Breathe into me, Holy Spirit,
that my thoughts may all be holy.
Move in me, Holy Spirit,
that my work, too, may be holy.
Attract my heart, Holy Spirit,
that I may love only what is holy.
Strengthen me, Holy Spirit,
that I may defend all that is holy.
Protect me, Holy Spirit,
that I may always be holy.
Today’s Gospel features one of the more confusing parables for our modern ears. Jesus tells us about a nobleman who leaves gold coins with some of his servants while he is away. When he returns, the nobleman demands an account of what each servant has done with his coins. The first servant, having received ten coins, hands over an additional ten. The second, with five, hands over an extra five. The final servant, who was given one, returns his one coin to his master. The first two servants are rewarded for their efforts; the third servant is punished for his lack thereof. The noble man’s actions seem unjust to us; it’s not like the third servant lost his coin or stole it. He saved it. Wasn’t that enough?
The answer is obviously no. Jesus casts the third servant in a poor light. Clearly, he did something wrong. But what?
At the bare minimum, the servant failed to complete his task. He was charged with the mission of engaging in trade with the coin to increase the nobleman’s profits, and he didn’t do it. The student who doesn’t hand in his homework fails the class. The worker who doesn’t complete his job gets fired. That’s simple justice. You reap what you sow. As the nobleman says in the parable, the least the servant could have done was put the coin in the bank to earn interest, and he didn’t even do that.
The servant also admitted that he was afraid. He let fear guide his decisions, and listening to fear is never a good idea. When we let fear take control in our lives, we often make choices prematurely, or without thinking through the consequences of our actions. Because the third servant was afraid of his master, he lacked the wisdom necessary to determine what would most please the nobleman.
The servant’s fear also caused him to disregard what he already knew to be true of his master. He even went so far as to admit that “you are a demanding man; you take up what you did not lay down and you harvest what you did not plant.” The servant knew what to expect, but he didn’t use that knowledge to his advantage. We have all been given gifts from God, but these gifts demand that we give thanks. Gratitude requires that we use the gifts we’ve been given to advance the Kingdom of God. We have all been given much through the grace of the sacraments, but God demands that we give the entirety of ourselves to Him in return. Fortunately, while He is a demanding God, He only asks us to give what we are capable of giving. We just need the courage to hold nothing back from the God who wants the whole of us, and wants to love every fiber of our being because He is Love Himself.
Shannon Whitmore currently lives in northwestern Virginia with her husband, Andrew, and their two children, John and Felicity. When she is not caring for her children, Shannon enjoys writing for her blog, Love in the Little Things, reading fiction, and freelance writing. She has experience serving in the areas of youth ministry, religious education, sacramental preparation, and marriage enrichment.
Featured Image Credit: Micheile Henderson, https://unsplash.com/photos/ZVprbBmT8QA
St. Rose Philippine Duchesne, Virgin (Feast day – November 18) Born in Grenoble, France, in 1769, Rose joined the Society of the Sacred Heart. In 1818, when she was forty-nine years old, Rose was sent to the United States. She founded a boarding school for daughters of pioneers near St. Louis and opened the first free school west of the Missouri. At the age of seventy-one, she began a school for Indians, who soon came to call her “the woman who is always praying”. Her biographers have …
Bless me, heavenly Father,
forgive my erring ways.
Grant me strength to serve Thee,
put purpose in my days.
Give me understanding,
enough to make me kind.
So I may judge all people
with my heart, not my mind.
Teach me to be patient
in everything I do,
Content to trust Your wisdom
and to follow after You.
Help me when I falter
and hear me when I pray,
And receive me in Thy kingdom
to dwell with Thee someday.
Amen.
I, John, heard the Lord saying to me:
“To the angel of the Church in Sardis, write this:
“‘The one who has the seven spirits of God
and the seven stars says this: “I know your works,
that you have the reputation of being alive, but you are dead.
Be watchful and strengthen what is left, which is going to die,
for I have not found your works complete in the sight of my God.
Remember then how you accepted and heard; keep it, and repent.
If you are not watchful, I will come like a thief,
and you will never know at what hour I will come upon you.
However, you have a few people in Sardis
who have not soiled their garments;
they will walk with me dressed in white,
because they are worthy.“‘
The victor will thus be dressed in white,
and I will never erase his name from the book of life
but will acknowledge his name in the presence of my Father
and of his angels.
“‘Whoever has ears ought to hear what the Spirit says to the churches.’”“
“To the angel of the Church in Laodicea, write this:
“‘The Amen, the faithful and true witness,
the source of God’s creation, says this:
“I know your works;
I know that you are neither cold nor hot.
I wish you were either cold or hot.
So, because you are lukewarm, neither hot nor cold,
I will spit you out of my mouth.
For you say, ‘I am rich and affluent and have no need of anything,’
and yet do not realize that you are wretched,
pitiable, poor, blind, and naked.
I advise you to buy from me gold refined by fire so that you may be rich,
and white garments to put on
so that your shameful nakedness may not be exposed,
and buy ointment to smear on your eyes so that you may see.
Those whom I love, I reprove and chastise.
Be earnest, therefore, and repent.
“‘Behold, I stand at the door and knock.
If anyone hears my voice and opens the door,
then I will enter his house and dine with him,
and he with me.
I will give the victor the right to sit with me on my throne,
as I myself first won the victory
and sit with my Father on his throne.
“‘Whoever has ears ought to hear
what the Spirit says to the churches.’”
At that time Jesus came to Jericho and intended to pass through the town.
Now a man there named Zacchaeus,
who was a chief tax collector and also a wealthy man,
was seeking to see who Jesus was;
but he could not see him because of the crowd,
for he was short in stature.
So he ran ahead and climbed a sycamore tree in order to see Jesus,
who was about to pass that way.
When he reached the place, Jesus looked up and said,
“Zacchaeus, come down quickly,
for today I must stay at your house.”
And he came down quickly and received him with joy.
When they saw this, they began to grumble, saying,
“He has gone to stay at the house of a sinner.”
But Zacchaeus stood there and said to the Lord,
“Behold, half of my possessions, Lord, I shall give to the poor,
and if I have extorted anything from anyone
I shall repay it four times over.”
And Jesus said to him,
“Today salvation has come to this house
because this man too is a descendant of Abraham.
For the Son of Man has come to seek
and to save what was lost.”
– – –
Lectionary for Mass for Use in the Dioceses of the United States, second typical edition, Copyright © 2001, 1998, 1997, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine; Psalm refrain © 1968, 1981, 1997, International Committee on English in the Liturgy, Inc. All rights reserved. Neither this work nor any part of it may be reproduced, distributed, performed or displayed in any medium, including electronic or digital, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
The story of Zacchaeus has been following me around lately, between Gospel readings and Lectio Divina reflections and opening prayers at Confirmation sessions.
So I have to wonder – what is the Lord trying to tell me by repeatedly sharing this passage with me in different ways? What, then, am I able to share with all of you?
First, there is always a way to “see” the Lord, no matter the circumstances. Zacchaeus was a tax collector and a rich man – someone that the Israelites despised and looked down upon for his actions. Yet Zacchaeus still had a desire to see the Lord! When Jesus was passing through, Zacchaeus then proved to be resourceful and climbed a tree, knowing that he was too short to see Jesus on his own.
There is an innate desire for God written on all of our hearts, one that never wavers or goes away. Even when we sin and struggle, even when we don’t know it, we want to see God. Sometimes that means knowing our own limitations and getting creative in order to see the Lord. Climb a tree if you have to. Do whatever it takes to see and know the Lord.
Second, Jesus knows where to find us and he will come seek us out. Jesus knew that Zacchaeus was up in a tree, knew exactly which tree it was and came directly to Zacchaeus in that tree. The Lord can and will work around our limitations. He knows exactly where we are and He will come to find us. Don’t try to hide from Him.
Third, Jesus extends a personal invitation to each of us. Jesus asked Zacchaeus to dine in his house around his table. God calls each of us to gather together and dine at His table – the altar – every week for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. This is where we have the most personal, face-to-face encounter with the Lord when we receive Him in the Eucharist. May we continue to seek out these encounters with a renewed desire and appreciation for the Mass.
Finally, the invitation that Jesus offers us includes a call to repentance. When the crowd heard who Jesus asked to dine with, they grumbled that Zacchaeus was a sinner. We are all sinners ourselves. One of the most joyous aspects of this passage is Zacchaeus’ change of heart, in repaying what he had taken from people and giving his possessions to the poor. Our change of heart takes place in the confessional. Our repayment takes the form of admitting our sins, giving them over to Jesus in contrition and the words of absolution. We are offered the chance at repentance and forgiveness – receive His mercy in the Sacrament of Reconciliation.
With all of the lessons that we can learn, may we strive to follow in the footsteps and echo the words of Zacchaeus, who sought out the Lord at all costs, who was found, who recognized his faults and who found the hope of salvation through Jesus.
Erin Madden is a Cleveland native and graduate of the Franciscan University of Steubenville. Following graduation, she began volunteering in youth ministry at her home parish of Holy Family Church. Her first “big girl” job was in collegiate sports information where, after a busy two years in the profession on top of serving the youth, she took a leap of faith and followed the Lord’s call to full-time youth ministry at St. Peter Church. She still hopes to use her communication arts degree as a freelance writer and statistician, though. You can catch her on the Clarence & Peter Podcast on YouTube as well as follow her on Twitter @erinmadden2016.
Hugh of Lincoln was the son of William, Lord of Avalon. He was born at Avalon Castle in Burgundy and was raised and educated at a convent at Villard-Benoit after his mother died when he was eight. He was professed at fifteen, ordained a deacon at nineteen, and was made prior of a monastery at Saint-Maxim. While visiting the Grande Chartreuse with his prior in 1160. It was then he decided to become a Carthusian there and was ordained. After ten years, he was named procurator and in 1175 became …
Dear Saint Anthony, your prayers obtained miracles during your lifetime. You still seem to move at ease in the realm of minor and major miracles. Saint Anthony, Performer of Miracles, please obtain for me the blessings God holds in reserve for those who serve Him. Pray that I may be worthy of the promises my Lord Jesus attaches to confident prayer. [mention your special intentions] Franciscan Mission Associates
Even today, I can remember the conversation. I was probably eight years old, or somewhere thereabouts. My friends and I were discussing our attachments to our senses. Which would you rather be, blind or deaf? What would be worse, losing a hand or losing a foot? What’s the easiest thing to live without? These were essential, deep, incredibly interesting questions to us as we explored together both our graces and our limitations.
I remember thinking I could squirm out of saying “blind” or “deaf” (which would somehow jinx me, for eight is a very superstitious age, filled with magical thinking in response to the uncomfortable discovery that one cannot control the world), and instead I hit on “taste.” There you go! I could manage perfectly well without taste. Being blind or deaf? That was too horrible to contemplate, so I didn’t.
Later on, when I was still in school, I met a girl who actually was blind. She wasn’t born that way; it was the result of some rare disease whose name I never knew. She kept asking her friends to describe what things looked like because, as she explained, she could visualize without vision. She had once had sight, and that gave her the ability to conceptualize her environment, to add color and light to what surrounded her in the present dark.
Tennyson may well have said ‘tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but I wasn’t buying it. I thought that would be the most terrible of things, to have been able once to see—and then to know you never would again. Better to have been born in darkness and treat it as normal than to constantly compare today’s reality to yesterday’s.
It was part of my growing up, my introduction to the complicated issue of loss.
I’ll be honest: I still cannot contemplate losing my sight. But I’ve lost so many other things, things equally important, a whole litany of them in the years that have unspooled since my schoolgirl days, that I can now at least have empathy and begin to imagine what it might be like. And when I do, the memory of all those other losses—along with the feelings attached to them—washes over me again.
I think today’s readings speak to us deeply of loss. The Church at Ephesus has “lost the love you had at first.” And of course in the Gospel we have the story of the blind man calling out to Jesus, and Jesus performing his last miracle, because he is even then on the way to Jerusalem, to Gethsemane, and to Calvary. The Church lost its love; the blind man lost his sight; Jesus was soon to lose his earthly life.
We who have survived 2020 (and I don’t use the word “survive” lightly) are well-acquainted with loss. The coronavirus has taken loved ones away, as well as—for many of us—our economic survival. Half of the United States counts the November elections as a loss. We’ve lost the ability to hug our friends, to shake hands with our colleagues, to leave the house without elaborate preparations. We’ve lost the illusion that our society is fair to everyone. Many have lost their homes, their jobs, their food security.
In the Revelation passage, we find John rebuking the Ephesians, despite enumerating everything they’re doing right: good works, labor, endurance, suffering, steadfastness. But for all of that, they’ve lost what seems to count more than all those great actions: their love.
I cannot believe there’s anyone who hasn’t been touched by loss this year. We too are laboring, we’re staying faithful, we’re hanging in there. All good things. But our losses haven’t brought us together—in fact, the more loss we experience, the more we seem to be blaming each other, turning our backs on our neighbors, blind to anything but our own selves. Like the Ephesians, we have “lost the love you had at first.”
Still, just as there was once a time when my blind friend could see, a time she could remember, we too can remember a time when we weren’t so divided. When we listened to each other. When we cared about each other. When we loved.
That memory alone isn’t enough to change anything. The blind man in the Gospel doesn’t just remember a time when he may have had sight—he wants to change. He asks for help. In fact, Jesus makes him ask for help, makes him speak aloud what is his most basic and best desire. In all our fluttering about, in all our lurching from one crisis to the next, have we taken the time to ask Jesus for help? To ask Jesus for the grace to see, not with our eyes, but with our hearts?
It’s hard to petition when one is blinded by anger.
With all that 2020 has flung at us, what have you lost that was precious to you? Why can’t we set the circumstances aside and try instead to comfort each other for our myriad losses? It feels like we’re afraid to turn to the Lord to ask him to restore us in some way that would give us life again. Turning to God when we are suffering loss is a great act of faith and trust.
Oh, and my eight-year-old assertion that I could live without taste? One of the many ironies of the coronavirus is losing that very sense. And as my friend Margo—who had the virus but fortunately recovered—tells me, losing taste makes the world a lot bleaker than one might think.
No loss is easy. I knew that at eight, and I know it now. But we can get through any loss. We just have to ask for help.
Jeannette de Beauvoir is a writer and editor with the digital department of Pauline Books & Media, working on projects as disparate as newsletters, book clubs, ebooks, and retreats that support the apostolate of the Daughters of St. Paul at http://www.pauline.org.
St. Margaret of Scotland, or Margaret of Wessex, was an English princess born in Hungary to Princess Agatha of Hungary and English Prince Edward the Exile around 1045. Her siblings, Cristina and Edgar the Atheling were also born in Hungary around this time.
Margaret and her family returned to England when she was 10-years-old and her father was called back as a potential successor to the throne. However, Edward died immediately after the family arrived, but Margaret and Edgar continued to …