Author: Daniel Scofield, MTS

The Greek word (makarios) that can be rendered as “happy” or “blessed” denotes blessedness or happiness not in the sense of an emotional state but in terms of being in a fortunate situation. Jesus’ opening statements in the Sermon on the Mount echoes a standard literary form found in ancient Egyptian, Greek, and Jewish literature known as the beatitude. In the Old Testament, the beatitude typically includes an introductory phrase such as “Blessed is the one …” that is followed by a statement about the fortunate situation or condition in which the person finds himself. Sometimes the beatitude is linked with a promise of reward for that person. The beatitudes announce that the blessings of the New Covenant will be fully realized in heaven. Some of them do promise blessings that are partly enjoyed in this life, but all of them look beyond the struggles and hardships of this life to the eternal blessedness of the life to come. Jesus’ beatitudes represent a reversal of values, turning the world’s standards for happiness upside down. It is a teaching of the path of perfection we seek to walk on earth, knowing that we are being formed by chiseling away worldly attachments to uncover the beauty of what has been placed in our hearts. An excellent way to view the beatitudes is presented by Bishop Robert Barron’s turn of a phrase that brings these saying into an application methodology we can apply to our own lives: “Blessed are the poor in spirit…”How lucky you are if you’re not addicted  to material things so that your deepest desire is for God; “Blessed are they who mourn…” How lucky are you if you are not addicted to good feelings as doing the will of God sometimes involves the acceptance of enormous pain; “Blessed are the meek…” One of the greatest seductions the world holds out to us is power. How lucky you are if you eschew worldly power so that the power of the will of God might reign in you. Jesus thus challenges his followers to see life from God’s viewpoint, not the world’s. When followers of Christ live by God’s standards, they are truly in a fortunate state in life, no matter what their circumstances may be, for they bring a glimmer of the joy and hope of the heavenly kingdom into the afflictions of the present-day world.

For all its sacredness and importance, a natural family must always be subservient to a higher family, the family of charity. Jesus, himself, clearly affirms this when he says, “Who are my mother, and brother and sisters?  Those who hear the word of God and keep it!” In Jesus’ view, only one kind of family does not, at a point, have to give way to something higher and more important than itself. The family that is constituted by “charity, joy, peace, patience, goodness, longsuffering, faith, fidelity, mildness, and chastity” is the only normative family. Its bonding alone is nonrelative. All other families are subservient to it. To deny this is to break the first commandment and worship the golden calf. We all belong to many families. Many kinds of things naturally bond us to certain people and separate us from others. Blood, ethnic origins, language, gender, country, city, religion, political affiliation, ideology, a shared cause, a shared enemy, a shared neighborhood, a shared history, or even shared wounds divide us from some persons and form us into a certain natural family with others. Nature, temperament, and circumstance spontaneously form us into various cliques. One of these, our blood family, has a certain inherent sacredness and demands, just of itself, a primal loyalty and duty. All groups must ultimately be subservient to the family of humanity and to the non-negotiable demands of charity and respect. When membership in any group blocks that it becomes, at that moment, idolatrous. This is, today, hard to admit in both liberal and conservative circles. In more pious circles, blood and religious family easily becomes idolatrous. (“My family, my country, my church – I am for them, right or wrong – love’em or leave’em!”) In more liberal circles, like-mindedness, shared cause, and shared gender easily become idolatrous. (“How can I respect or work with those who are so unenlightened?”) In both circles, there is the tendency to rationalize lack of respect and charity by appealing to family, namely, to some group loyalty (party affiliation, ethnic or language group, gender, cause, or shared wound) which justifies a certain smallness of mind and heart. But that is idolatry. Family is sacred, but, unless it itself submits to the higher call to charity and respect, it becomes the golden calf. – Excerpt from “Family as Idolatry” by Fr. Ron Rolheiser

Here, as in other places, Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that we have to be careful to understand what Jesus is telling us about his mother. We see places in the gospels where he seemingly does not speak highly of her when in fact the reverse is true. For example, the instance when he is approached and told: “Your mother is here, trying to see you,” and he answers, “Who is my mother?” Then, pointing to the people sitting around him, he says, “Those who hear the word of God and keep it are mother and brother and sister to me.” Is Jesus distancing himself from his mother here? No. He’s pointing out the real link between them, namely, among all the people in the gospels, Mary is the pre-eminent example of the one who hears the word of God and keeps it. For this reason, more than because of biological motherhood, Jesus claims her as his mother. Giving birth to Christ is something more than biological. Faith, like biology, also relies on a process that has distinct, organic moments. What are these moments? What is the process by which we give birth to faith in the world? First, like Mary, we need to get pregnant by the Holy Spirit. We need to let the word take such root in us that it begins to become part of our actual flesh. Birth, however, is only the beginning of motherhood. Mary gave birth to a baby, but she had to spend years nurturing, coaxing, and cajoling that infant into adulthood. The infant in the crib at Bethlehem is not yet the Christ who preaches, heals, and dies for us. Every mother needs to give birth twice, once biologically and once in faith, once to an infant and once to an adult. As her child grows, matures, and takes on a personality and destiny of its own. the mother, at a point, must ponder (as Mary did). She must let herself be painfully stretched in understanding, in not knowing, in carrying tension, in letting go. She must set free to be itself something that was once so fiercely hers. The pains of childbirth are often gentle compared to this second wrenching. Mary wants imitation, not admiration: Our task too is to give birth to Christ. Let the word of God take root and make you pregnant; gestate that by giving it the nourishing sustenance of your own life; submit to the pain that is demanded for it to be born to the outside; then spend years coaxing it from infancy to adulthood; and finally, during and after all of this, do some pondering, accept the pain of not understanding and of letting go.

What made Jesus’ sacrifice, his handing himself over, so special? Fr. Rolheiser writes that we have focused too much on the physical aspects of the crucifixion to the detriment of what was happening more deeply, underneath. None of the gospels emphasize the physical sufferings, nor indeed, in the fears he expresses in conversations before his death, does Jesus. What the gospels and Jesus emphasize is his moral loneliness, the fact that he was alone, betrayed, humiliated, misunderstood, the object of jealousy and crowd hysteria, that he was a stone’s throw away from everyone, that those who loved him were asleep to what was really happening, that he was unanimity-minus-one. What made his death so special is that, inside of all the aloneness, darkness, jealousy, misunderstanding, sick crowd hysteria, coldness, and murder, he held out, he gave himself over, without bitterness, without self-pity, holding his ideals intact, gracious, respectful, forgiving, without losing his balance, his meaning, or his message. That’s the ultimate test and we face it daily in many areas of our lives. Jesus’ sacrifice was so special because, long after the clock had run out on everything and there seemed no reason left to wait for anything, he still held on, to his ideals, his balance, his gracious, his forgiveness, and his love.

The struggle to do that, to remain faithful, is the real drama inside the death of Jesus and in the end it is a struggle of the heart, not the body.

God calls all Christians to be saints – not plastic statues of saints, but real people who make time for prayer and who show loving care for others in the simplest gestures. Pope Francis reminds us to not be afraid of holiness. It will take away none of your energy, vitality, or joy. We are frequently tempted to think that holiness is only for those who can withdraw from ordinary affairs to spend much time in prayer,” he wrote. But that is not the case. We are all called to be holy by living our lives with love and by bearing witness in everything we do, wherever we find ourselves. How is this done? We see it in those parents who raise their children with immense love, in those men and women who work hard to support their families, in the sick, in elderly religious who never lose their smile. The path to holiness is almost always gradual, made up of small steps in prayer, sacrifice, and service to others. Being part of a parish community and receiving the sacraments, especially the Eucharist and reconciliation, are essential supports for living a holy life. And so is finding time for silent prayer. The holiness to which the Lord calls you will grow through small gestures, like the woman who refuses to gossip with a neighbor, returns home and listens patiently to her child even though she is tired, prays the rosary and later meets a poor person and offers him a kind word. Thanks be to God, throughout the history of the church it has always been clear that a person’s perfection is measured not by the information or knowledge they possess, but by the depth of their charity, bearing all for the sake of others.

Why should we pray for the dead? Fr. Rolheiser writes that we need to pray because it does us good. We pray for the dead because that prayer helps us, the living. Prayer for the dead is meant to console the living. We pray for our dead loved ones to help heal our relationship with them. When someone close to us dies, it is natural, always, to feel a certain amount of guilt, not just because that person died and we go on living, but because, being human, we have had a less-than-perfect relationship with him or her. There is unfinished business between us. In praying for that person, among other things, we help wash clean those things that remain painful between us. We pray for the dead because we believe in the communion of saints, an essential Christian doctrine that asks us to believe that a vital flow of life continues to exist between ourselves and our loved ones, even beyond death. Love, presence, and communication reach through death. We pray for the dead to remain in communication with them. Just as we can hold someone’s hand as he or she is dying, and this can be an immense comfort to both of us, so too we can hold another’s hand beyond death. Communication with our loved ones after death is privileged, undercutting much of what kept us apart in this life. Praying for the dead, our faith assures us, not only consoles us but also offers real strength and encouragement to the loved one who has died. From my own experience of having loved ones die, as well as from what others have shared with me, I have found that usually, after a time, we sense that our deceased loved ones no longer need us to pray for them. Now they just want us to connect with them. Prayer for the dead does that and even though our prayers might still be formulated as if we are praying for them we are now simply connecting with them and what was formerly a cold, cutting absence now becomes a warm, comforting presence.

The gospels show many confrontations with Jesus and the authorities. In the debates Jesus’ enemies are trying to discredit him completely. For the Jew, authority is based in the temple. Fr. David Garcia writes that the question for the early Christians and for us today is how do we live according to the gospel, to Jesus’ teaching which essentially is to live by the heart rather than the letter of the law. The Herodians, mentioned in today’s gospel from Mark, are supporters of King Herod who had been imposed by Rome. The Pharisees are not happy with Herod, but if they can use his supporters to get Jesus they will. We might call this the politics of convenience not conviction. It has existed for centuries. The trick question is about paying taxes to Caesar. If Jesus supports the tax, he is unpopular with the people and against the Pharisees. If he opposes it, he is a revolutionary, against Caesar and the Herodians. Someone will not be happy with the answer. Either way, Jesus will suffer. That was the point. They did not care about the answer. They just wanted to trap Jesus, who knows their malicious intentions. This is more than just a trick question. Jesus is being tempted by the evil one to get involved in political power struggles. The early Church, at times, supported the state, and at times resisted the state. Early Christians resisted bowing to gods or seeing Caesar as god. In some cases, it cost them their lives. Jesus begins to answer the Pharisees and Herodians. He asks them for a coin. The coin bears Caesar’s image which Jesus uses to catch them by saying to pay to Caeser that which is Caesars and to God that which is God’s. The challenge to the Pharisees is to return to God what they have not given. The response to God must be total. Our primary citizenship is with the Kingdom of God.  Are we as careful of paying God what he is due as we are paying our taxes? Do we believe that a terrorist is created in God’s image, a refugee fleeing violence or poverty and trying to seek a better life or the homeless under a bridge? It is so easy to think of someone who is not like us as not as good as we are. However, our teaching says they and all other humans are also the face of God. Do you see yourself with all your baggage as the image of God?  How can you give to God what belongs to God? Every morning, take a look in the mirror. What you see is the image of God. You know it is not perfect, so it can help you to see others in the image of God as well. God is love. Return to God today what is God’s in all that you see and do.

It is hard to believe that God still loves this world and smiles upon it as does a mother upon her child. Our spontaneous impulse is rather to protest, condemn, and point out the world’s faults, its sin, its injustice, and its indifference to God. Fr. Ron Rolheiser writes that the world is not blind to our negative judgment. For the most part, it views us, the churches, with suspicion, as precisely standing in narrow and naive judgment of it, simplistic and fundamentalistic, the enemy of its life and creativity. The world does not believe in our sympathy and looks to us neither for comfort nor guidance. What then is to be our response? Through what prism are we to see the world? Ultimately, what we must do is to show the world the cross of Christ, to make it aware that the one whom it commonly rejects, the one whom it crucifies, the poor one, the helpless one, the unnoticed one, the insignificant one, is the cornerstone for its final progress. Within all the goodness and sin of this world, our task is to stand with the poor and bring the expertise of the poor, which is the wisdom of the cross, to all the dialogue and planning that goes into helping shape our planet. But we can do this only if we view the world through a prism of hope within which we bless its goodness and challenge its sin, even as we trust that God still deeply loves this post-modern planet and that, in the end, all will be well and all will be well and every manner of being will be well.

Our Gospel reading this Sunday, in which we celebrate Corpus Christi, comes from Mark, and describes the setting that established the foundation of the Eucharistic celebration. Jesus took the bread, and as he was about to break it for his disciples, he said something that they had never heard before. They must have lifted their heads and turned toward him in surprise. For he told them that this was not just bread being broken for them; it was his own body. And when he prepared to pass the cup of wine to them to be consumed, he interpreted this also as his blood, which would soon be poured out for them. Fr. Demetrius Dumm, from his Praying the Scriptures, writes that these words of Jesus are the most important words that he ever spoke to his disciples. This was the last time that he would have an opportunity to speak to them, and so he summed up all his teaching, and indeed the very meaning of his life among them, as “Body-broken-for-them” and “Blood poured out for them.” In other words, he was giving them the essence of God’s revelation, embodied in himself, that human success and happiness would come only to those who join him in “breaking” their bodies and “pouring out” their blood for others. This does not mean that the followers of Jesus must literally break or sacrifice their bodies for the sake of others. But it does mean something that may be even more difficult, and that is what Paul had in mind when he wrote in his Letter to the Philippians:

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better. Let each of you look not to your own interests but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.

The Gospel reading makes it clear that the path to salvation, ultimate freedom, and joy for us humans is through unselfish love. There is no greater prayer than to respond to God’s love, as expressed in Jesus’ self-giving, by acknowledging that our gratitude can never be enough for what he has done for us. We must commit ourselves, to the best of our abilities, to love and serve others, knowing that this is how we will also partake in his resurrection glory.

To confirm something is to verify it as being true or accurate. It means putting to rest any doubts you may have about a particular matter. Looked at in this way, today’s feast of the Visitation shows three different ways that God confirmed Mary’s calling to her. First, the Visitation tells us how Mary and Elizabeth—both miraculously made pregnant—offered an emotional confirmation to each other. You can imagine these two women talking excitedly about all that has happened to them: one who conceived despite her old age and the other who conceived without human intervention. You can see them sharing their joys, concerns, and hopes for their children. Second, the Visitation describes a physical confirmation when the baby John leaped into his mother’s womb. Luke called this a leap of joy, indicating that it went far beyond a baby’s normal kicking. That leap confirmed for Mary how special her baby was. Third, the Visitation gave Mary a prophetic confirmation. Elizabeth called Mary “the mother of my Lord,” confirming that Mary’s child was more than just an ordinary baby. Luke also tells us that Elizabeth said these words because she was “filled with the Holy Spirit.” Today, Jesus wants to confirm his promises in your heart. He wants to bless you just as he blessed Elizabeth, Mary, and John at the Visitation. Perhaps his blessing will spark you to leap toward him in faith. Maybe it will confirm his presence in you. Or maybe it will move you with excitement and a desire to share your blessing with the people around you. Most of all, Jesus wants to confirm that he is working wonders in you, even if it doesn’t feel like it. He wants to let you know that he is pleased with you, and he is happy to keep working in you, doing whatever it takes to build up your faith. So, relax today and listen for his voice in your heart. Let him tell you, “Blessed are you who believed!”