives, and that His love is the motive force of human history and the engine of every authentic human life. It means believing that the truths of the Creed are worth suffering and dying for. Living within the truth also means telling the truth and calling things by their right names. And that means exposing the lies by which some men try to force others to live.” Archbishop Chaput got very specific about “two of the biggest lies in the world today” and says that believers must work hard to expose their falsity.


The first big lie is that “Christianity was of relatively minor importance in the development of the West.” The prelate said that the history of the Church and Western Christianity are being pushed down an Orwellian memory hole, sometimes out of an attempt to promote peaceful co-existence in a pluralistic society, but often in order to “marginalize Christians and neutralize the Church’s public witness.” He said that we need to “name and fight this lie,” because our societies in the West “are Christian by birth and their survival depends on the endurance of Christian values,” especially values like the belief in individual rights that precede the state and the balance of powers. “The defense of Western ideals is the only protection that we and our neighbors have,” he warned, “against a descent into new forms of repression, whether it be at the hands of extremist Islam or secularist technocrats.”


That leads to the second big lie that might be identified and opposed: that Western values and institutions “can be sustained without a grounding in Christian moral principles.” Modern secularists are pushing relativism—the idea that there is no unchanging truth—as the “civil religion and public philosophy of the West.” This may seem superficially appealing within the context of a pluralistic society, but in practice, he added, “without a belief in fixed moral principles and transcendent truths, our political institutions and language become instruments in the service of a new barbarism.”


That is seen above all, Archbishop Chaput noted, in the crime of abortion, which he called “the foundational injustice” and “crucial issue” of our age. “The right to life is the foundation of every other human right. If that right is not inviolate, then no right can be guaranteed.” He said that the widespread acceptance of abortion in the West “shows us that without a grounding in God or a higher truth, our democratic institutions can very easily become weapons against our own human dignity, [through] a form of intimate violence that clothes itself in democracy [wherein] the will to power of the strong is given the force of law to kill the weak.” That despotism of might-makes-right is “where we are heading in the West today,” he warned, and needs to be resisted, as the Slovaks resisted the totalitarians of the Nazist and Communist murder regimes.


This resistance, he added, must come not just from “Church professionals” but from “every serious believer.” The whole Church is called to imitate the Slovakian heroes of the faith and become a “believing community of resistance.” Such a community, he said, will call things by their true names, “really believe what we say we believe,” and be willing to prove God is real by the witness of their lives in the midst of a world that is on the verge of forgetting Him. “The renewal of the West depends overwhelmingly,” he concluded, on Christian families, parishes, and dioceses beginning to live out this faithful communal resistance in the truth.



World Day of grandparents and the elderly



July 25, 2021





Many countries have special days to honor grandparents. Some choose fixed days: Poland celebrates on January 21st (grandmothers) and 22nd (grandfathers) The Netherlands, June 4th Brazil, Portugal, and Spain on July 26th Mexico on August 28th Italy on October 2nd and Russia on October 28th. Others choose specific Sundays: The United States, together with Bangladesh, Estonia, and the Philippines, on the second Sunday of September France, the first Sunday of March Taiwan, the last Sunday of August Japan, the third Sunday of September The United Kingdom, the first Sunday of October Hong Kong, Germany and Pakistan, the second Sunday of October Australia, the last Sunday of October South Sudan, the Second Sunday of November and Singapore, the Fourth Sunday of November. But the vast majority of the world’s 197 countries do not have a day to honor our parents’ parents. The United Nations, which has 190 different international days, does not have one for grandparents.

That is why it is highly significant, not just within the Catholic Church, but within the global community, that Pope Francis has established the World Day of Grandparents and the Elderly to be celebrated every year on the fourth Sunday of July. With Catholics present in almost every country, the commemoration should be a leaven making fitting appreciation for grandparents rise across the globe. The first observance will take place this Sunday, July 25, 2021.

In his message in preparation for the day, Pope Francis said he was moved to establish it not just because of the importance of grandparents and the elderly, a theme on which he has often spoken, but particularly because of the neglect and isolation so many grandparents and seniors experienced as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic, when travel restrictions, nursing home policies, and fear for their safety prevented their being visited and embraced by their loved ones. He hopes that on this day, grandchildren will visit their grandparents, perhaps even sharing with them a copy of his letter and that families will have special observances thanking God for the gift of grandparents, praying for them, and entrusting to the Lord those who have died, particularly during the pandemic. To incentivize the day, he has permitted the granting of a plenary indulgence, under the usual conditions, for all those who participate in liturgical celebrations observing it, those who unite themselves spiritually to those celebrations if they are unable to leave their homes, and those who visit, in person or virtually, their grandparents or elderly brothers and sisters in need. The choice of the fourth Sunday of July is transparently to connect it, as closely as possible, to the July 26th Feast of Saint Joachim and Anne, the parents of Mary and grandparents of Jesus. This link to Jesus’ family tree and salvation history suggests that everyone’s genealogy and personal prehistory is part of the providential plan of God.

Pope Francis, in his message, was summoning grandparents to recognize and be renewed in their sacred calling to be guardians of the connection between their family’s history and salvation history and to pass on to younger generations a clear awareness of their place in the bigger picture. Speaking as an elder himself, he asked grandparents and seniors, “What is our vocation today, at our age?” It is “to preserve our roots, to pass on the faith to the young, and to care for the little ones.” He called grandparents and seniors to be a living memory. “Keeping memory alive and sharing it with others,” he stated, “is a true mission for every elderly person.” Memory, he added, is “the foundation of life” and grandparents have a key role in establishing their grandkids securely not only in firm familial roots and stories but also in the history of the faith. The young normally look toward the present and the future and are prone to neglect the past grandparents are prophets who bring the wisdom and experience of the past to guide the now and the not yet.

The vocation of grandparents, he added, is linked to their vocation as apostles. Just like the Lord “never, ever goes into retirement,” he stated, “there is no retirement age from the work of proclaiming the Gospel and handing down traditions to your grandchildren.” He was surprised, he said, that at 76, he was elected the Successor of St. Peter, and in the last eight years, he has not slowed down in trying to live and teach the faith. Citing the Biblical figures of Abraham, Moses, Tobit, Eleazar, Elizabeth, Zechariah, Simeon, Anna, and Nicodemus, all of whose major contributions to salvation history took place when they were advanced in years, he urged grandparents to see themselves as still very important laborers in the Lord’s vineyard (Mt 20:1-16). Even if physically, they may not be as vigorous, he reminded them that their prayer is a “very precious resource,” something that can protect and help the world, perhaps even more “than the frenetic activity of many others.”

While calling upon grandparents and seniors to recognize how important their mission is in the Church and society and to keep loving, like Christ, until the end, the Pope was also encouraging grandchildren, children, and the young to receive with gratitude the generous giving of their elders. “The future of the world,” he said, “depends on this covenant between young and old.” Normally elders long for that sacred bond, while the young can be focused so much on looking ahead that they can take for granted, often until it is too late, the treasure being offered. The official flower for Grandparents’ Day in the USA is, appropriately, the forget-me-not. The Holy Father is hoping by this new World Day to have grandparents and grandchildren renew that covenant and mutually strengthen each other through that bond.

In my years as a priest, I have witnessed — as almost every priest does — the crucial importance of grandparents in the transmission of the faith and the culture that flows from it. I have also repeatedly seen firsthand the suffering of grandparents when their children and grandchildren do not receive that gift and practice the faith. In my conversations with wayward teens and young adults, often one of the most effective apologetics is not getting them to appreciate the love of God and seek to love Him back, but getting them to appreciate the love of their grandmother or grandfather and to recognize that the greatest way to love them back and make them happy would be to make the mature choice to return with them to Mass. Appreciating their grandparents’ faith as constitutive of what has made them who they are is frequently a means by which more maturely to make it their own.

Surveys have shown that 72 percent of seniors think that being a grandparent is the single most important and satisfying thing in their life, 90 percent enjoy talking about their grandchildren to everyone, and 63 percent confess they do a better job caring for their grandchildren than they cared for their own. With more time on their hands than they ever did as parents, grandparents love spending time with their grandchildren, teaching them, praying with them, playing with them, giving them encouragement and unconditional love, listening to their stories, attending their games, concerts, and academic milestones. They are the ultimate good cops, leading by positive example. And they love watching their kids grow as parents simultaneous with the maturation of the grandchildren.

The world is so much better because of the way grandparents live out their vocation. Together with Pope Francis and the whole Church, we celebrate them, thank them, commit to spending time with them, recommit to the covenant of love with them, and pray for them.


lord i am not worthy



July 18, 2021





This Year of the Eucharist gives us an opportunity to look more closely at the words we use at Mass and at the Scriptural background to those words. I want to look at the words and Scriptural background of the very familiar prayer we say with the priest before we receive Communion. In the old translation this prayer reads, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you but only say the word and I shall be healed.” There are several significant changes in the new translation, which reads, “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”


Words are important in prayer. There is an old Latin saying that the rule of prayer is the rule of faith (lex credendi lex orandi). The words we use as we pray affect what we believe. This happens whether we are aware of it or not, because words carry ideas with them and by regularly using the words the ideas seep into our minds and hearts.


I want to concentrate for a moment on a word that did not change in the new translation: “worthy.” What does it mean to be “worthy”? The Latin word translated as “worthy” is the basis for our English word “dignity.” “Worth” has something to do with “dignity.” All human beings, by virtue of the fact that they are created by God in His image, have inherent dignity. This is the basis for the Church’s support of human rights. Every human being is worthy of equal respect and honor from conception till natural death simply because they are human. We affirm that each one of us has dignity and worth in the sight of God. This is proved by the fact that the Church teaches that Jesus did not just suffer and die for the whole human race in general: He sacrificed Himself for each of us personally. As the well known verse in St John’s Gospel says: “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).


So, what does it mean to say in our Prayer before Communion, “Lord, I am not worthy”? Quite obviously God considered that the human race–and every individual human being–was “worth” the sacrifice of the Body and Blood of His Son. The point is that nothing we did or can do merits this act of complete grace on God’s part. Because God is just, we merited only punishment because of our sins. But because God is also rich in mercy, He freely offered Himself in Jesus as the atonement for our sins.


There is a story in the Gospels which beautifully illustrates this great mercy and grace of God.


St. Luke tells us (Luke 7:1–10) of a Roman centurion–a pagan–who came to Jesus to seek healing for his sick servant. This centurion knew that he had no claim on Jesus. He was a “man of authority” but his authority did not extend to ordering Jesus to come and go as he wished. Knowing he had no claim on Jesus’ gift of healing, he nevertheless trusted completely in Jesus’ great mercy–and in His great power. He said: “Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof. Therefore I did not presume to come to you. But say the word, and let my servant be healed.”


Since the Latin behind the prayer “Lord, I am not worthy” is based on the centurion’s words, our new translation accurately reflects this: “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof.”


Like the centurion coming to Jesus, we do not come to Jesus presuming that we have any merit that would make us “worthy” of receiving the great sacrament of His body and blood. We know that we are able to come to Him and receive Him only because of God’s great mercy.


The centurion sought physical healing for his servant. Bodily healing is important, and the sacrament of the Altar is an aid to physical healing. The Second Vatican Council, quoting St. Ignatius of Antioch, said that: “Every time this mystery [of the Eucharist] is celebrated, “the work of our redemption is carried on” and we “break the one bread that provides the medicine of immortality, the antidote for death, and the food that makes us live forever in Jesus Christ” (Lumen Gentium §3). The Eucharist has power to heal our bodies precisely because it brings healing at the deepest reality of our being, at the level which traditional Catholic teaching has called “the soul.” For this reason, another change was made to our prayer to more accurately reflect the Latin original: “…but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” The Eucharist brings healing to our souls. Such healing is not limited to spiritual healing, but it certainly begins there.


This reflects another story in the Gospels, the healing of the paralyzed man let down through the roof by his friends into the crowded room where Jesus was teaching (Matthew 2:1–12). Jesus astounds the crowd by saying to the man: “Your sins are forgiven.” Only after this, to demonstrate that He has the power and authority to forgive sins, does Jesus effect the visible miracle of healing the man’s paralysis. Jesus teaches us that spiritual healing is primary for physical healing.


There are, of course, other sacraments specifically for the healing of our souls (the Sacrament of Reconciliation) and our bodies (the Sacrament of Anointing of the Sick). We know that we cannot approach the Lord’s altar to receive His Body and Blood if we have committed an act of mortal sin that we have not confessed. It is in the sacrament of Reconciliation especially that the Lord “says the word” which brings us spiritual healing. Confession prepares us to receive the additional healing we need in the Eucharist.


Also, the instructions in the Missal notes that the prayer “Lord, I am not worthy” is to be prayed by the priest “together with the people.” Only then does the priest receive communion. This prayer is said, then, before anyone, priest or people, receive communion, because none of us is “worthy” that Jesus should come to us in so intimate a way.


The changes made to the translation of the Mass connect us more deeply with the words of the Mass and with the Scripture on which it is based. We do not come trusting in our own merit. We come trusting only in Jesus’ gracious invitation and in His great power to heal us. He accomplishes that healing in the Eucharist, working from the inside out, starting with the healing of our souls.



The Mystery of Faith



July 11, 2021





The Catholic Faith can seem very complicated at times. There are 2,865 paragraphs in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. No one, it seems, could know all that. How do we cope with all this information when all we have is a “simple” faith? Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI, in his first encyclical, had some good news for us. He wrote: “Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction” (Deus Caritas Est §1). The Catholic Faith is indeed a “mystery” but, precisely because it is a “mystery,” it cannot be known by intellectual means alone. The mystery at the very heart of our faith can only be grasped through a personal encounter with Jesus, as with a brother and a friend as well as a Lord and master. This mystery is found most fully in the Blessed Sacrament of the Altar, the Eucharist.


In continuing reflections on the new translation of the Roman Rite of the Mass, we have come to the heart of the Eucharist, the consecration of the bread and wine by the priest: “This is my body, which will be given up for you ….This is the chalice of my blood, the new and everlasting covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.” Immediately after he has prayed these words, and has shown the Body and Blood of Christ to the people in the Elevation, the priest declares: “The mystery of faith.”

These words point to the Eucharist upon the altar. This–this Eucharist–is the “mystery of faith.” The phrase is very similar to the words said by the priest or deacon at the end of the Gospel: “The Gospel of the Lord.” It refers to the mystery that has just been placed before us: in the case of the Gospel, to the Word that has just been proclaimed in the case of the Eucharist, to the Body and Blood of the Lord, which are now before us on the altar by virtue of the consecration.

There is certainly much in the Eucharist that could exercise our intellects. There is a story in the life of St. Thomas Aquinas, one of the greatest theologians of the Eucharist, that towards the end of his life he heard Christ speaking to him and saying: “Thomas, you have written well of me. What reward will you have?” The saint replied: “Lord, nothing but yourself!” Indeed, great theology is as nothing compared to the gift of this real and personal encounter with the Lord in the Eucharist. Even young children receiving their First Communion can know that here in this sacrament they encounter Jesus in a very personal–if still very “mysterious”–way.

So, after the priest declares “the mystery of faith,” we respond with words addressed directly to Jesus, who is present before us. Just as the response to the Gospel (“Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ”) is an acclamation addressed to Jesus present in that very Gospel, so the response after the consecration is an acclamation addressed to Jesus present among us in the Eucharistic elements.

In the new translation, there are three (rather than four) acclamations, all addressed personally to Jesus:

We proclaim your Death, O Lord,
and profess your Resurrection
until you come again.

Or:

When we eat this Bread and drink this Cup,
we proclaim your Death, O Lord,
until you come again.

Or:

Save us, Savior of the world,
for by your Cross and Resurrection
you have set us free.

The “mystery of faith” is a concrete reality and not simply an intellectual exercise. It is a personal encounter with Jesus, and so in each of these acclamations, Jesus is addressed directly: “We proclaim your death, O Lord”…“We profess your resurrection”…“Save us, Savior of the world.”

The new translation does not have the popular response “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again,” because that response does not actually address Christ Himself. It is a fine statement of faith but is not actually an “acclamation” addressed to Jesus, and so does not bring out the fact that here, in this “mystery of faith” in the Eucharist, we encounter our Lord. (It should also be noted that neither this response nor the second acclamation “Dying you destroyed our death” is actually in the Latin original of the rite of the Mass.)

We can see how the first two acclamations in the new translation are personalized by comparing them to the words on which they are based. In St. Paul’s first letter to the Church in ancient Corinth, after he had recorded our Lord’s “words of institution” from the Last Supper, he wrote: “For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor 11:26). St. Paul added these words as if to say: this is what the sacrament is all about–it is a proclamation of the whole mystery of Christ, from His suffering and death to His return at the end of time. And this becomes real and present to us when we eat this particular bread and drink this particular cup, precisely because this bread is His Body and this is the chalice of His Blood.

But notice how we have altered these words to become an address to Christ really present in the Eucharist: “we proclaim your death, O Lord, until you come again.” It is here that we see that at the center of our faith is not “a lofty idea,” but the “encounter with a person,” Jesus Christ our Lord, “which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction.” Here both the events of the past–the death and Resurrection of Jesus–and the events of the future–the coming of our Lord at the end of time–are made present before us. As the priest goes on to pray after the acclamation of the people, this sacrament is “the memorial” of all that Jesus has done for us and will do for us.

This is indeed a very deep and profound mystery. It is not like the “mystery” in detective novels, where once we have read the final page we know “who did it,” and there is no longer any “mystery.” The “mystery of faith” is a mystery that both the very learned and the very simple can grasp. And indeed we do take hold of it, when in Holy Communion we receive this sacrament into our very selves, and it becomes a part of us, shaping our lives. It is a personal mystery, a personal encounter of love with the Lord.

I hope that, like me, you have come to appreciate using the new English translation of the Mass. The changes were perhaps difficult to understand at first, but they were designed to invite us ever deeper into the “mystery of faith” in the Eucharist, which it is our lifelong task to come to know on an ever deeper and more personal level.



Catholics in the Public Square



July 4, 2021





How do we respond effectively as Catholics to the tragically too common circumstance of Catholics in prominent positions blatantly betraying the Catholic faith? On the intentional killing of fellow human beings, the truth about the family, the revelation about the human person made in God’s image male or female, and Christ’s personal identification with the hungry, thirsty, sick, naked, imprisoned, or someone otherwise in need? There is of course no single, concrete, detailed answer applicable in every time and place with every person. As Catholics, truth and love must always be part of our response since without truth we leave others enslaved and without charity we are just a noisy gong. Prudence is always required to know best what to say, when, and how. The other theological and cardinal virtues—faith in God, hope that people can change, courage to say things out of season, justice with regard to the real harms done, and moderation not to go too far too soon—are always similarly helpful. There is also the indispensable guidance and assistance of the Holy Spirit and His gifts.


Since many Catholics, however, are tempted to objectify, treat by different standards, and occasionally even dehumanize Catholics in public office who are unfaithful to Church teaching in scandalously conspicuous ways, it is helpful to examine the ways most Catholics handle circumstances in their own families and apply that practical wisdom to the circumstances of prominent, prodigal sons and daughters of the family of faith. I would like to mention three different stories.


The first has happened often in parish life. Parents or grandparents come to see me crestfallen, frustrated and at their wits’ end, over the situation of their children or grandchildren who have stopped coming to Mass, are cohabitating with a boyfriend or girlfriend, invalidly married, or in some other serious immoral situation. As if that is not a big enough concern already, they then tell me that their children or grandchildren have stopped talking to them. When I ask what happened, the pattern is almost always the same. They recount that they gave witness to the truth, let their loved ones know that they were sinning, appealed to them to convert and go to confession, expressed their fear that they would go to hell if they died, and so on.


“How did she respond?” I gently ask.


“Terribly” is the basic reply. “How often would you say these things to him?” I query. “Almost every time I see him!”


It is certainly understandable that a faithful parent or grandparent would worry, even obsess, about the situation of a loved one in danger. If the person were in an ICU in danger of death, it is natural that the elder would struggle to think about anything else. Hence it makes sense that faithful parents and grandparents would similarly be preoccupied when their loved ones’ souls were in serious danger. But how they handle the situation matters. Especially in circumstances when their loved ones are in denial about the moral qualification of their lifestyle, or when they feel trapped, powerless, or too afraid to change it, bringing it up in every conversation as if it is the only thing that matters is counterproductive. Not only can it stimulate people’s defensiveness to their whole life being summarized by the expression “living in sin,” or their resentment over seeming to be more judged than loved—leading the person to “dig in” and remain in the situation out of a desire not to let the parent or grandparent “win” or incentivize his or her style of attempted persuasion but it can unintentionally deteriorate the relational bridges that the loved one may need to come back to the communion of the faith.


“What’s the right way to do it, Father?” several have desperately asked.


“Your loved ones need to know the truth and where you stand,” I reply. “But you don’t need to remind them every time you see them.”


For the call to conversion to be effective, in most circumstances, it must be enveloped by a thick layer of love, rather than shrouded in shame, embarrassment, fear, and what may seem like judgmentalism. That is why in such situations it is important to focus nine parts on loving as normal, and one part on illustrating that the love likewise extends to appropriate concern for their loved one’s soul, relationship with God, and eternal happiness.


The second story has to do with a question I get every time I give adult education talks on Catholics and politics: “Why don’t the bishops excommunicate pro-abortion Catholic politicians?” It is a fair question that is often phrased with a mix of frustration and discouragement, and occasionally with a sense that they think the prelates are weak cowards, or asleep with their rod and staff, or even secretly pro-abortion. I generally begin by speaking about what canon law says about excommunication. But then I shift to prudence, as to whether they think excommunicating offending politicians will likely lead them to conversion and remove the scandal or get the politicians to dig in and try to use it to their political advantage—and perhaps even cause other unintended stumbling blocks to the faithful.


As part of that dialogue, I ask how we generally handle the situation of pro-abortion family members or those who otherwise take positions contrary to Catholic faith and morals. Do we generally “excommunicate” them from Thanksgiving dinner? In large audiences, there are always a few who say they do. I politely ask what has been the impact of that de facto familial exile? Does it lead the offending parties to conversion? Are the other family members happier as a result or does it weigh like a pall over the gathering? I am grateful for the honesty of the interlocutors who have humbly admitted that it has not brought about conversions and in fact has divided the family with regard to those who “support” the ostracized family member versus those who “oppose.”


For the vast majority who admit they do not excommunicate family members, I ask why them why not. In general, they say that they do not think it will work to bring the individuals to repentance and they fear it will only drive the family further apart. They also admit that, with respect to the bad example that might be given to younger generations, they have a greater duty to teach the faith well and maturely: that loving a wayward uncle is not incompatible with helping them see that not all of his decisions are wise and holy ones. In these discussions, I generally encourage people to remember that bishops are asking themselves similar questions about balancing a clear witness to the truth and a call to conversion with helping people remember that they are beloved members of the family, even when they make sinful decisions. Similar practical wisdom should inform the way Catholic citizens as a whole approach Catholic public figures who oppose, rather than live by and proclaim, the Gospel.


The last story is St. Monica. For 17 years she had to deal with the various moral problems of her pagan husband Patricius and her cantankerous mother-in-law, and then for 15 additional years she had to suffer the flagrant sins of her famous son Augustine. She patiently told the truth, forgave, loved, and prayed. All three eventually converted. And because of 32 years of persevering prayer for their conversions, she, too, became a saint. St. Monica teaches us that in response to the sins of our family members and the disappointment and worry we experience as a result, we are not called to become the wagging fingers of the Mystical Body of Christ but the calloused knees. We are called not to “virtue signal” the truth as take-it-or-leave-it propositions with eternal consequences, but announce the truth in affectionate charity, reminding them by our behavior of the love of the Father of the Prodigal Son. Where such sins of our prominent Catholic family members abound, as they unhappily do, our prayers must abound all the more, and far more than our criticisms, however just. We must never lose a profound sense of family—ecclesial and national—even if made dysfunctional by sin. We must always remember that persevering prayer, like St. Monica’s, does work, as does incessant charity, and through them, God makes saints.



devotion to St. Joseph



June 27, 2021





The Church is continuing her celebration of the Year of Saint Joseph, called by the Vatican to mark the 150th anniversary of Saint Joseph’s being declared patron of the Church. How can Catholics who have not really been taking advantage of this time of grace get started? How can those who have been focused on it pick up speed? There are some very good resources, like Pope Francis’ apostolic letter Patris Corde (“With A Father’s Heart”), Saint John Paul II’s 1989 apostolic exhortation Redemptoris Custos (“Guardian of the Redeemer”), or Father Donald Calloway’s 2019 best seller Consecration to St. Joseph: The Wonders of Our Spiritual Father. However, the book I have profited most from, recommend most heartily, and have been emailing to everyone who has asked how to grow closer to Saint Joseph this year is Father Henri Rondet’s 1956 classic Saint Joseph, a translation of his 1953 French original Saint Joseph: Textes Anciens Avec Une Introduction. It is the most helpful book on Saint Joseph I have ever found.

Father Rondet (1898-1979) was a French Jesuit theologian, professor, and prodigious author of more than 50 books on almost every theological subject one could conceive: the sacraments, confession, marriage, grace, original and personal sin, purgatory, hell, the communion of saints, the apostolate, the Parable of the Pharisee and Publican, the Sacred Heart, Mary, St. Augustine, the development of dogma, Vatican I and Vatican II, the Christian faith and divorce, the theology of work, obedience, and peace. In novitiate and at the Gregorian University in Rome, he assiduously studied Saint Thomas Aquinas. He eventually taught patristics. But his real passion was to pass on to the wider public the treasures of the faith, something that led to his becoming, in 1955, the French national director of the Apostleship of Prayer, founded in 1844 to help lay Catholics take up their role in the Church’s mission through the morning offering, devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, and praying for the monthly intentions of the pope. Theology was meant to lead us to our knees.

Father Rondet said he wrote this work because “St. Joseph is still not properly known and understood. Devotion to him is widespread and enthusiastic, and there is a very large number of books that seek to minister to this devotion. But too often these writings are lacking in the spirit of critical scholarship or in theological competence, and one result of this is that others among the faithful are put off. The aim of this book is to put St. Joseph’s place in the economy of salvation before both classes of the faithful.”

What I love about this brilliant and zealous priest’s work about Saint Joseph is its structure. He begins with a superb and readable 49-page summary of the presentation of Saint Joseph in the Gospels, the apocryphal writings, sacred tradition, popular legends, medieval art, religious authors, and the 15th to 17th Century rebirth of devotion. He describes the development of the Feast of St. Joseph and the decision of Blessed Pius IX to name him patron of the Church. And he finishes with a brief synthesis of the theology of St. Joseph.

In the section, Father Rondet demolishes the idea that Saint Joseph was a super-old man at the time of his betrothal of Mary, which would not only diminish St. Joseph’s chastity and undermine his capacity to work as a carpenter to support the Holy Family but would put him in the weird category of really old men who marry really young women. He argues that St. Joseph was a young virgin marrying a younger virgin and that their marriage, though remaining virginal, was fruitful. He shows that he was a true father in the way he committed himself to the life and growth of Jesus. And against those who try to argue, out of excessive piety, that St. Joseph was essentially the male equivalent of Mary, and therefore sinless, even immaculately conceived, Fr. Rondet shows not only that this is not part of the tradition, but not upheld by the evidence.

In the second section of the work, Father Rondet gives us a 185-page anthology of the most important writings on Saint Joseph from the fourth through the twentieth century. He includes great saints like St. John Chrysostom, St. Bernard, St. Bernardine of Siena, St. Vincent Ferrer, St. Teresa of Avila, St. Francis de Sales, St. Alphonsus Ligouri, St. John Henry Newman famous writers and orators like Jean Gerson, Bishop Jacques-Bénigne Bossuet, Father Frederick Faber, Cardinal Herbert Vaughn and Popes Leo XIII, Benedict XV, and Pius XII as well as various of the most influential prayers and hymns throughout the centuries.

To have access in one place to the greatest thoughts expressed, at least until 1953, about Saint Joseph, is like diving into the powerful river of graces pouring out of heaven for many centuries with regard to Saint Joseph. I would like to finish with a taste of the citations you can read in the book.

The first is by St. Teresa of Avila about praying to St. Joseph. She had been cured at the age of 26 of a crippling illness after invoking his intercession. She wrote:

“I do not remember once having asked anything of him that was not granted. … God seems to have given other saints power to help us in particular circumstances, but I know from experience that this glorious St. Joseph helps in each and every need. … Others, who have turned to Joseph on my advice, have had the like experience. … All I ask, for the love of God, is that anyone who does not believe me will put what I say to the test and learn for himself how advantageous it is to commend oneself to this glorious patriarch Joseph and to have a special devotion for him. Prayerful persons, in particular, should love him like a father.”

The second is from Cardinal Herbert Vaughn, Archbishop of Westminster about the role of St. Joseph in the Christian life. He stated:

“Of old it was said to the needy and suffering people in the kingdom of Egypt: ‘Go to Joseph, and do all that he shall say to you’ (Gen. 41:55). The same is now said … to all needy and suffering people in the kingdom of the Church — ‘Go to Joseph.’ If you labor for your bread if you have a family to support if your heart is searched by trials at home if you are assailed by some importune temptation if your faith is sorely tested, and your hope seems lost in darkness and disappointment if you have yet to learn to love and serve Jesus and Mary as you ought, Joseph, the head of the house, the husband of Mary, the nursing father of Jesus — Joseph is your model, your teacher and your father. … Go, then, to Joseph, and do all that he shall say to you. Go to Joseph, and obey him as Jesus and Mary obeyed him. Go to Joseph, and speak to him as they spoke to him. Go to Joseph, and consult him as they consulted him. Go to Joseph, and honor him as they honored him. Go to Joseph, and be grateful to him as they were grateful to him. Go to Joseph, and love him as they loved him, and as they love him still. However much you love Joseph, your love will always fall short of the extraordinary love that Jesus and Mary bore to him. On the other hand, the love of Joseph necessarily leads us to Jesus and Mary. He was the first Christian to whom it was said, ‘Take the Child and His mother.’”

All those who want to go to Joseph, and from him to Jesus and Mary, would be wise to go first to Father Rondet.


a unified sacramental theology



June 20, 2021





Earlier this month, the Church celebrated the Solemnity of Corpus Christi. It is a time for us, as Saint Thomas Aquinas wrote in 1263 for the first celebration of the Body and Blood of the Lord Jesus, to “dare to do all we can” to express our gratitude at the “res mirabilis,” the mind-blowing reality that poor and humble servants, like us, not only have the opportunity to be in God’s real presence, to praise and adore Him, to take Him on processions, but actually to eat Him and draw our life from Him. This year, however, the celebration risked being diverted from the Eucharistic Lord to Catholic public figures who scandalously and zealously advocate for abortion and other evils, and whether they should be refused Holy Communion.

Several months ago, the U.S. Bishops committed themselves to composing a document on Eucharistic coherence, something they are expected to discuss in their June meeting. On May 1, Archbishop Salvatore Cordileone of San Francisco published a pastoral letter on the evil of abortion and how Catholics who reject the Church’s teaching should not receive Holy Communion. Four days later, Bishop Robert McElroy of San Diego responded with an article in America magazine, arguing that excluding pro-abortion politicians would bring “tremendous destructive consequences” to the understanding of the Eucharist, reducing it a “tool in political warfare.”

The Vatican’s Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF) weighed in with a May 7th letter from Cardinal Luis Ladaria to Archbishop José Gomez of Los Angeles, President of the U.S. Bishops’ Conference, urging that before any particular actions be discussed, the Bishops make clear that “those who are directly involved in lawmaking bodies have a grave and clear obligation to oppose any law that attacks human life” and reiterate the “grave moral responsibility of Catholic public officials to protect human life at all stages.” Cardinal Ladaria also suggested that “any statement of the Conference regarding Catholic political leaders would best be framed within the broad context of worthiness for the reception of Holy Communion on the part of all the faithful, rather than only one category of Catholics,” since attacks against life are not “the only grave matters of Catholic moral and social teaching that demand the fullest level of accountability on the part of Catholics.”

He was implying that, while there can be some prudential disagreements about what ought to be done with regard to Catholic public figures who formally cooperate in the sin of abortion through their public support, there should be no disagreement on the evil of abortion and the requirements to receive Holy Communion worthily. His raising those subjects is, first, a recognition that such unity does not exist as it should with regard to abortion or Holy Communion and, second, a challenge to bishops, priests, and faithful who are not with the Church to convert or be recognized for who they are. If Catholics believe what the Church publicly professes about the dignity of every human person made in God’s image and likeness in the womb, if they believe what Jesus taught clearly that whatever we do to the “least” of his brothers and sisters we do to Him and whoever receives a little child in His name receives Him (Mt 25:40 Mk 9:37), then we must recognize that every abortion is like Good Friday, except infinitely more gruesome. If a Catholic were “pro-choice” with regard to the possibility of crucifixion of the innocent, few would fail to see the rank contradiction and hypocrisy.

That Catholic public figures can fancy themselves devout while advocating for abortion, celebrating it as a human right, funding it domestically and internationally, requiring those nominated for judgeships to support it, and ingratiating themselves unabashedly with Planned Parenthood and other unborn slaughterhouses, is one of the great pastoral failures of our age. The Church needs unity to remedy this failure. Knowing what abortion is, how can some bishops, priests, theologians, and faithful pretend as if abortion is not the preeminent civil rights and social justice issue today? What else today is morally commensurate to the savage killing of the innocent on such an industrial scale? Moreover, while the Church is clear in her teaching about life, how many Catholic parishes give zero evidence of being against the killing of the unborn, where proud pro-abortion Catholics can attend for years without ever having their consciences nudged, not to mention convicted? The Church must speak with one voice and with integrity across all its institutions, as Cardinal Ladaria notes, with regard to how Catholics must oppose laws that attack human life and do all they can to protect life at all stages.

The second thing about which the Church must teach and act in unity, he says, is about the conditions necessary to receive Holy Communion well. We live in an age in which many regard Jesus’ Body and Blood as the functional equivalent of cake at a birthday party: everyone should get a slice out of hospitality. People who have not been to Church in years, people who are not even Catholic, those who are involved in lifestyles seriously opposed to Jesus’ and the Church’s explicit teachings, feel entitled to receive just by having shown up.

The U.S. Bishops attempted to remedy this problem in 2006 with a fine pastoral letter, “Happy Are Those Called to This Supper.” It got specific about situations in which Catholics “are seriously obliged to refrain from receiving Holy Communion” until they are reconciled with God and with the Church. But there were two problems with the document. First, there was no real plan to ensure that the Bishops’ teaching got to those in the pews, to Catholic schools and religious education programs, and into practice — and therefore it sadly changed little on the ground. Second, it ducked the question of what should happen when, after a pastor has communicated the teaching clearly, people in the situations specified by the document not only disregard it but approach to receive communion anyway. The Code of Canon Law is plain that those who “obstinately persist in manifest grave sin” (Canon 915) must be refused, but the pastoral letter did not address the subject, hoping for voluntary compliance. Presuming volitional adherence, however, is naive, especially with regard to those who support abortion, most of whom have been apprised 70 times 7 times that they should be refraining from receiving Holy Communion, but have brazenly been ignoring it, shrewdly anticipating that bishops and priests who are not complicit with their political program will be too conflicted to refuse them.

To refuse someone Holy Communion is considered by some more serious than a sacrilegious communion however, doing so involves love for God and for sinners. Saint Thomas Aquinas wrote in the Lauda Sion Sequence for Corpus Christi, “Both the good and the bad eat of this celestial Food, but with ends how opposite! With this most substantial Bread, unto life or death they’re fed, in a difference infinite!” The Bread of Life becomes the bread of death for those who, as St. Paul says, “eats the bread or drinks the cup unworthily, … for anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body, eats and drinks judgment on himself” (1 Cor 11:27-29).

How can pastors, or faithful, or anyone who claims to love God and neighbor ignore this truth? It is not surprising that those who would allow the image of God to be desecrated in the womb would not grasp the horror of a sacrilegious communion, but how can those who profess to believe in the real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist, or in the eternal consequences of sinful choices, treat it as no big deal?

Lack of unity on each of these pastoral crises compounds the other. If the de facto message of the Church is that everyone receives Holy Communion no matter what, then it seems cruel, judgmental, and sinful to suggest that those who support the savage destruction of our littlest brothers and sisters must be refused. Similarly, if prominent Catholics who infamously support abortion receive Holy Communion, how can anyone else not feel that he or she is similarly entitled, no matter what unabsolved sins they may have committed? To move forward on the question of refusing Holy Communion for pro-abortion politicians without addressing effectively, at the level of parishes, schools and homes, the Catholic teaching about life and worthy reception of the Eucharist, would run the serious risk of it being interpreted as the scapegoating of a few in a sacramental vendetta, something that could appear to many as reducing the Church’s teachings on life and communion to political positions. As important and urgent as it is to address the scandal of the sacrilegious holy communion of unrepentant pro-abortion Catholic politicians, the bishops, priests, and faithful in the U.S. need to work on each other to remedy first the practical confusion about the fifth commandment and about basic sacramental theology.


The ethics of covid-19 vaccines



June 13, 2021





In recent weeks, I have encountered scores of people who are confused about Church teaching with regard to the morality of taking COVID-19 vaccines. This confusion comes not really because they have not heard that Pope Francis, two Vatican organs, and the US Conference of Catholic Bishops have all said that it is morally permissible to receive them. It is mainly because several prominent figures have undermined that teaching by publicly asserting that getting vaccinated is immoral. In so doing, they have essentially said that the Church’s well-established principles on cooperation in evil are not valid in the case of vaccines tainted in any way by the use of cell lines derived from abortions and that St. John Paul II, Pope Benedict XVI, and Pope Francis have all been in error with regard to their moral analysis of such vaccines. Such a claim, especially from figures with a reputation for doctrinal orthodoxy, is scandalous. Beyond obfuscating the Church’s position with regard to COVID vaccines, it renders papal judgments and formal Vatican declarations nothing more than erroneous opinions, something that cannot but undermine the teaching authority of the Church.

What are the principles of the Church with regard to receiving vaccines that in their development (J&J), production (J&J), or testing (J&J, Pfizer and Moderna) have involved cell lines derived from aborted fetuses? Since the Church emphatically condemns abortion, is it possible to benefit in any way from products derived from such an abortion, in these cases, one committed about fifty years ago?

This is the classic situation of cooperation in evil. The Church teaches that is always sinful to approve of a sin committed by another, which is called formal cooperation. More complicated is “material cooperation,” when one cooperates only in the bad action of the other without approving of the evil. Such cooperation can be morally permissible when the action is good or indifferent in itself and when there is a reason for doing it that is both morally good and proportioned to the seriousness of the other’s sin and to the closeness of the assistance provided to carrying out the sin.

Applied to the situation of taking vaccines that involve aborted cell lines, the action of taking a vaccine is in general good or at least neutral. There is a just reason: to protect one’s own or others’ health from a disease that has taken 3.3 million lives across the world. The assistance given to the original abortion by someone vaccinated today is nonexistent, since there is no evidence that doing so will promote other illicit cell lines. And the only thing that seems to be proportionate to the evil of abortion would be seeking to save innocent lives.

That is why the Church has concluded and taught that it is permissible to take the vaccines. At the same time the Church stresses that it is of course wrong to create abortion-derived cell lines and for pharmaceutical companies to use them that using vaccines benefitting from abortion-derived cell lines should be avoided when comparable alternatives with no connection to abortion, or less connection to abortion, are available and Catholics and all those concerned for the sanctity of life should protest the use of tainted cell lines and advocate for the development of vaccines with no connection to abortion.

So, the Vatican and the US Bishops have been clear that, under present circumstances, because of the seriousness of COVID-19, it is morally permissible to receive Pfizer, Moderna and the J&J vaccines, with preference given to the first two where possible, and that this does not constitute formal or material proximate cooperation in the abortions from which the cell lines involved in their development, production, or testing were derived. The Church also insists, however, on the duty to push for ethically untainted vaccines, and some are presently being developed.

What are the challenges?

Some think that the protest against tainted vaccines must be absolute. One well-respected bishop said that he could not in good conscience receive a vaccine even minimally derived from an aborted child and urged others to reject such vaccines. Our culture, he says rightly, has become habituated to the exploitation of aborted children. For that reason, he urged others with him to wait for ethically untainted vaccines in order to testify to the truth that abortion must be rejected in all its forms. Others think that abortion is so evil that the theological principle of material cooperation no longer applies, because to permit any abortion-derived vaccine would contradict the Church’s recognition of abortion as a grave moral evil. Abortion is so evil, one well-regarded bishop wrote, that any connection to an abortion, however remote, is an immoral cooperation with one of today’s greatest crimes and cannot be accepted by a Catholic with a well-formed conscience.

One cannot but give God thanks for these bishops’ profound pro-life convictions. At the same time, however, it is necessary to state, emphatically, that theirs is not Church teaching. A pro-life intention does not render every moral judgment that a person makes infallible. It does not allow one to overturn the Church’s principles with regard to cooperation in evil, which were formulated precisely to apply to situations of moral atrocities like abortion. And it does not allow one to presume a position of pro-life superiority to St. John Paul II, or Benedict XVI or Francis.

That said, while receiving a COVID vaccine is permissible, it is not a strict moral obligation. One can in conscience voluntarily refuse. Some may also need to decline vaccines because they are allergic to one of the ingredients or have a severely compromised immune system. At the same time, there is a duty to protect one’s health and to protect others, especially those who are weakest and most vulnerable. That is why the Church says that if one chooses not to be vaccinated, then out of love of neighbor and pursuit of the common good, that person must do his or her utmost to avoid becoming means for the transmission of COVID to others.

Charity is the context with which to understand Pope Francis’ words in a recent interview, “I believe that morally everyone must take the vaccine. It is the moral choice because it is about your life but also the lives of others.” Christians are called to love one another as Christ has loved us. If the Good Shepherd laid down his life to save the lives of his sheep, Pope Francis is implying, we should be willing to take a vaccine if doing so might save the lives of one or more for whom COVID might prove lethal. So, while the decision to be vaccinated should be voluntary, the proper use of freedom should always be tied to love. Therefore, under ordinary circumstances, the case to be vaccinated against COVID-19 seems stronger than the case against.

That does not mean that governments should compel citizens to be vaccinated, since it is possible, like the bishops cited above, to have conscientious objections. But conscientious objection, which must be protected, does not make one immune from consequences of such decisions, like in the case of “local mandates” at schools, or hospitals, or certain business settings: one cannot be forced to receive the vaccine, but neither can such settings be forced to accept someone who is not vaccinated, if they determine that doing so is contrary to the common good.

In the midst of many questions surrounding COVID-19 and vaccines, the Church has worked hard to provide clear — even if sophisticated and highly nuanced — answers. It is important for Catholics who think with the Church to put in the time to listen to the authentic voices and to study Church teaching so that we may radiate true light to others at a time of confusion.


Lex Orandi, Lex Credendi



June 6, 2021





A poor family was gathered around the dinner table for the birthday of the youngest son. After a short prayer of thanksgiving, the father said: “Son, it’s your birthday. Now make a wish, and then blow the candles.” The boy dutifully closed his eyes and then blew the candles. Then the father asked him, “Son, what was your birthday wish?” The boy said, “I wished that on my birthday next year, there will be a cake on the table so that I won’t be holding the candles.” The family was so poor that there was not even a small birthday cake on the table. But they knew that it was not what is essential in the birthday celebration. Rather, it is the gift of life that they are thankful to God for it is the family gathered together in love and harmony it is the assurance of God’s abiding presence that fills them with hope and joy. These are the things that make a birthday celebration truly meaningful, and not the cake, food, or merriment.

This Sunday we come together again to celebrate the Eucharist. It is always and essentially a thanksgiving, for that is what “Eucharist” means. The spirit of joy and gladness should be in us every time we celebrate the Eucharist. Unfortunately, there are many Catholics who do not see it that way anymore. Many have even left the Catholic Church because they found the celebrations boring and dry. They have come to Mass with lots of expectations and these have not been met, so they say. I am not saying that it is not good to have such expectations, but these are not what we came to Mass for. For instance, some are saying that the Mass does not provide enough entertainment, and so people are bored. A boy was asked why he had to keep quiet in the church. And he quickly replied, “Because there are people sleeping in church.” People want something new and spectacular every time. No wonder the most attended Masses are Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday, Easter Sunday, and Christmas – there are added attractions: ashes, palms, Easter eggs, and Christmas trees! Many expect the priest to always have jokes and stories in his homily to keep the congregation wide awake. Others demand that the choir members have great voices and sing more “upbeat” music others want well-choreographed movements of the ministers, polished lectors, comfortable seats, the best lighting and sound facilities, and other amenities. Admittedly, these are all valid concerns and expectations.

Worse than these, moreover, some priests have fallen into the same trap. Instead of giving the people what God wants for them, these priests give what the people want to hear and see for fear of offending them. In effect, the Word of God is not preached faithfully and prophetically. The celebration becomes like a concert or stage play, and the real sense of God’s active presence is totally lost. Too much emphasis on the horizontal dimension – the relationship between human persons – has led to the utter neglect of the more important dimension in the liturgy, the vertical dimension – the relationship between God and man.

Unfortunately, many of us have lost sight of what is really essential in the liturgical celebration: Jesus Christ Himself. Pope Emeritus Benedict insists on this: “The Liturgy is God’s action.” The center of the liturgy is not man, but God. Therefore, no Pope, bishop, or priest can mess with the liturgy just to be accommodating and entertaining to people. Just as a cake is not that essential to a birthday celebration, so also the music, the ministers, the church facilities, and even the personality of the priest, cannot be more important than the divine and real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. We have come here to Mass, not because of the ministers, the congregation, the music, or the environment we have come here for Jesus, to encounter Him personally in the Eucharist. Knowing and believing that Jesus is truly present, we then do the best we can to make this celebration truly meaningful and joyful. That is where the other things come in: the good homily, the orderly and solemn rituals, the “heavenly” music, the splendid service of the ministers, and the like. Pope Emeritus Benedict said, “The best catechesis on the Eucharist is the Eucharist itself well celebrated.”

There is the classic saying in Catholic Theology, Lex orandi, lex credendi, the law of prayer is the law of faith. It refers to the relationship between worship and belief. The Catechism of the Catholic Church states: “The Church’s faith precedes the faith of the believer who is invited to adhere to it. When the Church celebrates the sacraments, she confesses the faith received from the apostles – whence the ancient saying: lex orandi, lex credendi. The law of prayer is the law of faith: The Church believes as she prays. Liturgy is a constitutive element of the holy and living Tradition” (CCC 1124).

In other words, if we really believe that the Mass is the one and the same sacrifice of Jesus on the cross, that the bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ, that Jesus is truly present in the Holy Eucharist, then we will do the best we can to behave properly during Mass and to worship solemnly and appropriately. If we truly believe that the Eucharist is the sacrament of God’s love for us, then we who partake of it must also be motivated and filled with love. St. Josemaria Escrivá said, “You say the Mass is long and I add, because your love is short!”

On this celebration of the Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ, let us renew our faith in the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. Let this renewed faith inspire and move us to always come to Church every Sunday full of joy and eagerness to encounter Jesus, and to make our Eucharistic celebrations meaningful and truly pleasing in God’s eyes. In this way, we will be duty-bound, first, to prepare ourselves properly in our physical and spiritual life second, to actively and meaningfully participate in the celebration and third, to worthily receive Jesus in Holy Communion. Then the Mass ceases to be boring and dry. It becomes for us the source and the summit of our life as Christians. The Eucharist is truly our life! Welcome Home!!


Praying for Hans Küng



May 30, 2021





When I first heard the news on April 6th that the 93 year-old Swiss theologian and author Father Hans Küng had died, I had just finished the prayers for the fifth day of the Novena of Divine Mercy. His death during the novena necessarily frames our Christian reaction. For the novena’s fifth day, Jesus had asked Saint Faustina Kowalska, and through her us, to bring to him “the souls of those who have separated themselves from my Church and immerse them in the ocean of my mercy.” The Polish Sister of Our Lady of Mercy, in turn, begged Jesus to “receive into the abode of your most compassionate heart the souls of those who have separated themselves from your Church” and implored God the Father to “turn your merciful gaze upon the souls of those who have separated themselves from your Son’s Church, who have squandered your blessing and misused your graces by obstinately persisting in their errors. Do not look upon their errors, but upon the love of your own Son and upon his bitter Passion, which he underwent for their sake.”

It was as if, in the midst of the scores of lengthy obituaries and elegies that immediately were being run in Catholic and secular sources, Jesus Himself, who chose the time of Küng’s visitation, wanted His Church to keep two things in mind: the sad reality of Father Küng’s obstinate persistence in separating himself from the teaching of the Church and the heartening reality that Jesus nevertheless was praying for Him, and asking His Church to pray for him, that in the end, he would receive the mercy arduously won on Calvary.

Küng was one of the most influential theologians of the twentieth century, rising to prominence as a theological celebrity at the time of the Second Vatican Council, where he was a peritus (expert) of Bishop Carl Joseph Leiprecht of Rottenburg, Germany. Immediately prior to the Council, at the age of 32, Küng wrote The Council, Reform and Reunion, which played a role in Vatican II documents on divine revelation, liturgy, interreligious dialogue, and religious liberty. At a time in which the media of the world was paying close attention to the Council and what it meant for the future of the Catholic Church, Küng became an international newsmaker. He was young, handsome, drove a sports car, dressed in stylish business suits instead of clergy apparel, was fluent in six languages, spoke and wrote with vivacity, intelligence, clarity, and candor, loved the spotlight and was unabashed in slipping to the press what was supposed to be confidential. All of these qualities taken together, however, would never have been enough to gain him stardom had he also not been a savvy doctrinal transgressor of a flavor matching the tastes of those — in the media, academy, Church, and world — hoping for revolution in Church teaching in subjects discordant to the spirit of the age. Küng did not leave those crowds disappointed.

Over the course of time, he undermined and opposed Church teaching on papal infallibility, the magisterial authority of bishops, euthanasia, abortion, contraception, the inadmissibility of ordaining women as priests, the need of a priest for the valid consecration of the Eucharist, the consubstantiality of Christ with God the Father, the meaning of Hell, and various aspects of Church sexual teaching, including the sinfulness of homosexual activity. He also was a persistent critic of the Church’s practice of mandatory priestly celibate chastity and an outspoken detractor of Saint John Paul II and Pope Benedict XVI, his friend and colleague earlier in life on the theology faculty at the University of Tubingen.

When Küng started to veer off the path of sound doctrine (Titus 2:1), the Church tried hard to work with him, so that he might use his enormous gifts to strengthen rather than subvert the Church. On Dec. 2, 1965, at the end of Vatican II, Saint Paul VI met with him for 45 minutes and, according to Küng, asked him for whom he was writing — if not for God and the Church — and urged him to put his talents at the service of the Church, even offering him a Vatican position. Küng replied that he was “already at the service of the Church,” and that he was writing not for the Pope “who clearly doesn’t want my theology as it is,” but for those “who may need my theology.” After his 1968 book The Church and his 1971 Infallible? An Inquiry, the Vatican’s Sacred Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (CDF) notified him of difficulties they had found and asked him to explain how such views, especially with regard to papal infallibility, were not contradictions of Catholic doctrine.

After unsatisfactory replies from Küng, the Congregation published a declaration stating that in those works, “some views are found that in different degrees oppose the Catholic Church’s doctrine that must be professed by all the faithful” and admonished him “not to continue to teach such views” that “destroy [the Church’s] doctrine and place it in doubt.” The Church hoped, as the CDF wrote later, that he would “bring his opinions into harmony with the authentic magisterium.” But Küng did the opposite in multiple subsequent writings. So, in 1979 the CDF, with the approval of Saint John Paul II, was “constrained” to declare that Küng, “has departed from the integral truth of Catholic faith and therefore he can no longer be considered a Catholic theologian nor function as such in a teaching role.”

Even though Küng remained somehow a priest in good standing of the Diocese of Basel, the Church pronounced him to be teaching heresy. The Declaration was a devastating blow, causing Küng to lose his position in the Tubingen Catholic theology faculty — whereupon he was given a position at the University’s Institute for Ecumenical Research — and led him, by his own admission, close to a nervous breakdown. He obstinately, however, stuck to the path he was on, incapable of receiving with humility and faith, it seems, the fraternal correction of the Church. While Catholics must pursue the truth in conscience and seek to live it, that is not the same thing as intransigently holding on to one’s opinions.

In its Declaration, the CDF stated, “If it should happen, therefore, that a teacher of sacred doctrine chooses and disseminates as the norm of truth his own judgment and not the thought of the Church, and if he continues in his conviction despite the use of all charitable means in his regard, then honesty itself demands that the church should publicly call attention to his conduct and should state that he can no longer teach with the authority of the mission which he received from her.” It commented that the mission of a Catholic theologian “is in fact a testimony to a reciprocal trust: first, trust on the part of the competent authority that the theologian will conduct himself as a Catholic theologian in the work of his research and teaching second, trust on the part of the theologian himself in the Church and in her integral teaching, since it is by her mandate that he carries out his task.” Since Küng had lost his trust in the integral teaching of the Church, the Church had a duty to say that it could no longer trust that he would conduct himself as a Catholic theologian. It is hard not to see the influence of Küng’s example and more than 50 books in the doctrinal confusion presently wounding the Church in Germany and afflicting heterodox theology faculties worldwide.

In the last 42 years of his life, while not recanting or revising any of his previous teachings and, sadly, doubling down on ones like assisted suicide — which he admitted he himself was considering as a result of Parkinson’s disease, arthritis, and macular degeneration that left him largely unable to see and to write — he dedicated himself to ecumenical efforts, to interreligious dialogue and to establishing a global code of ethics based on moral truths common to various major religions, the last an initiative that won the praise of Pope Benedict and many religious leaders. Küng seemed to be more comfortable — and effective — in non-Catholic settings in which he was building bridges somewhat of his own genius rather than faithfully standing with the living rock on whom Christ had built his Church, which Catholics profess is the pillar and foundation of the truth (Mt 16:13 1 Tim 3:15).

Cardinal Walter Kasper, who 60 years ago was Küng’s doctoral assistant, said that although Küng had “invented” his own theology rather than developed one based on the doctrine of the Church, his heart was always Catholic even if his behavior was not. Last summer, Kasper informed Pope Francis that Küng was near death and desired to die at peace with the Church. The Pope told Kasper to give Küng his blessing, something that Kasper interpreted as a “pastoral and human” reconciliation, although not a doctrinal one.

On Calvary, Jesus cried to the Father to forgive us because we do not know what we do. As we continue to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet, we ask that that plea for ignorance embrace the clever Father Küng, so that he may be admitted one day to the vision of the One who must always remain the object of sacred theology.


holy, holy, holy



May 23, 2021





The heart of the Christian liturgy is the Eucharistic Prayer, during which the offerings of bread and wine are consecrated into the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. In both the Eastern and Western churches, this great prayer is introduced by an ancient dialogue between the priest and the people. In the revised translation of the Roman Missal, this dialogue is as follows:

The Lord be with you.
And with your spirit.
Lift up your hearts.
We lift them up to the Lord.
Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.
It is right and just.

In an earlier article, I reexplained the reason for the change to “And with your spirit” in the new translation of the Roman Missal. As in other parts of the Mass, this is a prelude to a significant act of the priest on behalf of the people and as an icon of Christ. We pray that God’s Spirit be with his spirit as he carries out this solemn task.

When the priest then calls the people to “lift up your hearts to the Lord,” he is asking us to turn our whole mind, soul, and spirit towards the Lord so that we might participate spiritually in the prayer of the priest. The priest then calls us to give thanks (which is what the Greek word “eucharistos” means). In the Eucharistic Prayer, we give thanks to the Father through the Son in the power of the Holy Spirit. In the original Latin text, the reply is much more succinct and to the point than our former translation we reply simply that it is “right and just” to give thanks in this way.

This dialogue, together with the prayer that now follows, is known as the Preface, because it introduces the great prayer of thanksgiving in which the bread and wine will be consecrated. The Preface changes with the seasons and the feasts and draws upon the significance of the specific occasion that is being celebrated.

The Preface always ends with a call for the gathered Church on earth to join in the praise of the angels in heaven. For instance, the priest says:

And so, with Angels and Archangels,
with Thrones and Dominions,
and with all the hosts and Powers of heaven,
we sing the hymn of your glory,
as without end we acclaim: …

In a previous article, I wrote about the “Glory to God in the Highest,” the first ‘song of the angels’ in our liturgy. Now we come to the second great angelic hymn in the Mass, known as the Sanctus (from the Latin word for “holy”). The first part of this short hymn comes from Isaiah’s vision of heaven (Isaiah 6:3) and St. John’s vision in Revelation (Revelation 4:8):

Holy, Holy, Holy Lord God of hosts.
Heaven and earth are full of your glory.

In both Isaiah and Revelation, this song is sung by the angels around the throne of God in heaven. There were a few changes from our former translation that would be good to review as we are celebrating the Year of the Eucharist in the Archdiocese of New Orleans.

The first change, perhaps seemingly minor, is that there is no comma between “Lord” and “God.” The Name by which God is addressed in this hymn is “Lord God.” This identifies our God as the same God who revealed Himself by His sacred Name to Moses in the burning bush: YHWH, the “I AM,” “the Lord.”

Second, the Lord is described as the God “of hosts.” In the Latin text of the Mass, the word used here is “Sabaoth,” an untranslated Hebrew word which means “armies.” The reference is to the “hosts” of angels in heaven, as described by St. Luke in his account of the first Christmas: “And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host” (Luke 2:13). The old translation (“Lord, God of power and might”) misses this important reference to the worship of the spiritual beings that populate heaven. In this song, the Church on earth joins her worship with the song that continues “day and night without ceasing” (Rev 4:8) before God in heaven.

Finally, although there was no change in this part of the text, I should explain why the angels sing “holy” three times to describe the Lord God. Ancient Hebrew had no comparative or superlative adjectives. To say that something was “very good,” they said that it was “good good” (cf. Gen 1:31). To say that something was “very holy,” they would say “holy holy.” Therefore, when they wanted to describe the Lord God as the “holiest of all,” or (as our Eucharistic Prayer II has it), “indeed Holy, … the fount of all holiness,” they would say that He was “holy holy holy.”

In our liturgy, this song of the angels is joined in seamless unity with a song of human origin. Known in Latin as the Benedictus, this part of the song continues:

Hosanna in the highest.
Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest.

This is the song the people sang as they welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday (Matthew 21:19, Mark 11:9, Luke 19:38, John 12:13 cf. Ps 118:12). Hosanna is an Aramaic word derived from the same Hebrew word meaning “to save” which is the origin for the name “Jesus” (which means “Savior,” cf. Matthew 1:21). It is a cry for help (“Save us!”) which now functions as a liturgical shout of praise. Just as we retain some other Hebrew words in their original form, such as “Alleluia” (Hebrew for “praise the Lord”) and “Amen” (which means “truly”), so we still use this ancient Jewish word of praise in our liturgy today.

When Jesus entered Jerusalem, He was greeted as the Son of David, the Messiah who was coming as King to His own city. Today when we sing “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord” in the Mass, our song is also about Jesus. As once people welcomed Jesus riding on a donkey, now we welcome Him coming into our midst through the appearance of bread and wine in the Eucharist. At the same time, the cry “Blessed is he who comes” focuses us forward towards the Last Day, when Christ will return to raise the dead and judge all people. On that day, He will usher in the kingdom of God, to which every celebration of the Eucharist is a pointer.

In fact, everything about this section of the liturgy points our hearts and minds towards Jesus, who is always the One who is coming. While the opening dialogue calls us to “lift up our hearts” to God in heaven, the Sanctus and Benedictus remind us that through the Eucharist, heaven is joined to earth and the heavenly banquet is anticipated here on earth. The Triune God who is “holy, holy, holy”– is in our midst. By the presence of Jesus in His Body and Blood on our altars, we are privileged to join the worship of the angels.

I am certain that by “reexplaining” the new wording for the Mass, which we have been using in the United States of America for the past 10 years, we will become more aware of the heavenly dimension of our worship. I pray that our appreciation of the liturgy will be greatly enriched by the knowledge that, when we worship God in our churches, we are joined with those who worship Him “day and night without ceasing” in heaven.


from shadows into truth



May 16, 2021





When I make my annual retreat, I generally warm up by reading one or more lives of the saints. This helps me to leave the busyness of the world, enter more deeply into the milieu of God, and hear His gentle whispers. At the beginning of my last retreat, I picked up Father Juan Velez’s superb Passion for Truth: The Life of John Henry Newman. Fr. Velez, a trained medical doctor, is also an exceptional writer and Newman scholar who made it easy and thoroughly enjoyable for me to enter into Newman’s interior dynamism and dramas.


When I neared the end of the 588-page work, much more quickly than I anticipated because of Velez’s gifts as a biographer, I felt Newman and all of heaven smiling at me. As Velez was describing the circumstances of Newman’s death, I had anticipated he would have died on October 9, when the Church has celebrated Newman’s feast day since his 2010 beatification. (October 9, I later clarified, is the day in 1845 on which he became a Catholic.) Much to my surprise, I read that Newman died on the evening of August 11, 1890, almost exactly to the hour 129 years before I was finishing Velez’s biography. The providential occurrence strengthened the deeper bond Velez helped me establish with Newman as Newman became my retreat master. And it has made Newman’s feast, not to mention his canonization by Pope Francis, far more personal.


On October 13, 2019, Newman became the first Englishman since the 1600s to be canonized. Even though four others were being raised to the altars with him — religious sisters from India, Brazil and Italy and a third-order Franciscan from Switzerland — the focus of the Catholic world was mainly on Newman because of his enormous impact on the Church during his lifetime and since. There are many, especially in the Catholic intellectual tradition, who have long had a deep devotion to Newman, who have found his poetry and prose among the most eloquent in the history of the English language, and his spiritual insight and depth the makings of a future doctor of the Church. But I have also found that the former Oxford don is not as well-known to the Catholic masses as he should be. While saints like Padre Pio, Therese Lisieux, and Teresa of Calcutta have devotees in every culture and class, Newman is more like fine classical music, appreciated by those of classical training but generally abstruse and unappealing for those who prefer rock, pop, or country.


As a small attempt to remedy that situation, I would like to share ten reasons why I think Newman should be relatable, loved, and invoked by all Catholics.


First, he was an extraordinarily courageous man who was willing to suffer for the truth and pay the price for becoming Catholic, something that led to the loss of prestigious positions and the alienation from several friends and family members. Throughout most of his adult life, he needed to persevere through nasty political battles in academia, in the Anglican and Catholic churches, as well as in British society. When Pope Benedict beatified him in 2010, he called him a “confessor,” basically a bloodless martyr. Newman helps us not only understand the cost of discipleship but also shows us how to pay it with confidence, despite the obvious human sufferings involved.


Second, he is one of the greatest teachers and defenders of conscience in the history of the Church. In an age in which there are so many violations of conscience in the workplace and by governments, and when so many have been led to believe that this inner organ of sensitivity to God’s voice is nothing more than an echo chamber of imperative feelings, aspirations, or opinions, Newman recalibrates this interior compass.


Third, he had a tremendous capacity for friendship and was a loyal friend to dozens, both men and women. He made time for friends, hosting them, traveling with them, consoling them after the death of loved ones. Before telephones, emails, and instant messaging, he was a prodigious and prompt letter writer whose friends treasured his missives. Fr. Velez thinks that if Newman is ever declared a doctor of the Church, it would be fitting for him to receive the title Doctor Amicitiae, “the teacher of friendship.”


Fourth, he is a magnificent teacher who leads students to wisdom. There is a reason why most Catholic chaplaincies at secular universities are called Newman centers. His Idea of a University mapped out his educational philosophy, which is a helpful corrective to the exaggerated utilitarian or soft and sentimental educational approaches of today. In addition to being a famous tutor at Oxford and founder of the Catholic University of Ireland, he was also teacher of teachers, communicating through his own scholarship both substance and method.


Fifth, he is a profound tutor of prayer. The motto he chose when Pope Leo XIII made him a cardinal was cor ad cor loquitur, “heart speaks to heart,” expressing the intimate dialogue that is meant to happen in prayer. Prayer is not so much the exchange of ideas or words with God, but a loving exchange of persons. Newman allows us to enter into his own prayer through the eloquent prayers he has left us.


Sixth, he was a devoted pastor. Both as an Anglican priest and later as a Catholic, he prioritized the sick and poor, solicitously making regular house calls, comforting the bereaved, visiting those in prison. His priestly duties were not a distraction to his academic work, but the heart of his life and chief identification. He was the type of attentive priest every faithful desires and deserves.


Seventh, he is an ardent promoter of the vocation to holiness of the laity. He challenged the laity of his time, precisely because he knew the gifts God had given to them, to become those who “know their religion, who enter into it, who know just where they stand, who know what they hold and what they do not, who know their creed so well that they can give an account of it, who know so much of history that they can defend it.” He knew that God has created each of us for “some definite service, … some work … which he has not committed to another,” and he wanted to help everyone discern it and do it.


Eighth, he was a superlative preacher who, despite all of his many other duties and brilliance, never shirked the preparation of his sermons and homilies. Because he was on fire with love for Scripture and the faith, he was able to ignite others. He never ducked controversial issues, but he likewise always stressed how the faith was a gift before it was a task. His written sermons continue to inspire and inflame preachers and faithful today.


Ninth, he is a model for ecumenism, insofar as he was a passionate truth seeker who would follow Jesus the Truth wherever he believed the Lord, whom he called his “kindly Light,” was leading. He hoped, through the Oxford Movement he catalyzed, to be able to help bring about Church unity. Ecumenism is far more than a polite dialogue among those of different Christian Churches, or a lowest common denominator approach to harmony as if the disputed truths of faith do not matter, but is meant to be a response to Jesus’ Holy Thursday prayer for unity and for docility to the Spirit leading us to all the truth.


Lastly, he has proven an excellent intercessor, especially for Americans. The miracle for his beatification happened to Deacon Jack Sullivan of Marshfield, Massachusetts, who was healed of a spinal cord disorder in 2001. The miracle for his canonization happened in Chicago, when Melissa Villalobos, pregnant with her fifth child but with a blood clot in the fetal membrane as well as a hole in the placenta was bleeding profusely and at risk not only of losing her child but of dying. After praying to Newman, the bleeding immediately stopped, the room filled with the smell of roses, and doctors discovered that the subchorionic hematoma and placental hole had both inexplicably disappeared. I would urge you to pray through his intercession to God for miracles big or small, especially during this pandemic.


The canonization of Newman was a celebration that was meant to echo not merely in Rome, or England and Ireland, or scholarly circles, or the English-speaking Catholic world, but throughout the Church and, hopefully, in every aspect of the Church, because Newman is one of the most influential Christians of modern times, whose life and writings continue to be a reflection of the kind Light that leads us, as he inscribed on his tombstone, from “shadows and images into the truth.”



glory to god



May 9, 2021





I advanced towards the people. The church was full, and cries of joy echoed through it: ‘Thanks to God!’ ‘Praise to God!’ No one was silent the shouts were coming from everywhere. I greeted the people, and they began to cry out again in their enthusiasm. Finally, when silence was restored, the readings from Sacred Scripture were proclaimed (St. Augustine, The City of God, XXII).


When St. Augustine wrote this description of the beginning of the Liturgy on Easter Day in 426AD, the song we know as the “Glory to God in the Highest” was already well known, though it was not yet used in the Mass as it is today. Nevertheless, in this little story, he tells something of the excitement of the people as they gathered to celebrate the liturgy. It also tells us that the early Christians had the true and proper instinct of the purpose of worship on the Lord’s Day. Their whole intent was to give glory, thanks, and praise to God.

As we continue to reexamine the new translation of the Roman Missal as we celebrate this Year of the Eucharist in the Archdiocese of New Orleans, it is vitally important that we keep this in mind. Over the past few years, there has been quite a lot of commentary in articles and on television about the new translation. Unfortunately, the stories in the media have not always been reliable, and for this chief reason: the commentators do not have the same instinct as the early Christians, that the primary purpose of the Mass is to give “Glory to God.”

The “Glory to God in the Highest” is a hymn. For this reason, the General Instruction on the Roman Missal (GIRM) directs that it should, if at all possible, be sung. It was first introduced into the liturgy in the Western Church for use at the Mass of the Nativity at Christmas. Later it was extended for use on every Sunday except in Lent and Advent, and on all Solemnities.

Its use at Christmas was especially appropriate as it begins with the words the angels sang to the shepherds when they announced the birth of Jesus at the first Christmas. In the new translation, we sing the angels’ song: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will.” There are two places in the Mass where we place a song of the angels on our own lips – the other is in the “Holy, Holy, Holy.” This is a reminder to us that when we gather for worship, we gather in the presence of the angels of heaven. Psalm 137 reminds us of this: “In the presence of the angels I will bless you I will adore before your holy temple.”

Why do we give “Glory to God” in the liturgy? This hymn reminds us that the chief “glory” of God is that He humbled Himself and took on the form of a human being and dwelt among us. In his Letter to the Philippians, St. Paul records another early Christian hymn which tells us that Jesus “humbled himself…to the glory of God the Father” (Phil 2:5-11). St. John writes in his Gospel that “the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of the Father’s only Son” (John 1:14).

At several points, the former version of the “Glory to God” that we used was an abbreviation of the original hymn. Where the old translation shortened the opening lines, we now have the full text:

We praise you,
we bless you,
we adore you,
we glorify you,
we give you thanks for your great glory.

Praise, blessing, adoration, glorification, and thanks are offered to the Father “for (His) great glory.” What does this mean? It means that we praise, bless, adore, glorify, and thank God for being God! And our God is the kind of God who shows His glory chiefly in that He became “flesh and lived among us.”

For this reason, the hymn now changes from a hymn to God the Father to a hymn to God the Son:

Lord Jesus Christ,
Only Begotten Son,
Lord God,
Lamb of God,
Son of the Father.

Jesus is adored with His full divine titles but also as “Lamb of God,” whom John the Baptist identified as the one who “takes away the sins of the world.” Both here and later in the Mass, we praise the “Lamb of God” who comes to us in His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity in the Eucharist so that our sins might be taken away. At this point too, the older translation was abbreviated. The new translation gives us the full text:

you take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us
you take away the sins of the world,
receive our prayer
you are seated at the right hand of the Father,
have mercy on us.

You may ask, “why the repetition?” Repetition is a natural part of prayer. If you listen to yourself as you pray your own prayers, you will probably find that you do this. Often in the liturgy, this tendency shows itself in groups of three, such as in the “Lord Have Mercy” or the “Lamb of God” or, as in the new penitential rite, the threefold repetition “through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.”

But the repetition also includes subtle variations, as it does here in the “Glory to God.” The first response is “have mercy on us” the second is “receive our prayer.” So, to our adoration and thanksgiving is added contrition and supplication, fulfilling the four central kinds of prayer. However, the repetition also reminds us that Jesus was not only “incarnate of the Virgin Mary” (as the new translation of the Creed puts it) but also is “seated at the right hand of the Father.” Jesus is risen from the dead, and He has ascended to God in heaven where He shares fully in the Father’s glory.

For this reason, the hymn ends with this doxology (which means “song of glory”):

For you alone are the Holy One,
you alone are the Lord,
you alone are the Most High,
Jesus Christ,
with the Holy Spirit,
in the glory of God the Father. Amen.

This is a Trinitarian doxology, including the Holy Spirit, but still focusing on Jesus, who, together with the Father and the Spirit, is alone “the Holy One,” “the Lord,” and “the Most High.”

And so, by singing this hymn at the beginning of the Mass, we fulfill the instinct of the earliest Christians. I pray that as we continue to sing this ancient hymn, we will always remember that the chief purpose for our gathering to celebrate the Holy Mass is to give “Glory to God,” Father, Son, and Holy Spirit!



men of st. joseph



May 2, 2021





In this Year of St. Joseph, there are many ways all the faithful of the Church can learn from him how to be just, to obey God, to center one’s life on Jesus, to love the Blessed Virgin Mary, to live the Gospel of work, to prepare for a holy death. But there is a particular need for men and boys to learn from St. Joseph. Western culture is experiencing a crisis of masculinity brought about by several factors: a patriarchy-smashing radical feminism that tries to shame men simply for being men gender theory, in which masculinity is reduced to a psychological concept poor role models among celebrities, athletes, even clergy caricatured depictions in movies on television and in contemporary literature and perhaps most of all, from a crisis in fatherhood, which reduces fatherhood to a biological phenomenon often leaving children without the human and spiritual dimensions of mature manliness. What lessons can men and boys learn from Saint Joseph during this special holy year and beyond? Let us focus on seven.

First, St. Joseph shows us how to be a “just man” (Mt 1:19) by “ad-justing” his whole life to what God was asking. About King Saul, the prophet Samuel said, “The Lord sought a man after his own heart” (1 Sam 13:14). Saul did not live up to that divine desire. St. Joseph did.

Second, St. Joseph shows us what real faith means. “Throughout all of history,” Pope Benedict said in 2009, “Joseph is the man who gives God the greatest display of trust, even in the face of such astonishing news.” He shows us that obedience to God is not a threat to one’s freedom. Four separate times, he obeyed promptly and completely God’s commands conveyed to him in dreams, which he refused to deconstruct or dismiss. His whole life, like Mary’s, was a fiat. Many saints have compared him to Abraham: both were willing to leave one’s own country at God’s command without knowing the future both trusted that God could give a child outside the laws of nature both were willing to allow a chosen and beloved son to be sacrificed, knowing that God had the power to raise him. Like Abraham, St. Joseph is a true “father in faith.”

Third, St. Joseph reveals to us the characteristics of authentic fatherhood and the role of the father in the family. “Fathers,” Pope Francis writes, “are not born, but made. A man does not become a father simply by bringing a child into the world, but by taking up the responsibility to care for that child.” Joseph’s fatherhood was not grounded in biology but in his marriage to Mary, in his naming Jesus, and in the faithful and loving spiritual commitment he made with Mary to be at the service of Jesus’ life and growth. As a true father, he provided for the Holy Family from his hard work as a carpenter. He was also a protector, someone saints have called the “savior of the Savior of the world.” God the Father, to whom Joseph’s fatherhood pointed, had such trust in his capacity to promptly defend Jesus and Mary that He waited until the last second, in a dream, to tip him off that Herod’s assassins were approaching. It is no wonder why the Church has been similarly entrusted to his paternal care. Regardless of one’s state in life, every man can learn this type of spiritual fatherhood from him. Pope Benedict encouraged all dads to “take Saint Joseph as their model” since he shows the “deepest meaning of their own fatherhood.”

Fourth, St. Joseph shows us how to love chastely. Chastity is a precondition of love, because it keeps eros selfless rather than selfish, loving rather that lustful. Even though Mary was the most sublime creature God ever formed, and even though Joseph lived with her for twelve to thirty years, he protected her vocation to virginal maternity. Some people like to imagine that Joseph was 250 years old and therefore well beyond the stage of physical attraction, but this robs him of his virtue, not to mention infelicitously puts him in the category of really old men who marry really young women. St. Joseph lived with the most integrally beautiful woman of all time and loved her, ardently, but chastely, showing us that real spousal love does not need to be expressed uniquely in genital relations.

Fifth, St. Joseph shows us how to work hard. He was a tekton, “builder,” a word that sums up his entire life. He built stuff by the sweat of his brow and callouses on his hand. He traveled with tools. St. John Paul II said he was the “very epitome of the Gospel of work,” who taught Jesus human work. “If the Son of God was willing to learn a human work from a man,” John Paul II continued, “this indicates that there is in work a specific moral value with a precise meaning for man and for his self-fulfillment.” St. Joseph helps every man find that value and meaning.

Sixth, St. Joseph shows us how to become men of prayer. He is a contemplative man of eloquent silence, whose only recorded word in Scripture was pronouncing the Savior’s name at his circumcision. His life was an extended meditation — like a Rosary — on Jesus: Jesus’ life-giving words, example of humility and patience, diligence, charity, and other virtues. Joseph’s ruminative silence, St. John Paul II commented, “reveals in a special way the inner portrait of the man. The Gospels allow us to discover in his ‘actions’ — shrouded in silence as they are — an aura of deep contemplation.” Pope Benedict prayed that, in a world that is often too noisy, we would all be “infected” with St. Joseph’s silence.

Finally, St. Joseph shows us how to become men of the Eucharist. It is great that at the beginning of his pontificate, Pope Francis decreed that St. Joseph’s name be mentioned after the Blessed Virgin’s in every Mass because his life was like a Mass, “the little house at Nazareth was as the outspread square of the white corporal,” as Father Frederick Faber commented. The Holy House was a tabernacle where he and Mary lived in the Real Presence with adoration. Before Jesus would say the words of institution, Joseph gave his body, blood, sweat, tears — everything — for Jesus. St. Paul VI said that the secret of St. Joseph’s greatness is that he “made his life a service, a sacrifice, to the mystery of the Incarnation and to the redemptive mission that is joined to it.” Serving Christ, “with love and for love” was “his life.” In an age in which belief in the Real Presence must be strengthened, St. Joseph shows men how to live Eucharistic lives.

Pope Francis says that St. Joseph “reminds us that those who appear hidden or in the shadows can play an incomparable role in the history of salvation.” “Great things” are not needed, but ordinary virtues lived fully and authentically. Joseph shows us those human and manly virtues. The name “Joseph” means “increase” and this holy year is a particularly auspicious time for men and boys to increase in devotion, learning from him how to serve God, their family, the Church, and society with similar manly zeal.


and with your spirit



April 25, 2021





The Third Edition of the Roman Missal was implemented in the United States of America on the First Sunday of Advent, November 27, 2011. As we Celebrate 2021 as the Year of the Eucharist in the Archdiocese of New Orleans, to aid in a fuller understanding of the changes in translation that were implemented with the new Roman Missal, I intend to devote a series of columns over the next several months to explain the specific changes that we have encountered. It is important to remember that the Mass itself did not change. We are using a new translation, but it is a translation of the same Mass, the Mass of the Roman Rite. The changes were introduced primarily so that the ancient and time-honored words of the liturgy may be more accurately and beautifully communicated in our prayer.

One of the first changes we noticed, and one that goes to the very heart of the character of the Third Edition of the Roman Missal, is in our response to the celebrant’s greeting “The Lord be with you.” We had been accustomed to reply “And also with you.” In the revised translation, we now say “And with your spirit.”

This response occurs five times during the Mass in reply to the greeting from the priest:

• At the beginning of the Sacred Liturgy
• just before the proclamation of the Gospel
• at the beginning of the Eucharistic Prayer
• just before Communion and
• just before the Blessing.

You see therefore that this greeting must be something more than a sacred way of the priest and the people saying “hello” to each other. In this greeting, an exchange takes place which is not simply on the human level but involves priest and people extending a special prayer to one another before beginning a significant liturgical action. Something is taking place at the level of our spiritual relationship with one another.

“The Lord be with you: And with your spirit” is an exact translation of this ancient greeting in the Latin text of the Mass. Let us, like Mary, consider “what kind of greeting this might be” (cf. Luke 1:29). It is, admittedly, not a way of speaking that we hear very often today. That is because in our secular existence we relate to one another on a purely human plane. This greeting opens up a “third dimension” in the relationship between priest and people. It brings in the spiritual dimension of our relationship, the fact that both priest and people share a relationship with the Lord (that is, Jesus) and with His Spirit. It is a “Greeting of faith,” as the Catechism of the Catholic Church (§1687) calls it.

The priest’s greeting to the people is not a declaration that the Lord Jesus is with His people–although this is certainly our belief. Rather it is something between a prayer and a blessing, which calls upon the Lord to be with His people in the action that they are about to undertake. Therefore the greeting occurs at the very start of Mass, invoking the presence of Jesus upon the assembly as a whole and in the hearts of each one present as they embark on this most mysterious and sacred of all activities. It occurs again, as preparation for hearing the Gospel–for, without Jesus dwelling in our hearts, we cannot truly hear Him speaking to us. Then again, at the start of the Great Prayer, the priest calls upon the presence of the Lord Jesus so that we can “lift up our hearts” to Him in thanksgiving. The final occurrence of the greeting is related both to receiving the blessing of the Lord and the dismissal to go out into the world to continue serving Jesus in His name and power.

But now, contemplate the response: “And with your spirit.” One major advantage of the new translation of the Mass is that it is easier for us to see the connection between the words we use in the Liturgy and the very words of Sacred Scripture on which they are based. Twice in his letters, St. Paul says: “The Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit” (Gal 6:18 Philemon 25). He does not use the plural your spirits” in other words, he is not simply asking that Jesus might be with his readers in an interior fashion. There is something deeper here. It involves the mystery that the Spirit of the Lord Jesus dwells in us and “bears witness” with our own spirits “that we are children of God” (Rom 8:14).

When the priest offers the Sacrifice of the Mass, he is acting in a double role. On the one hand, he is representing us, the whole assembly of God’s people, before the throne of God. On the other hand, he is representing the Lord Jesus we say that he is “in the person of Christ”–standing before us on God’s part and acting for us. In his greeting, the priest has offered a prayer/blessing that the Lord Jesus be present with us. In our response, we offer the prayer/blessing that the Spirit of Jesus also be present and active in his spirit, so that he can worthily and effectively act in his double role as our representative and as the representative of Jesus.

So you see, in this very small change to this simple greeting how the new translation of the Liturgy of the Mass brings out a new dimension in our worship. This dimension has always been present but we may not previously have been so aware of the depth of meaning in this simple exchange between priest and people.

As we continue to explore the new words of the Mass in the coming months, let us remember that the primary purpose of the changes was to deepen our awareness of the spiritual dimension, the “third dimension,” in the dialogue between the priest and the people, which is our relationship in the Lord Jesus and His Spirit.


making better confessions



April 18, 2021





For many Catholics, the only formal training they receive for the Sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation is what they are taught before making their first Confession in second grade. Sometimes that instruction can be superb, other times it can be inadequate doctrinally or practically, but in either case, the training given to eight-year-olds is never designed to last for a lifetime. If Catholics regularly receive the Sacrament at least each Lent and Advent, using a good examination of conscience sheet fit for their stage and state in life and receiving the grace of patient, encouraging, and helpful confessors, they normally mature as penitents. But if they go rarely, or their principal experience is of long Saturday afternoon confession lines or huge penance services where the emphasis can become giving absolution to as many people as possible as quickly as possible, that spiritual development may not happen.

When I preach retreats, I generally encourage retreatants not just to take advantage of the opportunity to go to confession, but to try to make the best confession of their life. I have been moved by how many try to respond to the challenge, using the time on retreat to prepare better and go more deeply. Others have told me candidly over the years that they would like to make better confessions, but do not really know what to do. To make better confessions begins with greater faith, hope and love: faith in God’s working through the Sacrament He established on Easter Sunday evening (Jn 20:19-23) as well as faith that God can give us His mercy through the same instruments through whom He gives us His Body and Blood hope that helps us to trust in God’s promise to grant us His mercy and a fresh start if we turn to Him love for God that makes us regret how we have injured our relationship with Him as well as love for others that leads us to ask for God’s help to repair the damage that by our thoughts, words, deeds, and omissions we have inflicted.

The next step is improved preparation for confession. This involves striving to make better examinations of conscience, to have greater sorrow, and to formulate firmer purposes of amendment. An examination of conscience is not a forensic accounting of the soul or an exercise in psychological introspection. It is seeing our behavior in the light of God, the truth He has taught and the charity to which He has called us. It involves seeing how our choices have strengthened or wounded our relationship with God and others and taking personal responsibility for those choices. How do we calibrate our conscience, this inner organ of sensitivity, to God and His ways? The Word of God, the teaching of the Church, the wisdom of the saints, and the practice of virtue all help. In terms of examining our conscience for confession, most people are trained by looking at their life through the light of the Ten Commandments. Frequent penitents no longer committing grave sins against the commandments can find examining via the Decalogue quite dry. In those circumstances, it is good to scrutinize one’s soul through the prism of the seven capital sins, the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, the beatitudes, or through the two-fold command to love God and neighbor. Doing a brief examination each night can sensitize our conscience to the areas of daily harmony and disharmony with God, leading us to thank God for His accompaniment, ask forgiveness for the times when we have not corresponded, and solicit His help for the morrow.

Examining our conscience, however, is not the most important part of the preparation, even though it is where people generally spend most of their time. The most important part is the sorrow. St. John Vianney, the patron saint of priests and perhaps the greatest confessor in the history of the Church, used to teach, “It is necessary to spend more time asking for contrition than making the examination of conscience,” and called contrition “the balm of the soul.” St. John Paul II in 1984 said that contrition is “the essential act of Penance on the part of the penitent” and the “beginning and the heart of conversion.” He worried, however, that the “majority of people in our time are no longer capable of experiencing” contrition because they are no longer sufficiently motivated by the love of God to experience true sorrow. They may experience “imperfect” contrition, sorrow because of the present or future consequences we suffer because of sin, but less frequently “perfect” contrition, which means sorrow out of love for God. How does one grow in perfect contrition and accordingly prepare for confession? I generally recommend that people examine their conscience holding a crucifix since Jesus died to take away each sin we have committed. Sin is not just the transgression of a rule or even the wounding of a relationship, but ultimately an action with a cost that Christ had to pay on Calvary. Real contrition not only helps us to experience having selected Barabbas in disguise over Christ but also the extraordinary love of God to rescue us from the eternal consequences of that choice.

Such contrition also leads to a much firmer purpose of amendment, which is the third act of preparation. The more sorrowful we are, the greater our resolve not to wound the Lord, Himself, or others again. Few people spend much time in preparation for confession fomenting their resolve never to sin again their commitment remains basically a wish. True sorrow, however, leads us to come up with a solid plan not only to avoid recurrent behavior but also to exercise the virtues we need not to give into temptation again. This plan of spiritual conversion should be just as serious as what Bill Belichick draws up for the Super Bowl.

How do we make such a plan? I would recommend, first, to depend more on supernatural help than human willpower. “We trust too much in our resolutions and promises,” St. John Vianney once said about the amendments we make, “and not enough on the good God.” Second I would urge you to get spiritually cutthroat, like Jesus suggests when He declares we need to be willing to pluck out eyes or chop off hands and feet if they lead us to sin (Mk 9:43-47). It is to say, “What would I do to avoid this sin if I knew I would physically die if I committed it again?” We could and would avoid almost anything if we knew that the consequences were that stark.

When we come to confession, we should seek to be candid, clear, and concise, stating how long it has been since our last confession and getting off our chest first what we think are the most serious sins. I would urge you to pray for your confessor, that he might really be an instrument of God, giving you good advice and helping you to experience a little of the joy of heaven at your absolution. We should not be afraid to ask the priest for help if we need it, since confession is not an oral examination but a sacramental encounter. We should receive absolution as the restoration of our soul to its baptismal beauty and participation of Christ’s triumph over sin and death.

After confession, we should try, as quickly as we can, not only to do the penance imposed by the confessor and to live our firm purpose of amendment with the same seriousness with which we complete our penance. We should seek to pay the mercy we have received forward, remembering the Parable of the Two Debtors (Mt 18:21-35) and the need to forgive as we have been forgiven. Transformed, we should become ambassadors of divine mercy trying to draw others to receive the same gift. And we should try to form the habit of frequent confession, perhaps taking up Pope Francis’ suggestion of going every two weeks. St. John Paul II once told young people that the fastest way to mature was to become better penitents because it was through the experience of confession that not only would we be freed of the weight of sin but learn those areas in our life where we need God’s help. That advice is valid no matter our age!


taste and see



April 11, 2021





The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, ‘Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.’ For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd and he began to teach them many things. When it grew late, his disciples came to him and said, ‘This is a deserted place, and the hour is now very late send them away so that they may go into the surrounding country and villages and buy something for themselves to eat.’ But he answered them, ‘You give them something to eat.’ They said to him, ‘Are we to go and buy two hundred denarii worth of bread, and give it to them to eat?’ And he said to them, ‘How many loaves have you? Go and see.’ When they had found out, they said, ‘Five, and two fish.’ Then he ordered them to get all the people to sit down in groups on the green grass. So they sat down in groups of hundreds and of fifties. Taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven, and blessed and broke the loaves, and gave them to his disciples to set before the people and he divided the two fish among them all. And all ate and were filled and they took up twelve baskets full of broken pieces and of the fish. Those who had eaten the loaves numbered five thousand men. ~ Mark 6:30-44
Just about anything tastes good if you are hungry enough!

I remember one summer at camp when the program staff had assembled for duty but the cooks and the groceries had not arrived quite yet. We were too far away for pizza delivery and everyone was really hungry. So another leader and I decided to improvise. We found some old noodles and put them on boil. There was a half a jar of spaghetti sauce … for about twenty people. No matter. We found a small can of tomato paste dumped it in the pot. We discovered a couple of fresh tomatoes, chopped them up and put them in the mix. There was no ground beef to be had, but I think we tossed in some carrots and a few other surprise vegetables we found in the refrigerator. Then in the fridge we found what we really needed: an almost full jar of Heinz 57 sauce. Mmm-mmm, that’s right, noodles and ketchup! How gourmet can you get!

We dumped in oregano and parsley and every other spice we could get our hands on. We tasted our Frankenstein monster spaghetti sauce and it wasn’t half bad. Nervously we served our new friends and cabin mates our spontaneous creation … carefully avoiding any mention of the word “ketchup.” We were expecting people to politely eat their supper to tide themselves over until we could get some real food in the morning. We did not expect people to ask for seconds. Or thirds! We certainly did not expect people to compliment the chefs on our delicious spaghetti sauce. Or inquire as to what made it so very good. It just goes to show that if you are hungry enough anything tastes good.

Jesus and his disciples were hungry. They were so busy caring for people that they did not have time to eat. That is when you know you have a problem, when the tyranny of the urgent keeps you from addressing your basic human needs. So Jesus pulled the disciples away from the crowds to give them some down time the rest they so desperately needed. The strategy did not work, at least the way Jesus originally planned it. The crowds beat them to their solitary place, hungry for more good teaching.

It appears that the disciples have lost their patience with Jesus. At the end of the day they still had not found the rest they were looking for … and probably not the food they were hungry for either. They make a completely reasonable suggestion to Jesus send the crowds away so they all can get some food before dark. This would also give the disciples the chance to grab a bite to eat. Jesus responds to their reasonable suggestion with an unreasonable answer: “You feed them!”

Forget the problem of needing eight months wages to buy the bread for five thousand men and the women and children that had joined the crowd. They were out in the wilderness where there was no food to be purchased. The multitudes spontaneously left their homes without their lunchboxes to chase Jesus, hoping they could draft Him, a military messiah, to wage guerilla warfare against the Romans. Jesus will not lead them to battle, but He expects His lieutenants to serve up supper the way generals feed their armies.

The disciples and the crowds were hungry enough that they were willing to entertain a miracle. Tempting as it is to turn this into a moral tale of strangers sharing their supper, the feeding of the five thousand is simpler than that. This is not about passing the ketchup bottle around this is a true miracle story. Jesus did something wildly unexpected and unexplainable. In John’s version of the story we learn that Jesus took a boy’s five small barley rolls and a couple of sardines, the food of poverty, and turned them into a tasty feast for thousands. If you’re hungry enough, just about anything tastes good, even the miraculous. This is a desperate story for desperate people.

This is a story to devour when you are starving for something more. The Feeding of the Five-thousand scarcely makes sense in our abundant society, until we get to the place where we cannot take care of ourselves anymore until we get to the place where our friends cannot meet our needs anymore until we get to the place where only a miracle of God can feed us. If you are hungry enough, you will eat anything. You will even go looking for God to meet your needs.

Jesus offers us something out in the wilderness we cannot possibly cook up for ourselves or others: the grace of God. If you are a picky eater, you just might miss out on the rare dish set before you: salvation born of desperation. This is not the time to be finicky. This is not the time to claim that you are on a diet. Taste and see that the Lord is good! Depend on Jesus Christ to be your sustenance and nourishment for the journey.


easter message 2021



April 4, 2021





In ancient Christian cultures, disciples greet each other in these days with the words: "Christ is risen! He is truly risen. Alleluia!" Those words express the great fact that has energized Christians for two thousand years. "Christ is risen! He is truly risen."

The readings of the Easter Vigil recount the long story of creation, of sin and rebellion, and above all of the provident hand of God sustaining His people as they stumbled down through history, sinning and repenting, and so often feeling lost in an alien world. Finally, after the prophets had prepared the way, God came into this world Himself, to live as we are meant to live during our brief time on earth, so that we might learn not just how to live here as children of God, but so that we might become fully alive. These past days of Holy Week we have pondered the rejection of Christ and have recognized in the figures of the Passion our vulnerability to the power of evil in the great drama of life and death.

Mortal death is inescapable to humans, but Jesus was brought to the Cross by people who had already died what the Apocalypse calls the "second death" and His torture and brutal death were caused by them. The first death is natural death, to which we are all subject. But the second death is the death of the soul it is death that is chosen when we willingly succumb to the power of evil. It is mortal sin. So often in life the second death in one person brings physical death to others, and that happened on Calvary, as the betrayal of Judas, and the cowardice of Pilate, and the hatred of the religious authorities, and the fury of the mob, all led to the death of Jesus on the cross.

We recognize every day, in the world around us, the power of the second death which we see revealed in the Passion of Our Lord and, if we are honest, we can sense its gravitational pull in our own souls. But just when evil seemed to triumph even over the Holy One of God, and His disciples were distraught with grief, and had lost all hope, the full plan of God was revealed, foreshadowed through His provident hand lifting up His people throughout the ages. Those first disciples were the first to realize, "Christ is Risen. He is truly Risen. Alleluia," when the Risen Lord broke into their lives and changed them utterly.

Astonished, they found the tomb where they had placed His body to be empty. That simply proves that the resurrection is a fact of history. Much more importantly, again and again, they encountered the Risen Lord, not simply risen to earthly life, as Lazarus was, and as was the son of the widow of Nain, but radiant in glory.

The disciples on the road to Emmaus find a stranger walking with them, who revealed to them the meaning of the Scriptures when they came to Emmaus, He took bread, blessed it, and broke it, and they recognized Him in the breaking of the bread. They raced back through the night to Jerusalem to spread the Good News of the resurrection. Thomas doubts what the others have experienced, but then he too encounters the Risen Lord, and the skeptic is on fire with faith which he will share in distant lands for the rest of his life. This transformation has happened again and again through the centuries.

Peter and the others are back at their work of fishing, and the beloved disciple recognizes the one who awaits them on the shore: "It is the Lord!" Jesus invites Peter to a profession of love to match His faith and entrusts the Church to him. This is glorious. It is the experience of the Risen Lord down through the ages that has made the Church a beacon in a world of darkness and does so to this day. In the service of our Risen Lord, the monasteries brought peace and hope wherever they were established. In the service of the Risen Lord, the Church invented universities, so that the light of faith and reason might illuminate our path, and to this day that light shines.

I wish people could come with me, as I daily travel through this community of faith, on every side experiencing the signs of the resurrection manifest in the loving service of those who know and serve Our Risen Savior and show it through their lives. As I travel constantly throughout our parish, it is my special privilege and joy as priest to experience personally the power of the resurrection that enlivens our people through Word and Sacrament, seeking to draw close to Jesus, the Lord of the Universe, who lifts them up in their struggles and sends them out to bring His light to this world, just as at the Easter Vigil when the darkened church became radiant with light as the solitary flame of the Easter Candle, the sign of the Jesus, risen in glory, was shared from person to person. As we give His light away, it becomes brighter in this world. That which we celebrate in symbol, we must celebrate through action in daily life, sharing the Light of Christ by what we do and by who we are.

There is an old story told of a missionary who had given her life to caring for the most destitute, those suffering in the most terrible ways, a person not much different from so many disciples of the Risen Lord who serve unnoticed throughout our parish family. A worldly visitor, who could see so much and yet saw nothing, remarked: "I wouldn't do that for a million dollars." She replied: "Neither would I."

This is the immense spiritual strength of the Church, the community of the servants of the Risen Lord Jesus. It continues to baffle the worldly. This is glorious, this experience of the Risen Lord manifest in the lives of His disciples. This is the greatest sign of the resurrection: those dispirited first disciples, who believed that the death of Jesus on the Cross had proven the triumph of evil, those disciples were suddenly transformed by the powerful, unexpected, direct experience of the Jesus they loved, and whom they had mourned, now risen in glory. They themselves were given new life, and filled with joy, and energized with the power of the Holy Spirit to spend the rest of their earthly journey proclaiming the triumph of their Risen Lord.

So it was. So it is. So it shall always be.

The Church is not just an organization, though some are under the illusion that it is. It is not just a place where we can support one another in living a good life, or in learning an ancient spiritual wisdom. It is the community of the disciples of the Risen Lord. It is the Mystical Body of Christ on earth. The Church is radiant with the divine power of the Risen Lord. It is the heavenly Jerusalem, and in the lives of faithful Christians it is to some degree already made present in the midst of Babylon the Great. Through Baptism the disciples of the Lord wash their robes white in the blood of the Lamb. But they will be tested on their journey and must resist the power of the "second death." Life is a spiritual combat. Christians who have received the light of Christ are free to blow it out, but in the Easter Sacrament of Reconciliation, that extension through time of the healing power of Baptism, the Risen Lord gives them His Light again.

No generation of disciples is given a free pass, any more than was the first one each generation must humbly and repentantly encounter the Risen Lord and live for Him alone. Theirs must be the words of Thomas, the doubter, when he encountered Jesus, risen in glory, the week after Easter: "My Lord and my God!" We say this with our lips, but we must say it with our lives.

In the Resurrection of our glorious Savior, the Lamb that was slain but now rules the universe from the heavenly throne, Satan and the powers of evil are cast down, for the evils of this world hold no ultimate power over us, though we still are free to refuse to live as faithful disciples of Christ, and to choose the second death. We are always free. But the second death is not for us: in Baptism, Confirmation, and the Eucharist, and in all of the Sacraments, and in His living Word in Scripture, we encounter Our Risen Lord, as did those first disciples. He invites us to be fully alive in faith, in hope, and in charity, as citizens of the heavenly Jerusalem, now, at this moment, and in each moment of our earthly journey, until this world drops away at our own mortal death and we see Him face to face.


No Greater love the easter triduum



March 28, 2021





The great task of the spiritual life, one saint of the early Church was accustomed to say, is to “un-forget.” Like the Jews in the desert, who were prone to forget both the great miracles by which God freed them from Pharaoh and the great care that motivated those wonders, so all people, Christians included, can lose touch with the ever-present reality and meaning of God’s past actions.

To counter this human tendency, the first Christians developed ways to fight spiritual amnesia. They called this process “un-amnesia” (anamnesis). One of the simplest and most important forms of this un-forgetting has been retained in the part of the Mass literally called the anamnesis or memorial acclamation. By proclaiming repeatedly, “We proclaim your Death, O Lord and profess your Resurrection until you come again,” we are supposed to frame all our present experiences—from tragic sorrows to immense joys and to the vast majority of ordinary human life in between — within the coordinates of these most important facts in the history of the world.

We are preparing to enter the days of the Sacred Triduum, during which we are called not only to un-forget the events of Christ’s passion, death, and resurrection, but to enter into them and grasp what they really mean. Many of us can give a ready catechetically-sound answer to the salvific significance of the Paschal Mystery, but during these days, we are called to let that response emanate not just from the head but from the heart. Jesus Himself gave us the interpretative key to the significance of these events during the Last Supper, when He declared, “No one has greater love than to lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). On the morrow, His love surpassed even that standard, as He gave His life not just for His friends but for those who had made Him their enemy.

The stunning manifestation of this love was not lost on the early Church. St. Paul exclaimed, “Indeed, rarely will anyone die for a righteous person — though perhaps for a good person someone might actually dare to die. But God proves His love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Romans 5:7-8). St. Paul’s amazement at the deep meaning of the events we are preparing to celebrate, however, went even further. He grasped that when the Good Shepherd said that He would lay down His life for His sheep (John 10), He did not mean just for His flock in general, but every one of His lost sheep in particular. “The Son of God,” St. Paul wrote poignantly to the Christians in Galatia, “loved me and gave himself up for me” (Gal 2:20). For Paul, the Cross became the key to unlock both the unfathomable mystery of God’s love as well as the unsurpassing worth of every human being for whom individually Christ died. While before his conversion, as a Jew raised in a Greek culture, he looked at the bloodied, brutally executed Jesus as a “scandal” and as “folly,” he now saw that Christ on the Cross was the greatest witness possible of the “power and wisdom” of God’s love” (1 Cor 1:23-24). This is the deep meaning of the events that each of us is called, during this Triduum, to un-forget.

Rekindling that memory of God’s personal and individual love, however, is not enough. At the same time when Jesus told us that there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends, He told us, “love one another as I have loved you” (John 13:34 15:12). The early Christians knew that they were called to love others in the self-sacrificial, merciful way Christ had loved them. “Let us love, not in word or speech but in truth and action,” St. John wrote the first Christians. “Christ laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for one another” (1 John 3:16, 18).

St. Paul said that our “spiritual worship” would be to imitate Christ’s giving His Body and shedding His Blood for others. “I appeal to you, therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship” (Romans 12:1).

St. Peter stated simply, “Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps” adding that Christ’s sacrifice made it possible for us to follow in his loving steps all the way: “He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness by his wounds you have been healed” (1 Pet 2:21-22). We have been healed by Him so that we might love like Him.

Therefore, the great process of remembering, to which the faith as a whole and the Sacred Triduum, in particular, calls us is more moral than mental. From the Cross, Christ beckons each of us, “Follow me!” He calls us to die to ourselves and live—and, if necessary, die—out of love for God and for others. This is the path that will unleash “the power and wisdom of God” in our own lives and in those around us. This is the path of the grain of wheat that falls to the ground and dies only to rise again and bear great fruit (John 12:24). This is the path to the resurrection and eternal life.

During that first Triduum, Jesus left us the means par excellence by which never to forget these saving events or their meaning. In giving us the Mass, He became our anamnesis incarnate and allowed us all in time to enter into these eternal events. The Mass is the daily portal into the Sacred Triduum when with Christ we enter into the Upper Room to receive the Body and Blood He gave for us on the Cross, the very Body and Blood that is now risen from the dead. In commanding us to “do this in memory of me,” He not only calls us to participate in the Mass, but to make our lives a Mass of similar self-giving love.

Through the power of His resurrection, may Christ make both our celebration of these sacred mysteries and our living them a true sacrament of love.


the higher road



March 21, 2021





At the beginning of the Lenten season, at daily Mass, the Church has a heavy focus on Jesus’ words from the Sermon on the Mount. That is not particularly surprising, insofar as Lent is intended to foster a thorough spiritual reset and Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount, gives us the Magna Carta of Christian behavior. On Ash Wednesday, for example, we focus on Jesus’ words about prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, and over the next week and a half, He teaches us the Our Father, urges us to have confidence in prayer, and calls us to live by the Golden Rule.


The major emphasis, however, is on what Jesus describes as the particular Christian way of life. He tells us that He wants our “righteousness” to surpass that of the Scribes and Pharisees (who fasted twice a week, prayed three times a day, and tithed everything they owned) and expects our holiness to exceed that of the virtuous pagans (who treated their family members well and loved those who love them). What He delineates about the Christian way of life is important not just to live a good Lent but is especially relevant to the time in which we are living, when so many Christians—including fervent, practicing Catholics—have succumbed to the temptation to lower their standards with regard to some of the fundamental orientations with which Christians are supposed to treat others, including and especially those with whom they disagree.


We are living in an age when political and social life has become rancorous. Insults and ad hominem attacks are rife. Cancel culture celebrates character assassination by frenzied mobs, often regardless of the veracity or gravity of accusations. Various tabloids, websites, and television programs peddle nothing but gossip. Twitter and other forms of social media ooze with hatred and misanthropy, from non-stop political cyberbullying to caustic criticism by vituperative virtual vultures. It is hard in such a mordant culture not to descend into the gutters. The stakes are high. Those pushing radical agendas often do not even feign civility. If they are driving bulldozers on what seems to be a narcotized rampage, many Christians feel justified, even called, to commandeer tanks to beat them at their own infernal game.


But this is not Christ’s way. Let us listen anew to the words of Jesus: “You have heard that it was said to your ancestors,” He tells us, “‘You shall not kill, and whoever kills will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you, whoever is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment, and whoever says to his brother ‘Raqa’ [‘empty-headed’ or ‘airhead’] will be answerable to the Sanhedrin, and whoever says ‘You fool,’ will be liable to fiery Gehenna.” Jesus is stating quite clearly that He considers insulting others to be like murder. We know that homicidal thoughts routinely begin in contempt for others, and Jesus is trying to address murderous deeds at their root. And He says that those who judge others or who call them idiots or morons are liable, like assassins, to hell.


Over the past several months, I have heard many people call President Trump and Senator McConnell, President Biden and Speaker Pelosi—not to mention the Pope, Bishops, celebrities, athletes, and even total strangers on social media—far worse things than fools. Worse, they often seem proud of it. Do those who speak this way recognize the eschatological consequences of such mental and verbal bile? The apostle St. John wrote to the early Christians, “Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer,” and added, “Anyone who says, ‘I love God,’ yet hates his brother, is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen.” Dorothy Day had a harrowing saying based on these words: that we love the Lord to the extent that we love the person we like the least. Often, in the least of Jesus’ brethren, we treat Him about as well as the Roman soldiers did on Good Friday.


Jesus is calling us to a much different standard. “You have heard that it was said,” He tells us the following day, “‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy. But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your heavenly Father, for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust.… Be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.”


The rabbis in Jesus’ day spent a lot of time distinguishing between “neighbor” and “enemy.” Jews, they said, were called to love their neighbor as they loved themselves, but despise their enemy, whom most rabbis said referred to everyone who was not a Jew or at least a God-fearing Gentile. Jesus, however, calls us to live as chips off the old divine block, to treat even those who have made themselves our adversaries and persecutors the way the Father in the Parable of the Prodigal Son regarded the child who dealt with him as if we were dead and asked for his inheritance immediately because he could not wait for his dad to die.


God the Father loves both the good and the bad. He wants us to pray for both, and to treat each with unconquerable benevolence. He wants us to love Republicans and Democrats, conservatives and liberals, pro-lifers and abortionists, marriage defenders and dismantlers, even the most radical QAnon and BLM subversives. To love them infinitely more than we passionately may oppose their erroneous ideas or immoral actions. To state this is not to pretend it is easy. It is excruciatingly hard. But the one who calls us to this standard died for the good and the bad—and, morally, all of us were in the latter category. With a gloriously scarred hand He calls us to follow Him on this path. And He would not be doing so unless He was prepared to give us all the help He knows we need to live up to it.


The next liturgical weekday Jesus brings these teachings to a conclusion, when, in a passage from the Sermon on the Plain—the echo in St. Luke’s Gospel of the Sermon on the Mount in St. Matthew’s Gospel—He brings us back to the Father who wants to help us to treat others as true brothers and sisters: to become Abels, not Cains. “Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful,” he says. “Stop judging and you will not be judged. Stop condemning and you will not be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven.… For the measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you.”


Jesus contrasts judging and condemning with mercy. He is not telling us we cannot judge the moral quality of particular acts—He obviously does, in telling us not to murder or to insult people as fools—but He clearly is instructing us to beg for God’s mercy for them rather than treat them as beyond it. And He makes clear one of the clarion points of the Gospel: that the standard by which we judge others will be the standard by which God judges us.


He tells us, for example, after teaching us the Our Father, “For if you do not forgive others their sins, neither will the heavenly Father forgive you yours.” And after the Parable of the Two Debtors, He adds, with reference to the condemnation of the servant who had been forgiven 165,274 years worth of work (10,000 talents) and yet refused to forgive another 100 days wages (100 denarii), “So will my heavenly Father do to you unless each of you forgives his brother from his heart.”


So, the standard Jesus calls us to apply is not the way others treat us, or even the way we would want them to treat us, but the way we hope God Himself will treat us. The devil’s great temptation is to get us to think Jesus’ way is unrealistic, untrustworthy, and a path for “losers.” Lent is a time in which, together with Jesus, we go out into the desert, away from diabolically-induced loathing and lies, so that we, repentant and faithful, might return with Jesus to behave like Jesus—even and especially when others do not.