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A youth minister once shared with me how he had led a group of young people in song outside a high security prison. After some time, hands were seen sticking wet pieces of toilet paper on the prison wall’s small slit windows. Letters began to emerge, then a complete message. It read: “Pray for us.” “We went to visit our brothers in prison,” the speaker explained to me, “because Jesus was a prisoner too.”

As I listened to this, I recalled another conversation, this time with a parish volunteer. Her pastor had asked her arrange for parish children to stuff Christmas goody bags of toiletries for local inmates. She was appalled at this suggestion and flatly refused. Those people were being punished for their crimes, she insisted; they didn’t deserve any goody bags.

What a contrast between these two people. Both are committed Catholics. Yet they held very different attitudes about the exercise of mercy. In today’s gospel, Jesus makes clear what he wants our attitude to be. He spoke of prisoners, the sick, the poor, and strangers in our midst – people we might be tempted to judge, condemn, dismiss, ignore, or neglect out of selfishness, indifference, and hardness of heart. Yet Jesus refers to them as his brothers, and explained that we serve him when we serve them. His challenge to us today, then, is to extend mercy to others, just as he has showered his mercy upon us.

Readings for today’s Mass: http://www.usccb.org/nab/031411.shtml
Photo Credit: amandabhslater via Creative Commons

One Mardi Gras, Today Show personality Al Roker was broadcasting from New Orleans. He had before him a traditional Mardi Gras king cake, in which is hidden a small baby Jesus. Whoever finds Jesus in his or her slice of cake at a party is declared king or queen for the day, and is expected to bring another king cake to the next Mardi Gras party. As Al Roker was explaining this, he was slicing the king cake before him, looking for the little baby Jesus. As time wore on, he began to slice and chop at his cake with increasing frustration. With a note of mock panic in his voice he exclaimed: “I can’t find the baby Jesus!” When he finally did find it, the cake had been reduced to a crumbled mess. Needless to say, this was not one of Al Roker’s finer moments.

Today’s gospel account of the temptations of Jesus shows how easy it is for us to be unable to find Jesus, or even lose him altogether. When we read the temptation story, it’s natural for us to identify with Jesus, because we’re all familiar with being tempted. But have we ever placed ourselves in the devil’s shoes? We should, because most of us, at one time or another, will make the same demand of Jesus that the devil did, by insisting that he prove himself.

The devil began each of his three temptations by saying to Jesus: “If you are the Son of God…” These were the same words used by mocking bystanders as Jesus hung dying on the cross. But haven’t these same words come from our own mouths? When we’ve been frustrated or in trouble, haven’t we said, “If you are the Son of God, fix my problem now?” Or when Jesus seems to be absent from some situation, like a terrible disaster, haven’t we said, “If you are the Son of God, why did you let this happen?” And when our faith is shaken, and we wonder if Jesus even exists at all, haven’t we said: “If you really are the Son of God, you’d better show yourself more clearly than you’re doing now!”

Throughout his ministry, people were always complaining that Jesus never did enough to show who he really is. Throughout history, we Christians have continued to make the same complaint. So we put Jesus to the test. We ask him to jump through hoops. We throw down the gauntlet, and condition our faith and discipleship upon a set of conditions that we lay out. Jesus needs to play by our rules.

Whenever we fall into this trap, we will lose Jesus. We may seek for him, but we will not find him. We’ll be like Al Roker, frantically chopping at our king cake, but unlike Al Roker, Jesus will not be revealed to us.  In his book, Jesus of Nazareth, Pope Benedict writes: “The arrogance that would…impose our laboratory conditions upon (God) is incapable of finding him. For it already implies that we deny God as God by placing ourselves above him. To think like that is to make oneself God.” And isn’t that what the devil wants us to do? Isn’t that what he tempted Eve to do in the Garden of Eden? “Eat this apple,” he hissed, “and you will be like God.”

Now, sometimes the demands we make of Jesus are simply expressions of our fear, frustration, and confusion. Jesus understands that. He knows that we are weak. At the same time, he wants us to appreciate that he was weak as well. Yes, as the Son of God he possesses unlimited, almighty power. And while he was on earth, people wanted him to demonstrate this power all the time. They wanted him to crush their enemies and fix all their problems. They wanted him to use power like the world likes to use power. But Jesus came among us in weakness, not in power. He became weak to share our weakness and save us from the mess our weakness has made. That’s why people got so frustrated with him. That’s why we too can get so frustrated with him. If we had a choice, we wouldn’t want to see Jesus on a cross. We’d want to see him on a throne! But that’s for the end of time. Not now.

Sometimes we just don’t want Jesus to be Jesus. We want him to be our kind of Jesus. Not the kind of Jesus he really is. Which isn’t really fair, if you think about it. Most of us want other people to know and understand us for who we really are. We want other people to let us be ourselves! But do we try to understand Jesus for who he really is? Do we try to let Jesus be who he really is? When we don’t, we again find ourselves in the devil’s shoes. The devil tempted Jesus to be someone other than the real Jesus. He showed Jesus all the kingdoms of the world and promised that they could all be his if he would only fall down and worship him. Yet if Jesus were to do that, he would be denying that he is God’s Son. He would be denying himself. But Jesus was true to himself. He always is. And we need to accept that.

This is perhaps the greatest challenge that the temptations of Jesus place before us. They teach us that we’re not to make demands of Jesus; we’re to embrace his demands of us. We’re not to place ourselves above Jesus; we’re to humble ourselves beneath him. We need to let Jesus be Jesus, and not remake him in our image. And we need to follow Jesus, not along a path of worldly power, but the godly path of weakness, sacrifice, and trust. Should we do this, we’ll never have to frantically search for an elusive Jesus. He’ll always be there, at our side.

Readings for today’s Mass: http://www.usccb.org/nab/031311.shtml

Photo credits (top to bottom): Mikebdoss, enanon, and Carulmare via Creative Commons.

Monica said, “There was indeed one thing for which I wished to stay a while in this life, and that was to see you a Catholic Christian.”

… And when we were at Ostia on the Tiber, my mother died.

                              (St. Augustine, Confessions, Book IX)

After pursuing her son, Augustine, from Africa to Italy and seeing him convert to Christianity in 386, it was almost as though Monica’s purpose in life had been fulfilled. Hardly a year later, she took ill in Ostia (a seaport outside of Rome)and died there, never returning to her home in Africa. Her remains were eventually laid to rest in the church of San Agostino here in Rome, and it is to this church – run, naturally, by the Augustinian fathers – that our Lenten pilgrimage takes us today.

As I watched many of our pilgrims cluster around Monica’s tomb to pray after Mass, I couldn’t help but admire her story and reflect how much her intercession is needed today. I would guess that many of the pilgrims were praying for someone they knew, some “Augustine-in-waiting”: a family member who had drifted away from, or even outright rejected, Christ and his Church.

Monica: A model of  Persistent Prayer

Monica watched her son’s spiritual wanderings in sadness and in frustration, but never in despair. She prayed constantly for his return to the faith – and of course, she was not shy in letting him know about it! So often did her prayers for Augustine end in weeping that her bishop once assured her, “It is not possible that the son of so many tears should perish.” And indeed, Augustine’s conversion to Christianity would give the Church not only a devout believer, but one of the most brilliant theologians that Christianity has ever known. Before Monica’s tomb, I offered a prayer for our families – yours and mine – and for all those spiritual wanderers whom God, this Lent, is lovingly seeking out in ways they do not yet know.

Pilgrim Profile

Among the 200-odd pilgrims at today’s station church was Mary Breed from Mclean, Virginia, visiting Rome for a few days with her husband Jerry. I caught her just outside St. Monica’s chapel. Mary heard about the station church devotions from a friend who had lived in Rome, and leaped at the chance to hear Mass in English rather than in Italian! She was very moved by the number of pilgrims and especially seminarians who were present at today’s Mass – “We are praying for you seminarians all the time,” she encouraged me. By coincidence (or providence?) Mary has a deep personal devotion to St. Monica and was grateful to be able to ask her, “in person” as it were, to intercede for family and friends, as well as for some girls Mary knows who share Monica’s name.

Post by Seminarian, Aaron Qureshi (pictured in photo)

Photos by Fr. Justin Huber

An old joke asks: Why did Moses and the Israelites wander in the wilderness for 40 years? Because they didn’t ask for directions!

We’re on a journey too – not of 40 years, but 40 days of Lent – and proper direction is just as important for us. Consider today’s gospel: Jesus invites us to carry crosses. Those crosses are the suffering that enters every human life. Jesus stresses, however, that when we bear a cross, we’re to “follow him.” That’s our proper direction.

If we take off in a different direction, and follow a path different than our Lord’s, we’ll wind up exhausted, resentful, and alone. Chances are we won’t get very far, because our cross will become too heavy to bear.

But when we do follow Jesus, we’ll be given the courage we need to carry on, and a strength that can only come as God’s gift. We’ll have the consolation of seeing Jesus’ footsteps before us, or even planted right alongside ours. Because if there’s one thing his own cross can teach us, it’s that Jesus doesn’t want us to carry our crosses alone.

Readings for today’s Mass: http://www.usccb.org/nab/031011.shtml

Photo Credit: hlkljgk via Creative Commons

Public relations are very important in our culture, aren’t they? Great value is placed upon how we’re seen and perceived by others, and we’re very concerned about doing things that will get us noticed, appreciated, and admired. This is true even for matters of faith and religion.

That’s why Jesus’ words in the gospel today can be so challenging. He told us that we should be on our guard against performing religious acts for others to see. Our left hand must not know what our right hand is doing; we’re to pray in private behind closed doors; and our appearance shouldn’t reveal that we’re fasting.

Jesus knows that we often bring mixed motives to our religious undertakings. Some of our motivations- the ones inspired by God- are noble and good. Things like wanting to serve others, meet their needs, alleviate their suffering, grow closer to God, and do penance for our sins.

But sometimes we have other motives that aren’t as laudable. We may do religious things because we hope others will see us as holy or be grateful to us for the kind things we’ve done.

When we act in this way, we’re seeking to glorify ourselves- and there’s the catch. Because as Christians, all we do, in one way or another, should be done for the glory of God. As we journey through the 40 days of Lent, let’s always examine our motives, and ask the Lord to purify them, so that what we do is not driven by concern for public relations, but by a spirit of private praise.

Image courtesy of http://sharingmachine.com

During a big religious festival, a seventeenth century Portuguese shepherd and soldier, heard a homily which convinced him of his need to repent. For months afterwards he wandered the streets, beating his breasts and screaming for mercy, until he was thrown into an insane asylum.

Blessed John of Avila, who preached the homily, visited St. John of God and insisted that instead of punishing himself for his past, it was better to try and build a better future. The repentant man did exactly that, through loving service to the sick and poor as a friar. He know him today as St. John of God.

As we celebrate his memorial today, St. John of God’s story is good to reflect upon as we move toward Lent, a season of renewal and penance. Penance shouldn’t be about beating up ourselves for past sins. Instead, it should be about building up ourselves into saints. In short: Do good, instead of feeling bad.

Readings for today’s Mass: http://www.usccb.org/nab/030811.shtml

Photo credit: Sarah Korf via Creative Commons