Reflecting on Luke 16:19-31

As I read this story today about starving Lazarus and well-fed Dives, I stop and look out our window.  Rows and rows of luscious greens, bursting with cucumbers and tomatoes and green beans, fill our backyard.  How, I wonder for the millionth time, could Lazarus have ever been hungry?

We lost our clothesline to the cucumbers.

Two years ago we gave our prickly, neglected backyard into the care of an urban gardening co-op called Farmyard. Then we sat back and watched these talented, hard-working young people turn our little yard into the Garden of Eden.  This is the season when God must love to say, “See what I can do?  The earth is mine, and all the fullness thereof” (Ps. 24:1).

I confess that until two years ago I never noticed where food came from.  And now, one hundred people are eating from the riches of the long-neglected soil just outside our window!  But, since God is so unbelievably generous, why are there still hungry people all over the globe?  For that matter, why was Lazarus hungry in the very same city where Dives was over-fed?  Maybe one answer is found inside the Gospel, where Dives, the former rich man who is now in torment, still thinks of Lazarus as his inferior, one whom God should command down to his netherland to cool his burning tongue with water.  Ha!  We can imagine Lazarus’ response: “Not ‘til hell freezes over.”

The seeds of entitlement, class distinction, geographic advantage are buried right there in the story, waiting for us to notice them and be converted once again to the new heaven and earth that the God of the harvest demands.

Sharing God’s Word at Home:

In what ways are you partnering with God to feed the world?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 16:1-13

Hi everybody.  It’s me, Jesus.  Sorry about that parable today.  I know, all of you who own your own businesses want to know why it’s okay for that steward to cheat his boss like that.  Here’s the thing: if you had lived in the Middle East in the First Century you would have laughed and applauded my brilliance when I spoke that parable.

The Shrewd Stewart Art - work of Kazakhstan Artist, Nelly Bube

My prophet Amos had it so right.   I love that part where he called out those vendors and merchants for the religious hypocrites they were.  Sure!  Hurry up and get these religious observances over so we can start cheating the poor and trampling on the needy.  See, that’s what I was getting at in my story all those years later.  It takes a lot of energy and cunning to steal and exploit people.  (These days I’m especially thinking about the murderous drug cartels in my beautiful, Catholic Mexico.  And all the drug abusers north of the border who keep them in business.)

See, the steward was stealing from his master, and when he knew he was getting fired he used the same cunning to start making friends with the very people he’d been cheating for years.  Think how much hard work it took for them to pay the master in all that olive oil and wheat, and he was taking a huge chunk off the top!  So he canceled out his huge commission, which made their debts so much less.  It was like he knew he was on a sinking ship and he decided to give all his stuff away to the guys manning the lifeboats.  Now that’s smart!

So, the moral is: make friends with the poor, the beloved of my Father.  Look at me.  I was so poor I was buried in a tomb that belonged to somebody else.  No problem.  I knew I wouldn’t be staying long.  And you’re not long for the grave either, every one of you who loves me and recognizes me, as Mother Teresa said, in my distressing disguise of the poor.

Of course she’s here.  Where else would she be?  You should have seen all her friends up here opening those gates when they heard she was coming. Happy 100^th birthday, Blessed Teresa of Calcutta.

Sharing God’s Word at Home:

What energies are you harnessing to do good?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 15:1-32

Even though we live in a religious country with a strong religious heritage, the very core of religious faith―that a loving God actually exists and actually longs for communion with us―seems to elude us.

Return of the Prodigal Son (Rembrandt) c.1669

And so we’ve come around again to the great Lukan parables of the lost coin, the lost sheep, and the lost son.  (This only happens in Year C, where we heard the story on the Fourth Sunday of Lent and again today.)  What will it take for us to really hear that the Hound of Heaven will chase us through the alleyways of our lives in order to catch us and look us in the eye and say, for the millionth time, but didn’t you know that everything I have is yours?

So let’s let Francis Thompson, tortured opium addict and believer in God’s mercy, remind us once again:

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him, down the arches of the years;

I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind; and in the midst of tears I hid from Him….

I wonder.  Do you suppose that Lost Sheep was watching in the canyons to see if the shepherd would really leave everything to find her?  How delicious that must have felt, to hear him calling for her, and hear the relief in his voice when she stepped from her hiding place and he wrapped her up in his arms and carried her home.

Hey, do you know someone who’s ready to be found?  It’s not easy to step out of the dark canyon.  It takes a lot of humility to admit that we are loved that much.

Sharing God’s Word at Home

Do you recall a time of being “found”?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 14:25-33

Okay, did Jesus really say we have to hate everybody we love in order to be his disciple?  Isn’t that completely out of character with everything we know about him?

Paul writing to Philemon about his slave Onesimus

First, the better translation for “hate” is “to love less than”.  Am I willing to love my own life less than I love being wrapped in the mystery and grace and healing love of Jesus?  Oh yeah.  Because it’s a win-win.  When I yield to the stronger-than-death love of Christ I find my life all over again, hidden and made richer through my day-by-day encounter with his Spirit.  How could I ever love my life if it were apart from him?

But look out.  A life in Christ means the status quo is out the window.  For example, the tribal codes of honor and shame that kept sons and daughters in perpetual debt to their parents were dismantled by Jesus’ invitation to follow him instead.  In that fascinating second reading today Paul reminded the Christian slaveholder Philemon that his slave Onesimus had been baptized, and was now his brother in Christ.  Wow!

So, loving Jesus more than we love slavery, family ties that welcome no stranger, religious restrictions that keep us forever bound up in guilt and unworthiness?  You bet.   That’s the liberating message of this difficult Gospel today. The disciple of Jesus hates everything that keeps a grudge going, a door closed, and a social status in place that, when the ship is going down, keeps some down in steerage while the rest of us get the lifeboats.

So I get it now.  That message is completely in character with everything we know about Jesus.

Sharing God’s Word at Home

Is there something you need to “love less than” in order to have a deeper faith life?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 14:1,7-14

Several summers ago I was recovering from surgery on my vocal cords and couldn’t speak for a week.  I was out walking one very hot Sunday afternoon and began to panic because I had run out of water and was still a mile from home.  One of the churches on the corner of a busy intersection was having a “Getting to know you” picnic on their grounds as an outreach to all those speeding by.  Ah, thank you, God.  Here I can get a refill for my water bottle and make it home.

The last shall be first

There were lots of warm, friendly congregants out on the front lawn, pouring lemonade and passing out cookies and information about times of their services.  Because I couldn’t speak, I smiled and indicated my empty water bottle.  All these years later, I’m still hurt by the detached indifference I experienced.  The smiling hospitality members took a few steps back and walked away.  No one would make eye contact with me.  I was, I guess, the odd, sweaty interloper who wasn’t speaking and kept pointing to her water bottle.  For some reason that made me scary, or at least not the person they were hoping their picnic would attract.

But I’m a SOMEBODY!  I’m a SINGER!  I’m just TEMPORARILY DISABLED! I’ll be at the top of my game again in a DAY OR TWO!

And you know what?  That day never came.

How glad I am now for that tiny peek into the world of those who come into our churches without resumes, without connections, but with a sliver of hope that someone will notice them and reach out.  The “last” are actually SOMEBODIES, as those of us who have been “first” a lot will surely one day find out.

Sharing God’s Word at Home

What experiences of “first” and “last” have shaped your life?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 13:22-30

It turns out that the question of who gets into heaven and who doesn’t gets settled on the bus.  Well, not just any bus.  It’s that primordial bus that C.S. Lewis creates for us in his masterpiece, The Great Divorce. There we see ourselves as the fearful, suspicious, whiny, gossipy passengers who have boarded the bus between heaven and hell.  And guess what?  We can’t get into heaven because we won’t get off the bus.

And why should we?   We can see from our stuffy, boarded-up windows that SHE made it in, and we CERTAINLY aren’t interested in getting out if they let HER in, for heaven’s sake.  We’ll just sit right here, thank you just the same.

The grass in heaven is so strong it’s like walking on sharp knives when you’ve been such a cheat and such a fake your whole life that you’ve never built up any real integrity to give you strength.   And who can stand up to the rain in heaven?  It’s like getting hit with bullets when you’ve spent your whole life dodging responsibilities, or the outstretched hands of those who are poor.

But watch!  There are angels to help us step off the bus and take those first courageous steps towards humility, and forgiveness, and healing from addictions, and reunions with family members we’ve cheated or ignored or abused.  All it takes is the grace to give God permission to make us fit for heaven.

Lord, will only a few be saved? Perhaps the better question is Lord, will only a few WANT to be saved? Because heaven isn’t for sissies.  But heaven IS for those grateful souls who, in fear and trembling, take God’s hand and step off the bus.

Sharing God’s Word at Home

What are you working on changing so that you’ll be comfortable in heaven?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 1: 39-56

Today’s Gospel, the visitation of Mary to her cousin Elizabeth, tells us that Mary, a woman alone and with child, made a fifty-mile journey from Galilee to Ein Karem, in the hill country of Judea.  Today a Catholic church stands at that site. Its many paintings depict Elizabeth and Mary, and other women of their time, as they went about the sacred business of keeping alive their religious traditions.  It is surely the most “feminine” church in Christendom.

Church of the Visitation in Ein Karem, Israel

When Mary, now the ark of the covenant, the carrier of the Savior, arrives at her cousin’s home, she sings her Magnificat.  What seems to be most on her mind, curiously, is not the news of her astonishing pregnancy, or even that of her old cousin.  Instead, she wants to talk about God’s power to lift up the lowly and to fill the hungry with good things.

It makes you wonder what she saw on that road as she traveled.  Did she see widows and orphans crying for food, cast far away from the safety nets of husbands and fathers?  Did she see the executed Jews, whom the Romans crucified along well-traveled paths as reminders of the “Pax Romana”?    When she arrived at her cousin’s, the unborn John sensed the presence of the true and only Prince of Peace.  That six-month-old fetus was the first to recognize the Incarnation, traveling in the womb of his mother Mary.  That should end any question of when life begins.

As the lovely Medical Missionaries’ hymn, The Visit, sings, There leaped a little child in the ancient womb.  And there leaped a little hope in every ancient tomb.

Sharing God’s Word at Home

What do you think the young Mary was thinking about as she traveled to see her cousin?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Hebrews 11:1-2, 8-19

Imagine this: Abraham and Sarah had no idea where they were going when God sent them out to a land they’d never seen.  In a dangerous world they set out to travel hundreds of miles in order to take possession of a land about which they’d never heard.

Abraham went out, not knowing where he was supposed to go

Why?  Because they were convinced that God had instructed them to do that.  After they completed that huge marathon of trust it must have become easier to believe all the other promises God had given them, even though it was impossible to imagine how any of them could ever be fulfilled.

Faith is like a muscle.  You have to work at it to make it strong enough to lift you up.  The author of the letter to the Hebrews was flexing the muscles of the early Christian believers by reminding them that the same God who was faithful to Abraham and Sarah will be faithful to them too.

My great friend Sr. Macrina Scott, O.S.F. reminds me that, in times of anxiety or fear, I should just remember that the same God who was faithful in the past will of course be faithful in the future.  That’s easy to recall during these long, luscious summer days of peaches and corn on the cob.  When the November winds blow a few months from now we’ll need to remember, once again, that faith is the evidence of things not seen.

Sharing God’s Word at Home

In what ways does remembering God’s faithfulness give you strength?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Ecclesiastes 1:2, 2:21-23

Of all the Old Testament writers, I think I feel sorriest for the guy who wrote the Book of Ecclesiastes.  He has a symbolic name―Qoheleth, “ Preacher”―because his actual name and position in the 3^rd century B.C. community is unknown.  He’s lived a long life, tried on every one of the theologies available to him from the Scriptures, and has come to this conclusion: life’s a drag, and then you die.

Poor Qoheleth

My heart breaks for Qoheleth because if he had only been born just 250 years later he might have known Jesus.  I’ll bet he would have been a disciple, or maybe even one of the Twelve.  He was a seeker, a true lover of the Word in his youth, but as he aged he experienced that most radical challenge to Hebrew theology:  bad things happen to really good people.  And because he never knew Jesus he didn’t have any place to put that in his head.  He had no understanding of an afterlife, no theology of meaning in suffering.  Hence his conclusion: Vanity of vanities, life is just a chase against the wind.

The foolish landowner in today’s Gospel thinks to himself: I can’t take it with me, so I might as well eat, drink and be merry. But Jesus says we do take it with us ―every bin of grain that is opened up and poured out for those who are poor goes with us when we go to God.  And, by the way, we have no idea when that day may come.

Sharing God’s Word at Home

What is the hardest part of your wealth for you to share?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).

Reflecting on Luke 11:1-13

There is an elephant in the room, and maybe we should acknowledge it and bring it out into the light.  Here it is:  we have asked and not received, sought and not found, knocked and heard the door locking from the inside.  Haven’t we?  And so today we hear Jesus commanding us to keep asking, keep seeking, keep knocking, and we find hope again.  We believe again.  We ask again.

We try to bargain with God like Abraham did.  But Jesus has promised us that God wants to give us more than we even know how to ask for.  And sometimes it turns out that we were actually asking for a stone, and God gave us fish instead.

Suffering.  It’s probably the greatest barrier for us in our search for God.  Where was God when my dad died last year?  We prayed so hard for my sister to be cured, but God didn’t listen. God could have saved all those kids from that car accident, but just didn’t.

The search for meaning in our suffering is the elephant in the room.  But the Holy Spirit is in the room too, the great and lasting Comforter whom Jesus promises is the reward for all who pray.  Keep praying, and watch the Holy Spirit work.  Keep seeking, and find the Holy Spirit waiting for you in those dark corners.

I will keep knocking until the day the Holy Spirit opens the door to eternity, where every tear will be undone and Jesus,  my all-loving Savior, returns to me a hundredfold all the loves I thought I’d lost.

Sharing God’s Word at Home

Do you feel the Holy Spirit helping you to overcome disappointment and grief?

What would YOU like to say about this question, or today’s readings, or any of the columns from the past year? The sacred conversations are setting a Pentecost fire! Register here today and join the conversation.

I have come to light a fire on the earth; how I wish it were already burning (Lk.12:49).