Author: Msgr. Charles Pope

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Overcoming Fear on a Stormy Night in Galilee

The Gospel from Saturday’s daily Mass (Saturday of the 2nd Week of Easter) describes troubles rising and demonstrates how to endure them:

When it was evening, the disciples of Jesus went down to the sea, embarked in a boat, and went across the sea to Capernaum. It had already grown dark, and Jesus had not yet come to them. The sea was stirred up because a strong wind was blowing. When they had rowed about three or four miles, they saw Jesus walking on the sea and coming near the boat, and they were afraid. But he said to them, “It is I. Do not be afraid.” They wanted to take him into the boat, but the boat immediately arrived at the shore to which they were heading (John 6:16-21).

The images in this passage are reminiscent of the journey of life. The disciples have set out in a boat to cross to the other shore. We, too, have set out for another shore in our life. Darkness grows for them as it often does for us. The winds are contrary, and the sea becomes choppy. The must row because the sails are useless. So it is for us also. We would rather let the wind carry us effortlessly to the other shore, but while life has many pleasant moments when we can do this, there are other times when the storms and winds assail us and make our journey difficult.

The disciples are a few miles into their journey when the crisis arises—or is it a blessing? They see Jesus walking on the water. Although He is their blessing, they don’t see it that way. Other gospel passages say that they thought they were seeing a ghost (e.g., Matt 14:26).

Life can be like this. Our blessing, our solution, our healing can be right in front of us, yet we are terrified. I remember one time when my cat was trapped in the attic of the rectory (I have no idea how she got up there). We made an opening in the ceiling to get her out, but she was too terrified to come near enough that I could let her down. It took a long time (and some kitty snacks) to lure her. Although I was her rescuer, she saw me as her tormenter. We are often like this, fearing the very Savior sent to us. We are like children who scream in fright as the doctor approaches with the shot that will cure or prevent sickness. The Lord God once said of us,

When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called My son. But the more I called them, the farther they ran from Me …. Yet it was I who taught Ephraim to walk, taking them in My arms, but they never realized that it was I who healed them … [who] bent down to feed them (Hosea 11:1-4).

Yes, we often fear the very source or means of our blessing.

The text says, “… and they were afraid.” They are looking right at Jesus, their savior, yet they do not realize it; they do not recognize Him and are afraid. We, too, are like this. Why do we sometimes fear Jesus, the very source of our salvation? Because He does not always heal us on our terms. He talks of strange remedies like the cross. Strangely, He permits storms in our life and we are both fearful and resentful. However, the very cross and storms we fear are often the means by which He saves us! We need some degree of suffering and storms to keep us humble, to help us to grow in wisdom, to trust Him, and to keep calling on Him. Jesus talks of unsettling things like taking up our cross and following Him, losing our life so as to find it and save it. Jesus Himself won the victory hanging on a cross, not astride a war-horse slaughtering His enemies.

We see Jesus coming toward us in a storm, but rather than simply stopping the storm, He tells us not to be afraid. Why doesn’t He just take away the storm? I don’t know; He simply says, Do not be afraid. It is I. In the Gospel of John, Jesus says, In this world you will have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world (Jn 16:33).

Jesus wants His presence to be enough for us. He is with us, so why are we afraid? There are going to be storms; that’s a promise—but He will be with us; that, too, is a promise. There’s a saying that’s particularly: “Don’t tell God how big your storm is. Tell the storm how big your God is.”

The gospel passage we are discussing ends abruptly by saying, They wanted to take him into the boat, but the boat immediately arrived at the shore to which they were heading. Well, what do you know, they finally understand that it is Jesus and they reach the shore!

Note that there is no indication in the passage that the storm ended. The winds may have still been blowing, the seas still rough, but none of that matters once they have reached their destination. One may think that this destination merely refers to the boat docks at Capernaum, but that would be worldly, limited, and erroneous. The shore to which we all sail is none other than the Lord Himself. He is our peace, our goal, our destination.

At times His solutions may involve paradox. The cross is strange medicine to the worldly—but loss can usher in gain, a door may close only that another may open, death can bring life. Do not be afraid; He is near. That is not a ghost approaching you in the storm, it is the Lord! All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose (Rom 8:28).

This is a vignette, an essay on life. Storms will come, but the solution is near: Do not be afraid. It is I.

Help me, Lord, to know that you are the source of my peace. You are always near; Help me to hear your voice, saying, Do not be afraid. It is I.

There is an old gospel song that has these lyrics:

I love the Lord;
He heard my cry;
And he pitied every groan.
Long as I live;
And troubles rise;
I’ll hasten to his throne.

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: Overcoming Fear on a Stormy Night in Galilee

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What Does It Mean When the Scriptures Say That the Apostles Worshiped the Risen Jesus but That Some Doubted?

There is a passage in the Gospel of Matthew that can seem puzzling:

Meanwhile, the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain Jesus had designated. When they saw Him, they worshiped Him, but some doubted (Matt 28:16-17).

What is this doubt to which the text refers? It is all the more perplexing if we recall that this is not the first time the apostles had encountered the Risen Lord. There are almost a dozen other documented appearances (in Scripture) of Jesus to some or all of the disciples before this final one, which takes place just before His ascension. Why do they still doubt?

The Greek word translated as “doubted” sheds more light on the meaning: it is distázō, which more richly means to “waver” (from dís, (two) + stásis, (stance)). So, the Greek describes having two different stances or vacillating between two positions. Thus, the apostles are not necessarily being described as stubbornly doubting or refusing to believe. It is more likely that they are struggling to believe or understand.

But the question remains, why?

Perhaps we ought to remember that we have the advantage of two millennia of reflection on Christ’s resurrection. For the apostles, the resurrection challenged everything they knew and had experienced. There is a scene in Mark’s Gospel that points to this:

As they were coming down the mountain [of the Transfiguration], Jesus admonished them not to tell anyone what they had seen until the Son of Man had risen from the dead. So they kept this matter to themselves, questioning what it meant to rise from the dead (Mark 9:9-10).

It certainly helped that they had seen both Lazarus and the son of the widow of Nain raised from the dead, but those were different; this was Jesus rising by His own power.

Further, the resurrection narratives indicate that there was something mysterious and supernatural in the manifestation of Jesus’ glorified body. Some don’t recognize Him at first. He is not a ghost or an apparition because they can touch Him, and He eats and drinks with them. However, He can appear and then disappear suddenly. So, He is among them, but sporadically and mysteriously.

Thus, there is something quite human in the apostles’ response. How does one get his mind and heart around so startling a mystery? Consider what questions must have been in the mind of each of them: Who is this? Is Jesus a ghost? No, because I can touch Him. It is clearly Jesus, but something seems different about Him. Am I really sure it’s Jesus? Am I dreaming? I can’t just go and see Him now on my own terms, as I did before, because He appears and disappears at will. What does all this mean for me? He keeps saying that He will send the Spirit, who will explain everything. When? How?

Thus, what we are reading is a portrait of quite human apostles, who are trying to process an astonishing event that was previously unimaginable. So remarkable is it that they vacillate, even after having seen Him. At one point, Peter even ponders returning to fishing (See John 21:3).

Jesus does not seem troubled by their “doubt” or wavering; He gives them the great commission anyway:

Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me. Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey all that I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matt 28:18-20).

Jesus knows that their doubts will be clarified soon enough, when He sends the Holy Spirit to remind them of everything He said (John 14:26), glorify Him in their minds (John 16:14), and lead them to all truth (John 16:13).

Indeed, after Pentecost, the apostles are changed men; they show no wavering or doubt. As we make our way on our journey, the Holy Spirit confirms our faltering faith and makes it more steady, strong, and sure. It is for us to continue to grow and to allow the Holy Spirit to quicken our faith. It is crucial, for the great commission is still upon the Church.

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: What Does It Mean When the Scriptures Say That the Apostles Worshiped the Risen Jesus but That Some Doubted?

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Back to the Future – A Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter

This Sunday’s Gospel is remarkable in that although the apostles have seen the resurrected Jesus several times, they seem to be retreating into the past. Jesus must summon them—if you’ll pardon the expression—back to the future.

They were going to return to fishing, but the Lord calls them away and points them to the future, in which they go out to all the nations and summon them to saving faith.

This Gospel shows Jesus summoning the apostles back to their crucial call, one focused not in the past but in the future. Indeed, fellow believers, if this had not gone the right way, our faith might well have been in jeopardy. We are the future that Jesus sought to preserve. Our coming to the faith depended on Jesus successfully summoning Peter and the other apostles back to the future.

Let’s look at today’s Gospel in four stages.

I. Regrettable Reversal – At that time, Jesus revealed himself again to his disciples at the Sea of Tiberias. He revealed himself in this way. Together were Simon Peter, Thomas called Didymus, Nathanael from Cana in Galilee, Zebedee’s sons, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We also will come with you.” So they went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

The Lord had called Peter and the others away from fishing (e.g., And he said to them, follow me and I will make you fishers of men. Immediately, they left their nets and followed him (Mat 4:19)).

In today’s Gospel we see Peter going back to commercial fishing. This is not recreational fishing; the commercial nets are out. It is surprising that after having encountered Jesus risen from the dead on at least two occasions he’s going back to fishing! Some of this say that holding this view amounts to saying that Peter has lost his faith. But that need not be true. It is possible to struggle and find it hard to know what to do in the  face of new experiences without losing your faith. We go back to the things from which we have been called away without turning away from the faith. Just as He did with the apostles in this Gospel, the Lord must stand on the shore of our baptismal waters and call us out of the past and back to the future, one of holiness and perfection. And this leads us to the next stage. 

II. Redeeming Reminder – When it was already dawn, Jesus was standing on the shore; but the disciples did not realize that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, have you caught anything to eat?” They answered him, “No.” So he said to them, “Cast the net over the right side of the boat and you will find something.” So they cast it, and were not able to pull it in because of the number of fish. So the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord.” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he tucked in his garment, for he was lightly clad, and jumped into the sea. The other disciples came in the boat, for they were not far from shore, only about a hundred yards, dragging the net with the fish.

The Lord stands on the shore and does again for them what he had done some three years earlier, when He called them from fishing to evangelizing. He does not excoriate them; He does not call them fools or some other epithet. He calls out to them, “Children, have you caught anything to eat?” Rather than rebuking them, He asks them to assess the situation, to consider whether their course of action has yielded anything; they admit that they’ve caught nothing. Then he repeats what he said three years before, namely, that they should cast their nets for a catch. 

John draws the obvious conclusion: “It is the Lord!” The Lord has given them a redeeming reminder. He does not rebuke them; he only reminds them. In effect, He says, “Come out of the past. Remember the future to which I have summoned you, a future of going forth to the nations and announcing the gospel for all to hear. Your life is not about fish; it is about humanity!”

What reminders has the Lord put in your life? How has He stood on the shore and called to you with some reminder? Perhaps it was a tattered old Bible or maybe a hymn that you heard. Perhaps it was your grandmother’s rosary beads stored away in a dresser drawer. Perhaps it was a funeral or a wedding.

In moments like these, the Lord stands on the shore of life and calls to you. He reminds you of your call and asks you to consider whether your present course is doing anything for you whatsoever; often it has not. Perhaps there is fleeting wealth or momentary popularity, but otherwise there is little else to show for it.

The Lord calls us back to the future, a future (and a present) oriented toward Heaven. Since you have been raised to new life with Christ, seek the things that are above, rather than the earth below (Colossians 3:1).

 III. Reorienting Repast – When they climbed out on shore, they saw a charcoal fire with fish on it and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish you just caught.” So Simon Peter went over and dragged the net ashore full of one hundred fifty-three large fish. Even though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come, have breakfast.” And none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they realized it was the Lord. Jesus came over and took the bread and gave it to them, and in like manner the fish. This was now the third time Jesus was revealed to his disciples after being raised from the dead. When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” He then said to Simon Peter a second time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Simon Peter answered him, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” Jesus said to him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was distressed that Jesus had said to him a third time, “Do you love me?” and he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.”

Notice three basic elements through which the Lord reorients them. To reorient (re (again) + oriens (East)) literally means to turn someone back to the East, back toward the rising of the sun (Son), back toward the light and away from the darkness.

FISH

The fish are hauled in; their number is plentiful. The specific number, 153, has significance more for humanity than for fish. While much has been written on the significance of this number, the most likely explanation seems to be that this was the number of known nations at the time. Hence, that exactly 153 fish are caught seems to be the Lord’s way of saying that it’s not the fish but all humanity, all the nations. God can use even our backsliding, our sins, to call us away from them. Yes, He can use our sins as a teachable moment.

FIRE

As Peter comes ashore, he sees a fire. Though the text is silent on this, surely it must have unnerved him, for here was a charcoal fire, the same sort of fire that was in the courtyard of Caiaphas the high priest, where Peter had denied the Lord (Jn 18:18). Unnerved by the recognition of what he had done—or rather failed to do—Peter felt unworthy. Yes, this fire reminded him of his denial of the Lord.

Yet even Peter’s repentance is somewhat egocentric. It would seem that he wonders, “How could I have done this, I, who promised the Lord to be with Him even if all should rage against Him!” In moment of cowardice, he had denied the Lord. Oh yes, this fire, this charcoal fire, is bothersome indeed! The Lord stands next to the fire and looks at Peter much as He had in the courtyard of Caiaphas when, after Peter had denied Him for the third time, He turned and looked at Peter (Lk 22:61). How this fire bothers Peter!

FRANKNESS

Now comes a tender and powerful conversation. To us who read the text in English, the conversation focuses on the fact that the Lord asks Peter the same question three times: “Do you love me?” In Greek, there are subtleties that do not come through in the English translation.

In the English translation, the Lord asks Peter simply, “Do you love me?” Peter answers, “Yes, Lord, I love you.” The Greek text, however, is both more subtle and more specific. In Greek, the Lord asks, Σίμων Ἰωάννου, ἀγαπᾷς με πλέον τούτων? (Simon Joannou agapas me pleon touton? – Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?) Jesus has asked about “agape” love. However, Peter replies, κύριε, σὺ οἶδας ὅτι φιλῶ σε. (Kyrie, su oidas oti philo se. – Lord, you know that I have brotherly love for you.)

The Lord asked for agape love, the highest love, wherein we love God above all things and all people, including ourselves. Peter does not answer with agape love. Rather, he replies that he loves the Lord in a brotherly (philo) way. This is far short of what the Lord asked. (I realize that there are debates about the Greek used in this passage, but I am convinced that the use of the two different words is significant. I have written further on this topic here: Agape vs Philo in John 21.)

In spite of Peter’s response of imperfect love, the Lord still has something important for him to do: Feed my lambs.

A second time, the same dialogue sets up. Again, the Lord asks for unconditional, ultimate love (agape), but Peter can only return a lesser love, a brotherly love (philo), a sort of affection. Again, the Lord does not reject Peter. He accepts Peter’s response and tells him, Tend my sheep.

On the third occasion, Jesus asks Peter, Σίμων Ἰωάννου, φιλεῖς με; (Simon, son of John, do you have brotherly affection (phileis) for me? This third question strikes Peter to the heart and causes him to exclaim that he (only) has brotherly love. Yet again, the Lord does not reject him, but rather assigns him a task: Feed my lambs.

This is one of the most poignant, beautiful, and honest moments in Scripture. The Lord looks with love to a disciple and asks him for the highest love; that disciple honestly answers that he has only imperfect love to offer. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Peter is being absolutely honest. There is no more posing, no more bragging—only an honest answer, born out of sober appreciation of his human lapses. There is nothing more beautiful than honest prayer, for honesty is a prelude to healing. Jesus accepts what Peter is able to offer and (as we shall see) promises him that his heart will expand so that one day he will love the Lord totally, unconditionally, above all things and all people.

What about you? Are you honest with the Lord? Have you experienced His love in spite of your sin? Do you know that if you are honest with Him, He can use you even in your weakness?

IV. Required Remedy – “Amen, amen, I say to you, when you were younger, you used to dress yourself and go where you wanted; but when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go.” He said this signifying by what kind of death he would glorify God. And when he had said this, he said to him, “Follow me.”

In this whole conversation, the Lord’s purpose is not to stalk or badger Peter. Rather, it is to lead him toward a necessary remedy, to point him back to the future, one filled with evangelical fervor and sacrificial love. Peter is weak now, but the Lord will give him strength. Within ten days after Jesus’ ascension, the Holy Spirit will come and Peter will be quickened, strengthened in the faith.

Even then, the work the Lord needs to do is not finished, for He speaks of the day when Peter will finally have the grace to accept martyrdom. It will be a day when someone will tie him fast and lead him where he would rather not go—but Peter will go, and he will die for Christ.

In the end, Peter will be able to say, without any simulation or exaggeration, “I love you, Lord, totally, with agape love. I love you above all things, above all people, and above even my own life.”

For now, Peter is not ready, but the Lord will lead him by stages and get him ready. How will Peter get there? How will we get there? The Lord simply says, Follow me.

So, fellow disciples, the Lord is leading you to a deeper love, an unconditional love, a love above all other loves. Only the Lord can do this. He did it for Peter and He can do it for you.

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When We Cast Off What Has Empowered Us, Only God Knows How Strange It Can Get – As Seen in a Commercial

The video below shows a world gone mad, a world in which chaos and unpredictability have taken over. Watch it and see the cause to which the commercial ascribes the problem. But allow it to be an allegory of what happens when:

● we let God’s presence die in our hearts and minds,
● we let natural law die in our culture, and
● we let time-tested and ancient wisdom die in our times.

Yes, as the commercial says, only God knows what awful, bizarre, unexpected, hideous, and devastating things can happen when we let important things die. Don’t miss the allegory; its message is powerful. A lot of unexpected things happen when we cast off what has empowered us.

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: When We Cast Off What Has Empowered Us, Only God Knows How Strange It Can Get – As Seen in a Commercial

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The Striking and Bold Content of the Apostles’ Preaching

The scene is Pentecost Sunday and Simon Peter has just received the Holy Spirit along with 120 others. A crowd has gathered, intrigued by the manifestation of the Spirit in the upper room. The door opens and out steps Simon Peter. He begins to proclaim Christ. After an initial summary of Jesus’ life and actions as well as a doxology, Peter says to those gathered,

Therefore, let all Israel be assured of this: God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Messiah (Acts 2:36).

A few days later Peter preaches even more pointedly:

You handed Jesus over to be killed, and you disowned him before Pilate, though he had decided to let him go. You disowned the Holy and Righteous One and asked that a murderer be released to you. You killed the author of life, but God raised him from the dead. We are witnesses of this…. Now, fellow Israelites, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did your leaders. … Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out … (Acts 3:14-20).

Apparently, Peter never got the memo that we preachers are not supposed to mention unpleasant things like sin, and we certainly should not accuse our listeners of having sinned; we are supposed to issue the usual bromides of affirmation and speak only in abstractions and generalities. Imagine, he calls them killers, co-conspirators in handing over God to be crucified: “You killed the author of life”!

The unwritten rule among many priests and deacons today, especially those of the older generation, is that we should never—under any circumstances—offend anyone. We should not say anything controversial or that risks upsetting anyone. We should not mention, sin, Hell, judgment, or Purgatory. We shouldn’t preach on moral topics like abortion, fornication, contraception, divorce, or homosexuality. And we shouldn’t even think of saying that knowingly missing Mass is a mortal sin. For that matter, we should never even let the words “mortal sin” escape out lips!

Yet here is Peter saying, “You killed the author of life.” He’s not talking to the person next to you, dear reader, he’s talking to you! That’s right you did that, and so did I. Yes, we are sinners, and if we don’t repent and receive His mercy we’re going to be lost—we’re going to go to Hell. (Oops, did I let that word slip out?)

The logic is that if we talk in this way, we’ll offend people, and they’ll stop coming. Never mind that our churches have largely emptied in the aftermath of the widespread application of this policy. No indeed, it must be all honey and no vinegar, ever.

It is interesting that Simon Peter, though clear and bold in his preaching about sin, did not seem to cause the alienation feared by many modern priests. In his sermon of Acts 2, we read not of alienation but of mass conversion:

When the people heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and the other apostles, “Brothers, what shall we do?” Peter replied, “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off—for all whom the Lord our God will call.” With many other words he warned them; and he pleaded with them, “Save yourselves from this corrupt generation.” Those who accepted his message were baptized, and about three thousand were added to their number that day (Acts 2:37-41).

This response isn’t what some of the fearful, dovish, “do-no-harm-ever” preachers and liturgists of today would predict! Peter’s nets were nearly breaking with thousands of converts even after telling them they had crucified Jesus, warning them, and calling them to repentance and baptism in no uncertain terms.

After Peter’s even sterner words of Acts 3 telling them, “You killed the Author of life,” the numbers grew even more: But many who heard the message believed; so the number of men who believed grew to about five thousand (Acts 4:4).

In the early 1960s, Protestant evangelist David Wilkerson wrote The Cross and the Switchblade, a book about his ministry among hardened, inner-city gang members. His approach didn’t feature sentimentality or boosting self-esteem, but rather laying out frankly the issues at hand. In effect, he’d tell the gang members their problem wasn’t too many enemies or not enough weapons, but that they were sinning. He told them that their only hope was to turn their lives over to Jesus Christ, or else they would be forever lost—jail and/or an untimely death were the least of their worries.

You’d think that he’d get killed after talking like that to gang members—but he didn’t. Deep down they knew he was right. Even those who weren’t ready to convert respected him for being bold enough to speak the truth to them.

Somewhere along the line, many modern preachers lost their edge. The gospel, the good news of salvation, doesn’t make a lot of sense without reference to sin. To say that we are saved implies that there is something from which we need to be saved. Without a vigorous understanding of sin and the ultimate destination of Hell from which we have been saved, the gospel starts to seem peripheral, optional, just a nice story—not really all that crucial or urgent. The good news is highlighted by and makes sense only in the light of the bad news. Only if I know that “I’ve got it bad and that ain’t good” does the news of a cure seem to be wonderful, even fabulous.

We live in dainty times; many people are thin-skinned and easily offended. However, I have found that speaking clearly about sin, the need for repentance, and the glory of mercy is experienced by most people as refreshing. To be compelling, good preaching needs to have an edge. Abstractions, generalities, and greeting-card sentiments don’t really work. Chatty sermons, silly jokes, beige Catholicism, and soft tones don’t excite interest. Our empty churches say that loud and clear.

Some will inevitably take offense to such preaching, but that is ever the case. A good preacher, one who is worth his salt, must be willing to give up his life, or at the very least to enduring harsh criticism. Timid preachers are only a little better than useless. They are, as Gregory the Great said, “dumb dogs that cannot bark.”

Thank God that Peter never got the memo! As his fruitful example shows, vigorous biblical preaching includes an edgy quality; it addresses sin, setting it forth plainly but in a way that highlights the glory of grace and mercy.

The bottom line is that “You killed the author of life.” Collectively we’ve done it in a thousand ways. However, know that Jesus Christ loves you and has mercy on you in abundance; you can lay hold of this if you repent and run to Him for healing and mercy.

This song says, “Sinner, please don’t let this harvest pass and die and lose your soul at last.”

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: The Striking and Bold Content of the Apostles’ Preaching

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The Greatness of Little Things: A Reflection on a Quote From St. Augustine

I have found that one of my favorite quotes from St. Augustine is not all that well known. Here it is in Latin, followed by my own translation:

Quod minimum, minimum est,
Sed in minimo fidelem esse,
magnum est.

What is a little thing, is (just) a little thing.
But to be faithful in a little thing
is a great thing.

(from St. Augustine’s De Doctrina Christiana, IV, 35)

I first saw this quote on the frontispiece of a book by Adrian Fortescue. Fortescue applied it to the intricate details of celebrating the Old Latin Mass. That form of the Mass has an enormous amount of detail to learn: how exactly to hold the hands, when and how to bow, what tone of voice to use, what fingers should be used to pick up the host, and on and on. Some might see these details as picky and overwhelming. But as the quote above states and Fortescue apparently wanted us to think, love is often shown through reverence for the little things. (See the second video below.)

It’s so easy to become lazy, even about sacred things like saying Mass. I often have to remind myself about little things like the condition of my shoes. Are my vestments clean? How about the altar linens, are they properly cared for? Do I bow and pause at Mass when I should? How is my tone of voice? Do I walk reverently in the sanctuary? Am I careful to pronounce the sacred words of the liturgy with care and a prayerful spirit? Some may find such questions tedious or even too scrupulous. But when you love, little things are often important.

Married couples may also struggle to remember the little things that show love: a kind remark, a simple thank you, flowers brought home for no particular reason, a simple look, the gift of listening attentively, cleaning up after yourself in the kitchen, a simple reassurance like “I’m glad I married you” or “You’re a great father to our children,” a quick phone call saying, “I love you and was thinking about you.”

They’re just little things. But to be faithful in little things is a great thing. A gospel passage comes to mind:

Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness! (Matt 25:21)

Another passage says,

Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much, and whoever is dishonest with very little will also be dishonest with much (Luke 16:10).

Little things—who cares? God does. Little things are great things to those who love.

This song says, “You must be faithful over a few things to be ruler over many things. Be thou faithful unto death and God will give you a crown of life.” It ends in a rousing chorus: “Well done good and faithful servant, well done!”

And since I mentioned the details of the traditional Latin Mass, here is a video that illustrates how little things can mean a lot. Some unaccustomed to this form may find such details stuffy, but to those who appreciate them, these “little things” are small signs of love for God and are a way of suppressing a kind of careless informality.

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: The Greatness of Little Things: A Reflection on a Quote From St. Augustine

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The Charter and Mandate of the Church

Jesus gives a concise summary of the work and experience of the Church in His discourse with Nicodemus, which we read at Tuesday’s daily Mass:

Amen, amen I say to you, we speak of what we know, and we testify to what we have seen, but you people do not accept our testimony (Jn 3:11).

I. Plural – Note that when Jesus speaks to Nicodemus He does not say, “I speak to you.” He says, “We speak to you.” The use of the first-person plural is common in Johannine literature. For example, at the beginning of the First Letter of John it is said, That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched—this we proclaim concerning the Word of life (1 John 1:1).

Who is the “we” referred to here? As with most things in Scripture, there are layers of meaning. First, it certainly means the apostolic college. On a wider level it refers to the first eyewitnesses, the disciples who heard and saw Jesus and were able to report what He said and did. Even more widely the “we” is the Church down through the centuries. The Church here is more than an institution; it is the Body of Christ, the living, active presence of Jesus Christ in the world.

II. Proclamation – “We speak of what we know, and we testify to what we have seen.” Just after the resurrection, the common expression of apostles and disciples is this: “I have seen the Lord” (e.g., John 20:18, 20:25). If the Church could no longer say this, she would no longer be the Church! If she could no longer say, “Jesus is Lord. We know this; we experience this; and we see it with our eyes,” then she would no longer be the Church.

Note that in the biblical sense, the word “know” does not simply refer to intellectual knowing, as if the Church were merely reciting words written centuries ago. Biblical knowing emphasizes experience; something known means something actually seen and experienced, not just learned in the abstract. The Church does not simply know Jesus is Lord and speak of it as if regurgitating reciting ancient formulas, precious though they are. Rather, she speaks of her experience with the Lord Jesus Christ in the sacred liturgy and of His powerful ministry to all her members throughout time.

The proclamation of the Church is that we speak to the world of what we know, what we have experienced. To emphasize this, Jesus adds that the proclamation of the Church is not simply what we know but what we have “seen.” Here, too, a tangible experience is referenced. This is the proclamation of ancient truths, presently experienced—seen. In other words, the Church can raise her right hand and swear to the truth of all that Jesus has said and done because she knows it; she experiences it; she has seen it—she has witnessed it occurring.

Indeed, souls are healed and set free, and human beings are gloriously transformed by the celebration of her sacred liturgy with her Blessed Groom and Lord, Jesus Christ.

The Church announces her experience with Jesus Christ, with the ability of His Word and truth to transform her and her members. The Church proclaims to the world, “We testify to what we have known and what we have seen.”

III. Persecution – Then Jesus says to Nicodemus, and by extension to the world, “You do not accept our testimony.”

It is often the lot of the Church to be scorned, ridiculed, and mocked—even hated and persecuted—because of our proclamation. There are many who demand that the Church conform to the world and its ideas and values.

Yet, as Pope Paul VI noted in Humanae Vitae, one of the Church’s most rejected encyclicals,

There is too much clamorous outcry against the voice of the Church, and this is intensified by modern means of communication. But it comes as no surprise to the Church that she, no less than her divine Founder, is destined to be a “sign of contradiction.” She does not, because of this, evade the duty imposed on her of proclaiming humbly but firmly the entire moral law, both natural and evangelical (#18).

The Church is to be this sign of contradiction. Yes, we must often stand up before a worldly consensus and say no, regardless of how many around us who say yes. It is the lot of the Church to experience rejection and to have to say, “You do not accept our testimony.”

Yet this is judgment, for Jesus says, Light has come into the world, but people loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light (John 3:19-20). St. Paul adds, For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear (2 Tim 4:3). Simeon, as he held the infant Jesus and thereby the infant Church, is recorded as saying this: This child is destined to cause the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be contradicted (Lk 2:34).

Yes, this is our place—among the persecuted, scorned, and derided. The Church must be willing to say to the world, “You do not accept our testimony.” We must not “cave.” Too many people today, wanting the Church to be “relevant,” and “acceptable,” insist that we alter our doctrines so that the world will accept our testimony. God forbid the Church ever do this, for we would no longer be the Church!

Here, then, is Jesus’ charter—His mandate—for the Church: that we should say to the world, “We speak to you of what we know and of what we have seen, but you do not accept our testimony.”

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: The Charter and Mandate of the Church

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Why Did Christ’s Glorified Body Still Have Wounds?

Several of the Resurrection accounts stress that Jesus showed the disciples His wounds. On one level we can understand that He was trying to make clear to them that the same Christ who was crucified stood before them; He was not a ghost or an apparition or simply someone who looked like Jesus.

When Christ rose, He took up His same, true body, but it now manifested a perfected glory. When we rise on the last day, the same will be true of our bodies. Why, then, were Christ’s wounds visible in His glorified body? Are not wounds and scars inconsistent with a glorified body?

St. Thomas Aquinas provides five reasons that Christ’s wounds are fitting in His glorified body. His reflections, from the Summa Theologiae III, Q. 54, Art. 4, are beautiful and poignant. St. Thomas’ words are presented below in bold, black italics, while my remarks appear in plain red text.

It was fitting for Christ’s soul at His Resurrection to resume the body with its scars. In the first place, for Christ’s own glory. For Bede says on Luke 24:40 that He kept His scars not from inability to heal them, “but to wear them as an everlasting trophy of His victory.” Hence Augustine says (De Civ. Dei xxii): “Perhaps in that kingdom we shall see on the bodies of the Martyrs the traces of the wounds which they bore for Christ’s name: because it will not be a deformity, but a dignity in them; and a certain kind of beauty will shine in them, in the body, though not of the body.”

Christ’s wounds are a dignity not a deformity, a sign of love not of loss, an indication of obedience not of onerousness. Through His wounds the Lord can say, “Here is what the world did to me, yet I live. Here is the cost of your redemption and the lavishness of my love.”

Secondly, to confirm the hearts of the disciples as to “the faith in His Resurrection” (Bede, on Luke 24:40).

This is what theologians refer to as “continuity.” The wounds demonstrate that the body that died on the cross is the same one the disciples see standing before them. Jesus has not taken up or fashioned a new body or a similar one; He is truly risen. The Greek word for resurrection is anastasis, which literally means “to stand again.” The word “resurrection” means the same thing: re (again) + surrexit (he stands). None of this would be true if a different body were before them, no matter how similar. Thus, Christ’s wounds confirm the truth of the resurrection.

Thirdly, “that when He pleads for us with the Father, He may always show the manner of death He endured for us” (Bede, on Luke 24:40).

Beautiful! The picture here is of the Son, Jesus, showing His wounds to His Father and saying, “See how I have loved them, Father. Have mercy on them.”

The Book of Hebrews says, Consequently, Jesus is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them. For it was indeed fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens. He has no need, like those high priests, to offer sacrifices daily, first for his own sins and then for those of the people, since he did this once for all when he offered up himself (Heb 7:25-27).

Fourthly, “that He may convince those redeemed in His blood, how mercifully they have been helped, as He exposes before them the traces of the same death” (Bede, on Luke 24:40).

To those who doubt the Lord’s love or His understanding of our trials, Christ’s wounds speak tenderly and clearly of His love and of the price He was willing to pay for us. His wounds are more eloquent testimony than any words could be. Is God merciful? Does God understand or care at all about our condition? Look to the wounds of Christ; dwell in them; take shelter in them.

Lastly, “that in the Judgment Day He may upbraid them with their just condemnation” (Bede, on Luke 24:40). Hence, as Augustine says (De Symb. ii): “… So will [Christ] show His wounds to His enemies, so that He who is the Truth may convict them, saying: ‘Behold the man whom you crucified; see the wounds you inflicted; recognize the side you pierced, since it was opened by you and for you, yet you would not enter.’”

Such powerful and moving word, in this case from St Augustine. There is also a refutation of the idea that God is simply harsh on Judgment Day. In effect, He will say, “I endured suffering from you out of love for you. When I was on the cross, the soldier pierced my side. My heart was literally opened for you and still you would not enter. What more could I have done than to allow your own sins to be your redemption? Still you refused.”

In spite of receiving lifelong graces and unmerited favors and blessings, in spite of God’s call echoing in their depths, many still refuse God’s offer. It is a tragedy that some hearts are so hardened. Christ’s wounds testify to the justice of God’s only (and final) recourse: allowing them to live apart from Him. Accepting the choice of their free will, God’s last act is simply to recognize their refusal and say, “you would not enter.”

Dwell in the wounds of Christ.

Cross-posted at the Catholic Standard: Why Did Christ’s Glorified Body Still Have Wounds?