Month: March 2021

Did you ever spend a lot of time and energy trying to convince someone of something that seems so obvious you shouldn’t have to explain it? You may have been tempted to say, “What is wrong with you?! It’s so obvious?!” Maybe Jesus felt that kind of exasperation with the ruling Jews.

Jesus is still trying to help “the Jews” see what should be obvious to them. They know the Scriptures inside and out, and so they should easily recognize the One Who IS the fulfillment of the Scriptures. In today’s Gospel, Jesus speaks their own language to them, as it were. He “presents his case” in the format they are familiar with, citing witnesses and testimonies. But then Jesus cuts right to the heart of the matter, as he usually does: “You do not want to come to me to have life… (Y)ou do not have the love of God in you.” The true reason that they cannot see Truth before them is that their hearts are closed.

What has closed them off? In the next sentence, Jesus names their blinding fault: “you accept praise from one another and do not seek the praise that comes from the only God…” Wow. Because their desire is only for worldly acknowledgment and gain (what I call the “5 P’s” of popularity, prestige, power, pleasure, and prosperity), they have closed their hearts to real spiritual gain.

Even as Jesus dialogues with them in a way they should understand, even though he presents “an airtight case,” they cannot see because they are seeking something else and looking elsewhere.

We can be like that too. Our lives are a stream of busy-ness and distraction, scrolling and trolling, so that we forget to seek the ONE THING that matters. And yet the Lord keeps calling us to Himself.

Have you ever been doing something that seems “not religious” and suddenly been moved deeply by something so beautiful or good or true? These are blessed moments in which the Lord is speaking to us in a way that we can hear, getting our attention, and they don’t always happen at church! The Lord is always coming to us in ways that are familiar so that we can hear him: a song, a friend, a prayer, a story, a walk, even a movie. We may be tempted to dismiss it as nothing, or chance, or fatigue! But we should learn to recognize that these are often ways that Heaven breaks through and reminds us that there is more.

“If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts!” (Heb 3:7).

During these last days of Lent, let’s work to keep our hearts alert and aligned to God’s will, open to whatever he is calling us to do.

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I am a child of two very disparate worlds.

My mother grew up in the American South, raised by staunchly Southern Baptist relatives, and she absorbed some odd practices: no drinking, no dancing, church services lasting for hours twice on Sundays. 

My father grew up Catholic in Angers, France, a medieval city with a cathedral dedicated to St. Maurice; his family had been part of the fabric of the city and of the cathedral for, literally, centuries.

It was an odd space in which to grow up, even after my mother’s conversion and my going to a Catholic school. Because every parent carries baggage their children must make sense of. Both my parents’ religious backgrounds came with rules. Sometimes the rules overlapped, and sometimes they diverged. For my father, it was about strict adherence to Catholic practices; for my mother, it was about behavior (no idleness, no activities without a moral purpose, no pleasure for the sake of pleasure).

When I was ten or eleven, I did what many girls of that age do: I fell in love with horses. My family had the means to indulge me, and I spent every free moment around stables. I started riding, getting good at it, competing in horse shows. And then an opportunity came along to be in a really significant show. On a Sunday.

My father shrugged it off. Sundays start with the vigil; all I had to do was go to Mass on Saturday evening. My mother was deeply shocked; she carried with her the indelible memory of sermons that lasted for hours, and we’d always as a family gone to Sunday Mass. 

They argued about it. And I was thinking of those arguments when I read today’s Gospel story, in which Jesus dared to cross the line, cross the boundaries, do something he wasn’t “supposed” to do—out of love and caring.  

There was good reason for the Jews, then and now, to keep the Sabbath. God had ordained it. It was a day of refreshment, of recollection, a day unlike the other six days in the week. A Jew himself, Jesus knew the value of such a practice and its connection to his Father.

So why did he heal on the Sabbath? He must have known he was crossing a line. He must have known his action would come back at him in some way.

What we can see clearly throughout Jesus’ life and ministry is a call to being genuine. His message was simple. Whereas the Hebrew Bible is filled with specifics—measurements, times, what is and isn’t acceptable—the New Testament is notable for its simplicity. Love your God and your neighbor. Return good for evil. Turn the other cheek. Feed the hungry. And it all comes back to one thing: love. Through love of humanity God sent his son. It’s all about love.

God’s laws were given to help people love him with all their hearts and minds, but centuries of history tend to create distortions. By Jesus’ time, religious leaders had turned the laws into a confusing mass of rules. The point of the rules—a loving relationship between God and humanity—had been lost. By example, then, Jesus is showing that the rule of keeping the Sabbath only makes sense insofar as we don’t lose that point, as long as it does not exclude love. The sick man needed love and help, right then, right there, not when it was more convenient. 

When Jesus talked about a new way of understanding God’s law, he was actually trying to bring people back to its original purpose. Jesus wasn’t challenging the law itself. It’s a matter of striking a balance—or, perhaps, of perspective. If the greatest law of all is to love, then taking risks to put that love into the fabric of our daily lives is what we’re called to do. He showed it was better on the Sabbath to help someone in need than it was to stand around looking holy.

Because it really is that simple. It’s about love.

I ended up going to that horse show, where I ignominiously fell off after the third fence. And my parents were both there to support me, having overcome their differences… out of love.

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