We’re never gonna figure it out. That was actress Meryl Streep, talking with an interviewer a few years back about her own quest to know God.  And she’s right.  We’re never gonna figure it out.  But the search fills our lives with beauty and meaning.

We catch a glimmer of the divine, and the electricity from that encounter keeps us going for the rest of our lives.  St. Paul’s encounter with Jesus on that fateful Damascus road lasts just a few seconds; the remaining thirty years of his life are spent looking forward to the day when he will meet Jesus again in eternity.

Fourth of July fireworks interfere with migratory patterns and thousands of birds fall from the sky, birds we never noticed, birds we never knew were there.  And they are just the tiniest fraction of the birds of the air―one hundred billion— that our Heavenly Father feeds every day.  Oh, the depth of the riches of God.

The human heart is restless, yet deeply touched and comforted by a random call from a friend, a rainbow over the highway at rush hour, a persistent intuition that we are never alone. Oh, the depth of the knowledge of God.

Who do you say I am? Jesus asks.  Search your heart for your answer.  It’s the only thing you ever really need to figure out.

In what ways do you experience the depth of the riches of God?

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

I like to get into the mind of that mother in today’s Gospel and notice how her love for her daughter gives her the adrenaline to kneel in front of Jesus, address him as Son of David and her Lord, and match wits with him until he unleashes his mercy and power.

O Woman, great is your faith!

And there isn’t a mother out there who isn’t doing this every day.  Lord, my son is bipolar and can’t hold down a job.  Lord, my daughter is chronically depressed.  Lord, my children don’t go to church and haven’t baptized my grandchildren.  Lord, I’ll do anything, say anything, be anything you want me to be.  Please just heal my child.

And I think the story is a set-up, of course.  Jesus ignores her at first.  Finally, after she has done everything she can to flatter and honor him, he throws out the ultimate challenge: why should he heal her Canaanite daughter ―a “dog” in his racist Middle Eastern culture—when his mission is to the Jews alone?

And she returns his volley like no one else in Matthew’s gospel: Lord, even the dogs get the scraps from the table. Now, what happened next didn’t get recorded, but can’t you imagine the two of them just roaring with laughter?  Jesus, delighted that she saw through his little test of her faith, congratulates her on the faith he is trying to instill in his own Hebrew race.  And I’ll bet she took him aside and said We felt your love before you ever reached the city gates.  Blessed are you for seeking us out and bringing us into your kingdom.

In what ways have you persevered in prayer throughout your life?

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

Reflecting on Matthew 14:22-33

When you find a Scripture text that touches you deeply at one time in your life, pay attention.  You have made an intimate connection with God, and now that that Scripture has taken root in you it will grow and surprise you with new insights throughout your life.

I was on a boat on Lake Galilee with 30 pilgrims from the Denver Catholic Biblical School when today’s Gospel befriended me. The priest with us offered this beautiful insight: You can say that Peter was overly impetuous. You can say that when it really mattered he denied Jesus, and then left him as he endured the cross. But it was Peter’s profession of faith that was the Rock (Petra) on which the Church was built.  Peter’s faith compelled him out of that boat because Jesus commanded him out, and then, when the darkness and wind terrified him, he reached out toward Jesus instead of back to the safety of the boat.

Isn’t that beautiful?  The boat, the most valuable possession for his family’s fishing business and the only place of stability on that huge lake, was just behind him.  But in his moment of panic Peter still trusted Jesus more than the safety of the boat.  He reached out for him, and was caught by the Master of the Sea.

In the years that followed that moment on the lake I’ve experienced some difficult health challenges.  But the power of this story has sustained me, and every day I reach out to him who is my only true safety.

Have you ever felt the loving arms of Jesus catch you?

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

Reflecting on Romans 8:35, 37-39

Have you ever felt the absence of the love of Christ?  Because Paul promises us in that beautiful second reading today (Romans 8:35-39) that nothing can take us from his love.

Let’s see.  Not chronic migraines or sciatic pain.  Not rheumatoid arthritis.  Not bald heads and nausea.  Not even the recurrence of cancers we had prayed were gone.

Not the loss of our house. Not the loss of our retirement fund. Not the loss of our health, our strength, our vigor, even our memory.

Not sadness for our children who don’t go to church.  Not the loss of our sense of safety for ourselves and the world.  Not our horror as we read about atrocities towards children.  Not the loss of those we love.  Not the loss of love itself.  Nothing can take us from his love.

I like to think about Paul.  By the time he wrote this letter to the Romans (probably the spring of 57 AD) he himself had already endured danger from rivers, danger from bandits, …danger in the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea… sleepless nights, hunger and thirst, often without food, cold and naked (2 Corinthians 11: 26-27).

It sounds like Paul was remembering his own suffering throughout his courageous missionary journeys.  It comforts me that the author of these words―For I am convinced that neither death nor life…neither present things nor future things…will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord—suffered so deeply himself.

Nero executed him for this faith.  And now he, and his words of comfort, lives forever.

In what ways have you been sustained by the love of Christ?

My dear friends, this might be a good time for us to remember all whom we love who are struggling to feel the power of God’s love.    Where do we begin?  Where do we end?  Let’s do something different this week.  Let’s use the collective power of the hundreds of prayerful people who visit this site to pray for those who are suffering.  Maybe we could just place their names here and we can all pray for them this week.  I’ll start: please pray with me for the lioness of  faith and solidarity with those who are poor, Dorothy Leonard.  Dorothy has had a recurrence of an early stage ovarian cancer from 9 years ago.  Lord, the one you love is sick.  We ask you to hold her and heal her in your way.  And touch all whom we love who struggle to find your love today.  We trust your Word.  Nothing can take us from your love.  AMEN.

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

Reflecting on Matthew 13:44-52

It’s easy to spot the pearl of great price in people’s lives.  Each of us signals, just by getting up in the morning (or not), what we are willing to give up in order to have what we have.

Parents are the perfect examples of grace-filled people willing to give up much in order to have children.  I watch them in fascination.  The intense love they have for their kids, and their lifelong presence and support of them, provides a daily meditation for me on the depth and breadth of love, and of course its Author.

I’m also fascinated with what professions require of people.  Think back on the days when you were a student.  Can you remember your desk, filled with textbooks, and all those fun novels shoved to the side while you pursued your pearl of great price? And that sacrifice was worth it, wasn’t it?

Good health is another pearl that requires immense sacrifice in order to attain.  There are hundreds of delicious foods that must be ignored every day in order to feel and look better.  And there go those novels again, determinedly shut, and the gym shoes come on for another lovely walk in the park.

Could we take a minute to reflect on those who have chosen priesthood or Religious life?  Think for a moment of the sacrifices made every step of the way towards that goal, and then the daily sacrifices to live those vows.  They had to walk away from so much in order walk into the grace of ordination or Religious life.  Today might be a good day to thank them.

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

Reflecting on Matthew 13:24-43

The most inspiring experience in my life is the Greenwood Gallery.  My friend Dr. Dan Feiten and his partners at Greenwood Pediatrics began this beautiful gallery in the lobbies of their medical offices decades ago.  Each season they choose several children who have experienced some childhood disease and have them photographed in a beautiful studio.  Their pictures are then hung in the lobbies of the offices, and I write the story about the child and that particular illness.  It’s a way of educating the parents who are in the waiting room about various childhood illnesses, and also to show the resilience and courage of the young patients.

But it’s the conversation with the parents that always gets me.  Here is the mom, exhausted but utterly in love with her autistic child who also has a sleep abnormality that gets him (and her) up several times every night.  Here is the dad, the great champion of his little daughter who has a congenital heart defect.  And here is the child, utterly unaware that he is smaller or slower or sicker than his classmates, laughing and running and loving his life, every, every minute.

When you think about it, the wheat in our lives will always be growing right next to the weeds.  Our talents will be honed through the sting of competition.  Our health will lose its battle with time.  Our perfect children will have to face a world that may not love them as much as we do.  But we all soldier on towards the sun.  Such is our painful, joyful journey back to the Garden.

What tensions of wheat and weeds do you sense in your life?

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

Reflecting on Matthew 13: 1-23

Don’t ask us what we were thinking.  In this challenging economic climate, and with big chains just blocks from us, my pharmacist-husband Ben and I bought a beautiful retail space and opened up an old-time drugstore/coffee shop.

Ben Lager & Kathy McGovern

I’m not sure I could really articulate why we needed to do this until the other day.  I looked around and saw neighbors who live just houses away from each other finally meeting and enjoying their children together out on the front sidewalk.

Some generous and kind new friends from the neighborhood sat outside, talking to another friend and me about the bitterness they feel when religion is forced on them, when people carry Scripture signs to football games, when businesses put religious quotes on their billboards.  Now, I actually like these things, and was getting ready to say so.

But a dear and wise friend of mine happened to be in the store right then.  She moved closer to them and said, “Tell me more about your pain.  Tell me why you resist faith.  Let me help you touch your wounds.”

And then the floodwaters opened, and all their frustration, and feelings of isolation, and confusion and resentment poured out.

A few days later they returned to the store for a prescription.  Jane (not her real name) hugged me and said No one has ever asked me about my loss of faith before.  That conversation was more healing than three years in the religious setting of my childhood.

And it happened just because some faithful sower took the time to plant a seed in fertile ground, to listen, and then to be brave enough to invite strangers into the intimacy of their own struggles.

And I’ll bet that seed bears fruit and yields a hundredfold.

In what ways have you seen the fruits of the seeds sown in 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 Matthew 11:25-30

Have you ever had the blissful experience of having a burden lifted from your shoulders?  Maybe you’ve been worrying something to death, and a friend finds the perfect words to set your soul at rest.  Or maybe it’s a physical comfort, like having someone stronger take your heavy grocery bags, or grab your snow shovel and say, “Let me clear your walk for you.”

That’s grace.  That’s Jesus, lifting away your sad spirit and replacing it with His yoke, which is always peace, consolation, perfect rest.

So here’s your summer assignment.  Ride your bike to the park.  Find a spot under a big, leafy tree.  Lie down on your back and look up.  Now, here’s the blissful part.  Just stay there.

Ah.  Can you feel it?  That is the rest that Jesus invites you to today.  Do you labor under the stress of family problems?  Just lie there.  Let the sun warm you.  Look in awe at the thousands of astonishing things going on in that tree as it stretches to the sky.

Are you heavily burdened with illness, or unemployment, or bitter disappointment?  Don’t move.  Let Jesus give your soul a perfect rest as you soak in all the grace that exists in a single tree.

Let your eyes take in just a fraction of the breathless beauty that is summer, our Creator’s gift of grace.  Can you hear that bird, singing in the branches?  Here are the words she is singing:

Come to Him.  Find rest in Him.  He has already left your burdens under the Tree.

What experience have you had of a burden lifted?

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 Deuteronomy 11:18, 26-28, 32 Matthew 7:21-27

Bind the Word in your heart and your head

Talk about taking things literally.  Moses told the people to hold so fast to the word of God that it would be bound at their wrists and on their foreheads, and still today the Orthodox Jewish man prepares for prayer by binding actual little boxes at his wrist and forehead, with tiny scrolls from the book of Deuteronomy inside them.   These phylacteries have served as prayer companions—Catholics would call them sacramentals—since at least the time of Christ (Mt. 23:5).   They signify that the wearer has taken the Word of God into his heart and soul.

What would it be like if we Catholics wore our faith on our sleeves like that?  Of course there are a few outward signs of our inward faith.    We place a crèche on the lawn during the Christmas season and wear ashes on our foreheads at the start of Lent.

These are signs to the outside world (and reminders to ourselves) that we are indelibly marked by Christ.  But my friend Vincente asked me a great question the other day: why don’t we Catholics make more of a mark on the culture than we do?  Why do we absorb the culture so much and correct the culture so little?

Why are we proud that, after a lifetime of Catholic formation, we can go out into the workplace and blend in so well that no one would ever guess that we are Catholic?

How unsettling to wonder if, after a lifetime of lukewarm “face time” in church, we will come before Christ at our deaths and he will say I never knew you.

What do you think is an authentic outward sign of your faith?

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 Matthew 6: 24-34

You know, tomorrow really does have a way of taking care of itself.  Weeping endures for the night, but in the morning comes a certain, unnameable peace.  Today is the tomorrow we worried about yesterday, and it’s just almost never as bad as we pictured.

They neither toil nor spin

But that doesn’t stop us from worrying the problem to death.  If we keep circling in on it, touching its tender corners, re-thinking our conversations, rewinding our what-ifs, maybe we’ll find a crack large enough for us to slip our hand through and re-shift the orbit of the earth and get us back to yesterday, before we found the lump, before we bought the expensive house with the balloon payments, before we hit the gas instead of the brakes, before we canceled the insurance policy.

Whew.  Just writing down a few things to worry about makes me start worrying all over again.  But then I hear those comforting words of today’s Responsorial Psalm (62):  Only in God be at rest my soul. God is my stronghold, my safety.  I shall not be disturbed at all.

But wait.  Not so fast.  Can God be trusted?  God’s grace has been sufficient and even abundant in the past, but is that enough to take to the Bank of Tomorrow?  Maybe it’s like using a muscle.  The more we trust today, the stronger and more enduring is our ability to trust tomorrow.

So get out there and consider those lilies.  Or, better yet, winter wheat.  Or the silent snow.  Or your own buttoned-up heart.  There is a wisdom out there, whispering in the February chill.  Trust in me, oh my people.

In what ways does your faith build on past experience?

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).