Twenty-ninth Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Stephen Bankemper

Guest

The Gospel for this weekend, the story of the corrupt judge and the persistent widow, is well known and often cited, but I have always thought that the story in the first reading, the story of Joshua battling Amalek and Moses praying on the hill above him, deserves to be better known, because it is a good picture of what the Church’s life — and more particularly, parish life — should be.

Moses tells Joshua to engage Amalek in battle. Why Joshua and not Moses? To lead in battle is not Moses’ role. It is Joshua’s and the other Israelite warriors’ task to engage their enemies in battle. Just so, it is not the primary role of the pastor to engage in the Church’s duties and activities in the world. That belongs primarily to the lay faithful of the Church. This principle has been explained in many ways by many different spiritual writers and teachers, but I will cite just two examples.

Lumen Gentium (“Dogmatic Constitution on the Church”), one of the documents that came out of the Second Vatican Council, after describing the nature of the Church in general, next discusses the nature and purpose of the hierarchy (clergy), and then has an entire section dedicated to the laity (Chapter IV, “The Laity”). Among all the things written about the laity is this general comment: “But by reason of their special vocation it belongs to the laity to seek the kingdom of God by engaging in temporal affairs and directing them according to God’s will. They live in the world, that is, they are engaged in each and every work and business of the earth … There they are called by God that, being led by the spirit to the Gospel, they may contribute to the sanctification of the world, as from within like leaven …” (Par 31b)

A second example comes from John Paul II’s Post-Synodal Apostolic Exhortation, Christifideles Laici (“The Lay Members of Christ’s Faithful People”). From the very first sentence of the document John Paul illustrates the role of the laity by using the parable from Matthew’s Gospel of the workers in the vineyard: “The lay members of Christ’s Faithful People … are those who form that part of the People of God which might be likened to the laborers in the vineyard mentioned in Matthew’s Gospel …” (Introduction) Lay people “as well are personally called by the Lord from whom they receive a mission on behalf of the Church and the world.” (Par 2d)

Who supports them in their mission? The clergy. Moses does not stand on the battlefield, but climbs a hill from where he entreats the Lord on the warriors’ behalf. The citations describing the priest’s ministry to the laity are too numerous to even mention, so perhaps we should simply look at the nature of priestly ministry, described broadly by noting that the priest, as an extension of the local ordinary (bishop), participates in Jesus’ ministry of Priest, Prophet and King; the One Who sanctifies His people (for their own benefit, but also that “they may contribute to the sanctification of the world”, the quote from above), the One Who teaches and speaks God’s word to them and the One Who shepherds and guides them. I include under “Priest,” one who sanctifies, praying for my people. In fact, I spend more time praying for my parishioners than I do any other one thing, except perhaps homily preparation.

Moses, however, gets tired. His hands fall. He needs the support of Aaron and Hur to

continue his prayer. So, too, the priest gets tired, discouraged, disillusioned, scandalized, doubts himself, is subject to attacks by the Enemy, is tempted in many ways. Some months ago a YouTube video caught the attention of the Catholic people. It was purported to be a message from Pope Leo in reaction to the suicide of a priest. It very quickly became known that it was not, in fact, from the Holy Father, and it quickly died, but the message was nonetheless accurate. The priest needs support in his ministry, not for his own sake, but so that he can continue in his ministry and be effective. Without Aaron and Hur, Moses would not have been able to continue his intercession, and the battle would have been lost. Without support, the priest, too, will eventually fail in his ministry. Not all of that support needs to come from his people — there is his prayer and devotional life, the Eucharist, and the grace of the sacrament of ordination, for examples — but the human support he receives from his people is vital.

Go back and read this story again in this context. Let us pray for each other, so that we each may persevere in our respective vocations and ministries. Let us care for each other. Let us help each other. Let us love each other.

Father Stephen Bankemper is pastor, St. Catherine of Siena Parish, Ft. Thomas, Ky.

Twenty-eighth Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Michael Elmlinger

Guest

For those of you who do not know me, I am a huge Notre Dame college football fan, so it should not come as a surprise that almost every year during the season, there is one movie that comes to mind: “Rudy.” There is one particular scene that I was recently reminded of. It is the scene where Rudy feels like he is losing all hope of getting into Notre Dame, and he is sitting in the Basilica of the Sacred Heart when Father Cavanaugh notices him. During the conversation, Rudy says, “Maybe I haven’t prayed enough … If I’ve done everything I can, can you help me?” Father Cavanaugh responds to him with a very simple statement, “Son, in 35 years of religious studies, I have come up with only two hard, incontrovertible facts: there is a God, and I’m not Him.”

The reason that I bring up this scene is because one of the things Father Cavanaugh is saying here to Rudy is the same as our readings this weekend: faith is not magic. It is not a matter of saying some prayers that will force God to wave his hand to cure us of whatever ailment we are dealing with. Having this kind of relationship with the Lord is not an authentic relationship; rather, it is one of superficiality or even quid-pro-quo.

Faith, instead, is about a relationship of intimacy, of trust and obedience. We are to be obedient to Him in whatever He commands us to do, because we trust in him. That obedience is meant to lead to thanksgiving.

For the sake of brevity, I am not going to retell the story of Naaman, the Syrian commander who was cured of leprosy. I do encourage everyone to read the full story themselves in 2 Kings 5, because it will help in understanding the point I want to make. I want to focus on Naaman’s reaction to Elisha telling him to go to the Jordan River and bathe seven times. Naaman is incredulous and disappointed. He thought that Elisha would simply wave his hand and cure him of his leprosy.

Not only that, but the Jordan River is hardly the best river in the land. In fact, Naaman has to be reminded that he has no other choice but to do what Elisha commands him. He had to learn this truth that relationship with God is not meant to be a magic show. It is meant to be a relationship of trust in all that he commands him to do. After deciding to listen to what Elisha tells him, Naaman goes to the Jordan and is healed of his leprosy, and the only thing that he can think to do is to see that the God of Israel is the true God and to give thanks to him.

The 10 lepers who are healed by Jesus experience the same thing. It is interesting how this time, Jesus does not heal the lepers first, like he did earlier in the Gospel in Luke 5:12-16, before sending them to the priest. Rather, he is sending them first, which likely may have been confusing, if not frustrating, for these lepers. As lepers, they were to isolate themselves from the rest of society until they were actually cured (cf. Leviticus 13:46).

What Christ is doing here is calling them to the same act of humility and trust that Elisha called Naaman, trusting that what they have been told is true, regardless of whether they may agree with it or not. That trust turns what would have been a simple display of magic into an opportunity to grow in a real relationship with the Lord, rather than a superficial relationship. It is a relationship that is built on trust, on obedience to the word that the Lord has spoken to them, and that trust and obedience is meant to lead to only one other response: thanksgiving (from the Greek, eucharisteo).

This is what an authentic relationship with the Lord looks like. It is not one of superficiality, where all it consists of is saying the “right words” to have the Lord wave his magic hand over whatever happens to ail us that day. Rather, it is an intimate relationship built on trusting in what it is that he tells us to do, even if it may not make sense.

When we are willing to truly listen to the voice of the Lord calling out to us, then are we able to be truly transformed by Him and cleansed by him of the leprosy of sin, and there is only one response worthy of this wondrous gift: “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his mercy endures forever.” (Psalm 118:29)

Father Michael Elmlinger is a priest of the Diocese of Covington, Ky. Father Elmlinger is currently studying Canon Law at the University of St. Paul, Ottawa, Canada.

Twenty-seventh Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Dan Schomaker

Guest

In the Gospel for this weekend, the apostles ask the Lord to: “Increase our faith.” I think, along with many others, that there is a great misunderstanding in today’s culture about what faith is and what it is not. Let’s start with the negative. Faith is not a blind belief, it is not a superstition, a credulity, naivete, gullibility nor is it an irrationality.

What it is, as defined by the Letter to the Hebrews, is: “…the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen.”

If we break down that definition, we see that the use of our human reason and intellect is integral and necessary for faith. “Realization” is the awareness through thought, study, contemplation, examination, etc. that something is real. “Evidence” is the proof of that thought, study, examination, etc. Synonyms include clear, apparent and obvious.

So, faith can be the obvious proof of invisible realities that have become known in the mind through the use of human reason and experienced in the heart because of a longing for that which is hoped. In the case of God, that hope is Heaven!

St. Thomas Aquinas provides the Church with five (5) proofs of God’s existence. I’ll share just one: The Unmoved Mover. He would argue that all of creation is in some form of motion or change. Nothing can move itself; it is always acted upon by an outside force. He argues that there cannot be an infinite chain of movers – those outside forces which cause the motion or change. There must be an initial mover who is unmoved. This unmoved mover we Christians call God. As a thought process, this invisible reality becomes clear to the mind through the use of reason!

If we desire to have an increase in faith like the apostles, then we have to start using our minds and our reason as we seek belief. St. Augustine would say: “do not seek to understand that you may believe, but seek to believe that you may understand.”  Belief must come first!

Let’s give ourselves over to the faith of the Church, the faith into which we were all baptized… one that is pure and perfect. Then we can watch an exposition of growth, just like the tiny mustard seed becomes the greatest of bushes.

Father Daniel Schomaker is pastor, Blessed Sacrament Parish, Ft. Mitchell and director, Office of Worship and Liturgy for the Diocese of Covington, Ky.

Twenty-sixth Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Phillip DeVous

Guest

“Woe to those the complacent in Zion!” For us to grasp just how thoroughly the Prophet Amos is calling us to task with his proclamation, it is imperative to understand the essence of the prophetic “woe.”

A woe is an anguished cry or lament by those mourning the dead, the future prospect of death, or cataclysm. Prophets pronounce woes as warnings about God’s judgment on sinful cities or nations. They also serve as urgent appeals for repentance from sin.

One of the primary ways we become complacent in our pursuit of holiness is to presume we are good enough; to presume that mercy will just “work” no matter my disposition. Zion, the biblical Jerusalem, finds its fullest expression and fulfillment in the Church, the Body of Christ. In the Church there dwells the fullness of grace of salvation.

Despite the extraordinary reality of Christ dwelling among us, it is easy to fall prey to a kind of presumption that makes us spiritually complacent and neglectful, causing us to slouch towards the prophetic “woe” being pronounced upon us.

How does such spiritual complacency about something as important as our eternal destiny in the Trinitarian God come about? Very often, distracted by the relentless tempo of the unexamined life, we treat the Church like a mere system for good works and emotional uplift, not the place of encounter and communion with the Holy of Holies, the Trinitarian God. When the Church is understood in this manner, the Holy Sacraments get reduced to something like mere signs of aspiration and affirmation, personal goodness, and/or community togetherness, not the means of our repentance, conversion, and sanctification.

When the Church, the Gospel message, and the Holy Sacraments are rendered as a ceremonial system of “moral therapeutic deism,” a phrase coined by the sociologists Christian Smith and Melissa Sundquist Denton, we have entered the realm of complacent idolatry. There are five basic tenets (really senses) of moral therapeutic deism (MTD); senses that hollow out an authentic spiritual life in Christ.

  1. A God exists who created and orders the world and watches over human life on earth.
  2. God wants people to be good, nice and fair to each other, as taught in the Bible and by most world religions.
  3. The central goal of life is to be happy and to feel good about oneself.
  4. God does not need to be particularly involved in one’s life except when God is needed to resolve a problem.
  5. Good people go to heaven when they die.

It would be entirely correct to describe the tenets of MTD as “my way, my truth, and my life” vs. Jesus, the way, the truth, and the life. It is obvious the tenets of the worldly ideology of MTD, with a sprinkling of the spiritual, are rather generic, resisting any definition or direction. Everyone is left to pick whatever meaning one wishes — the notions they find most affirming.

The prophet Amos was trying to stir people from a complacency, which assumed a false sense of spiritual security among the people, despite the evildoing that thrived in their midst, within them and among them. It was the prophet’s task then, and the Church’s now, to exhort us to the higher and harder path, as St. Paul teaches us, to “pursue righteousness, devotion, faith, love, patience and gentleness. Compete well for the faith. Lay hold to eternal life, to which you were called…”

To lay hold of the eternal life, to which we are called, a question confronts us: Do we experience urgency in the need to repent from sin?

In praying the Michaelmas Novena in my parishes, we have been reminded that it is primarily through unexamined, unrepentant and unconfessed sin that the Satanic rebellion takes root in us, hardening our hearts to the truth, love and presence of Jesus Christ. This lulls us into complacency and makes us vulnerable to spiritual evils.

The greatest of all spiritual evils, of course, is a hardness of heart, which leads us down the path towards the spiritual cataclysm of rejecting Jesus Christ. The way to ensure we are not spiritually complacent is to make a searching examination of conscience and a devout, thorough Confession. It is through our Holy Communion with Jesus, ever more perfected by the regular reception of his Divine Mercy that “we keep the commandment without stain or reproach until the appearance of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Father Phillip W. DeVous is the pastor of St. Charles Parish, Flemingsburg and St. Rose of Lima Parish, Mayslick, Ky.

Twenty-Fifth Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Stephen Bankemper

Guest

For the last few weeks, we have been making our way through a section of Luke that contains many, as some describe them, “hard sayings” of Jesus. They have been hard, not to understand, but to do — take the lowest place, give to those who cannot repay, let no one and no thing be more important to us than Jesus. The hard saying we encounter this weekend is a little of both — it can be hard at first to understand, and then also hard to do.

“And the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently.” What does this mean? Can a person act dishonestly and prudently at the same time? What is Jesus trying to teach with this parable?

Dr. Brant Pitre, drawing on St. Augustine, explains the parable by highlighting two aspects of the steward’s actions: his foresight (securing a place for himself when his time as steward ends) and his resourcefulness.

The key to understanding Jesus is this sentence: “For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.” Jesus is not saying that the children of light — his disciples — should be dishonest as the children of this world, but that we should be as intelligent and resourceful in our preparations for eternity as they are in living their lives now.

As Dr. Pitre puts it, “What Jesus is saying is that if people in this world go to extreme measures to think about providing for themselves for the future, even so much as to steal, then how much more should Christians — disciples of Jesus — go to extreme measures to prepare for and to ensure for our … eternal life.” (Pitre podcast)

That one day we will leave this Earth and live somewhere else for eternity is surprisingly hard for us to remember; after all, we experience people dying all the time. We focus so much on our earthly lives that we can forget or ignore reality. Even when they remember, however, many people in our modern society make an even worse mistake — they assume that everyone spends eternity with God, that there is no need to prepare for it in this life. Jesus’ parable is a reminder of these two important truths: that there is life after our time on Earth, and that we need to prepare for it.

How should we prepare? Pitre connects the steward’s actions in the parable with a line from a commentary by St. Ephrem: “Buy for yourselves, O sons of Adam, those things which do not pass away, by means of those transitory things which are not yours!”

Just as the steward uses money which is not his (change your promissory note from 100 measures of olive oil to 50) to buy a secure future for himself, so should we use the earthly money that does not belong to us to secure our heavenly future.

What money do we have that does not belong to us? One of the principles of Catholic social teaching is called the universal destination of goods. After we have supplied our legitimate needs with our money, the Church understands that we have a moral obligation to use our excess, at least in part, to care for others in need. “And the multitudes asked him [John the Baptist], ‘What then shall we do?’ And he answered them, ‘He who has two coats, let him share with him who has none; and he who has food, let him do likewise.’”

The word Scripture uses for this practice is almsgiving. In the Bible, alms refer to money — any material goods, really — given to the poor. Almsgiving is different from tithing. Tithing is 10 percent — the first and best — of one’s goods returned to God (it belonged to God by virtue of the fact that all we have comes from God) by prescription of the law. Almsgiving is a practice certainly encouraged in Scripture — some say implicitly mandated — but was money given to other human beings more out of the moral obligation of charity, mercy, or compassion.

We cannot literally buy ourselves into heaven — it is unlikely that St. Ephrem meant that — but almsgiving is a practice that can free us from a spiritually unhealthy attachment to our material goods (“Anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.” Luke 14:33), increase the virtue of charity in us, and help us to lay up for ourselves “treasure in heaven,” (Matt 6:20)

St. Augustine preached that the steward was “insuring himself for a life that was going to end.” (Sermon 359a, cited by Pitre) Then he asks the question, “Would you not insure yourself for eternal life?” Will we?

Father Stephen Bankemper is pastor, St. Catherine of Siena Parish, Ft. Thomas, Ky.

Exaltation of the Cross

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Father Michael Elmlinger

Guest

This Sunday is a rather unique Sunday, because instead of celebrating the Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, we celebrate a Feast that happens to fall on Sunday — the Exaltation of the Cross, also known as the Triumph of the Holy Cross.

Now, crucifixion in the ancient world, especially the Roman Empire, was considered to be the most brutal form of torture, reserved for the worst criminals. Not only that, it was a very public execution, a sign to all in the empire of what happens when you rebel against Caesar. “Stay in line, or you will suffer this same torture.” Not only is it probably the most painful way to be executed, but it was also a total humiliation. The empire would use crucifixion to make an example of you.

When we consider this, why is it that we hold the Cross in such high regard as Catholics? What is it about the Cross that drove St. Helena to search for it? Why is it that this ancient torture device is considered to be so central to Christianity? The reason is because by his Crucifixion and Resurrection, our Lord, Jesus Christ, has turned what was originally our greatest defeat into the greatest victory ever known in history.

Our Gospel for this Sunday is the famous John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.” John delivers this line in the context of Jesus’ discourse to Nicodemus in the night, where he tells Nicodemus, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up.” (3:14)

Indeed, the very mission of Jesus Christ was that he would come into the world to give the gift of eternal life to those who would believe in him and follow him. However, the means by which he would accomplish this wondrous act would be through a means that Nicodemus and all of Jesus’ disciples would not expect — the Cross, the very means of execution reserved for the worst of the worst. In fact, St. Thomas Aquinas teaches in his Summa Theologiae, “His body was endowed with a most perfect constitution” (Third Part, Question 6), meaning the pain that he endured would likely have been magnified compared to how we may experience it. But what drives Jesus on towards Calvary? The very love that God — Father, Son and Holy Spirit, has for humanity. He loves humanity so much that he is willing to send his son to endure this awful torture as a means of reconciling the world to himself.

The truth is God could have chosen another means to reconcile the human race; it would have been completely within his power. But this is the way that he chose — the Way of the Cross. He chose to empty himself, “taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness… becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.” (Phil 2:7-8)

He chose to endure the most brutal means of execution ever known, and what drove him? His love for each and every single one of us. Indeed, by going through this crucifixion, Jesus takes what would have been our greatest defeat — our Savior being brutally murdered — into the greatest victory, victory over sin and death. It is by his Crucifixion that he becomes a sin offering for each and every one of us, where he bears our sins and offers them to the Father so that we may be forgiven entirely.

This is a love that we cannot earn. This is a love that he freely gives to us, a love that drove him to Calvary, a love that cries out to us, “I thirst.” (Jn 19:28) Indeed, he truly thirsts for each and every one of us to accept his love and to use him as a bridge to the Father.

This love is truly the triumph of the Cross. “We adore You, O Christ, and we praise You, because by your Cross, You have redeemed the world!”

Father Michael Elmlinger is a priest of the Diocese of Covington, Ky. Father Elmlinger is currently studying Canon Law at the University of St. Paul, Ottawa, Canada.

Twenty-third Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Joshua Whitfield

Guest

A sabbath dinner, Jesus is at the home of a Pharisee.

Jesus heals a man, a scandalous miracle on the sabbath. He justifies the act by saying that of course he should’ve healed the man, that anyone would do the same for his son or even for cattle. What’s strange or wrong, he asks, about this wondrous work? He leaves them speechless (Lk 14:1-6). The miracle, anyway, was meant to give way to talk about the kingdom, which is basically what the rest of Luke 14 is about.

Jesus first tells a parable about humility, about presumption. Remember that he’s talking to Pharisees, to people assuming they were at the front of the line, exclusively elect. “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted” (Lk 14:11). “But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the blind” (Lk 14:13).

He’s teaching not just a moral lesson here but also a theological one, an eschatological lesson.

Earlier in Luke, his Blessed Mother sings this truth, about how God “has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree” (Lk 1:52). Here, Jesus makes it dinner conversation; at table, the Lord it seems can’t help but teach.

Next comes the parable of the “great banquet.” It is a story about the kingdom of God, about how “many” are invited. Yet many make excuses. “I have bought a field, and I must go out and see it.” “I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.” The excuses made are worldly, involving possessions or the flesh. That’s why the master in the story says, “Go out to the highways and hedges.” He means to invite anyone free enough to come.

Again, remember that he’s talking to people presuming that simply by being who they are guaranteed them a place in the kingdom, to people who may have grown too accustomed to rely on notions of status or success or ethnicity or election, believing such things by themselves merited the kingdom of God. But that presumption is precisely the problem; awkwardly at a Pharisee’s dinner table, that’s precisely what these stories are getting at, that such presumption is not a sure bet.

And then, in this Sunday’s reading, Jesus repeats the lesson he’s been teaching for several chapters (Lk 14:25-33). He is trying to pry his disciples and would-be followers from relying on everything they are normally accustomed to rely on. Religious identity and status? Stop. Possessions? Definitely stop. Family status? Stop relying even on that. Putting it in the starkest terms possible, talking about “hating” even family members, what Jesus is calling his disciples and potential disciples to accept is that they are to renounce every instance of earthly reliance for the sake of following him.

Jesus is not ultimately saying his disciples should erase or ignore all family bonds, but that they should be decisively subordinated to their following Jesus. He is calling his disciples to consider a truly radical reordering of their lives. Which is why Jesus suggests his would-be disciples think about it a little, that they “count the cost” (Lk 14:28). Because there really is no such thing as a part-time disciple. Being a Christian can’t be a side gig. Being a fake Christian can, but not a real one.

The questions, therefore, which these stories and this Sunday’s reading bring to the fore are questions about false reliance and presumption. Do we rely solely on ourselves and on our wealth, chasing after the security we think money or worldly success offers? That’s as much a problem today, and an eternal danger, as it was then; we should beg for the gift of faith.

Or do we think our religious status affords us a guaranteed ticket to the kingdom? Congratulations, you were baptized a Catholic and went to Catholic school, but do you know the Lord? Just outside the doors of the heavenly kingdom, will the Lord say he knows you on that day? “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven,” Jesus says (Mt 7:21). You see what’s at stake here?

When reading the Gospels, I always ask myself if I can identify not just with the saint but also with the sinner in the story, or the ignorant or the villain; often I can. It’s always a sobering but ultimately helpful spiritual exercise. Would I have been an offended Pharisee were I there listening to this radical rabbi tell his stories? Would I have been upset by Jesus’s stories, so pointed that they seemed to target me?

I’ll be honest, I think in many ways I would have been shocked, hurt a little or maybe a lot. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s the beginning of my redemption, seeing where I need to repent.

Father Joshua J. Whitfield is pastor of St. Rita Catholic Community in Dallas and author of “The Crisis of Bad Preaching” and other books.

Twenty-second Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Staff Report

The Gospel passage for today presents us with two very important lessons which Jesus taught upon attending a dinner at the house of a leader of the Pharisees.

First, Jesus observed how the guests were vying for the places of honor at the table, the places that would have been reserved for the special guests of honor or at least for the more important among them. It gives Jesus the opportunity to present a little lesson on humility.

Humility is an often misunderstood virtue. Sometimes humility is perceived as an opportunity to degrade ourselves, to deny the gifts and talents the Lord has given us, to make ourselves less than we are. This is a negative perception of this virtue, and it is far from the truth. After all, the Lord created us, He gave us life. All that we have and all that we are, the sum total of our gifts, our achievements, our talents — all these come from God. Ah, and there it is! Humility is not denying who or what we are but realizing that all these gifts come from God.

The pharisees in Jesus’ time were very conscious of the law, of every jot and tittle of the law. They prided themselves (there’s that word — the antithesis of humility — pride) on the fact that they not only knew every aspect of the law but that they scrupulously observed it. Unfortunately, they believed — or at least their actions lead us to believe that they believed — that this justified them. They didn’t need any help from anyone, including the Lord. They were self-made. They deserved the best place at table. They deserved to be held in high esteem because they were better than anyone and everyone else — or so they thought.

They exalted themselves — and what was the response of Jesus to that: “. . . all who exalt themselves will be humbled and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 14:11) The lesson: acknowledge that every good gift we have comes from the Lord. We do not need to degrade ourselves, to deny our gifts, our talents — only to realize from whom they come and give God the glory! It is the Lord who saves us, the Lord who justifies us.

Second, Jesus gives his host a little lesson on who ought to be recipients of his generosity. Simply put, don’t invite those or give to those from whom you expect something in return. Give generously to those who cannot return the favor. Give from the heart not looking for or expecting something in return. Don’t give to be recognized or honored. Give because God has given to you. Give as God gives. Share your blessings with others.

Two very practical but important lessons for us. May the Lord give us the grace and fortitude to put them into practice.

Most Rev. Roger J. Foys, D.D. is Bishop Emeritus of the Diocese of Covington, Ky

Twenty-first Sunday of Ordinary Time

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Father Phillip DeVous

Contributor

“Lord, will only a few people be saved?” This, surely, is one of the most important existential questions raised in the Gospel. It is the question that everyone who follows Christ, or who would follow Christ asks, albeit in a more personal way: will I be saved? Are those I love to be saved? These are the hard, searching questions we are to ask and to consider if we truly desire to follow Jesus Christ.

There is a too frequent tendency in contemporary Church life to demur and deflect on the hard questions, especially if we sense the answer might be radically at odds with the consensus of the unbelieving world. As the philosopher, Walter Kaufmann, provocatively states it, “the present age is the age of Judas … To be sure, it is not literally with a kiss that Christ is betrayed in the present age: today one betrays with an interpretation.”

Surely the question of how many people will be saved, and the related question of whether I will be saved, is a question that tempts us to conjure congenial interpretations that would wave away the question’s seriousness. The good news is the word of God is made for our heart, and our heart is made for the Word of God. Consequently, under the tutelage of the Holy Spirit we can rise to occasion of both contemplating a deep question and living with its answer- requirements for the following Jesus.

First and foremost, we must understand that God the Father “has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places”(Eph 1:2). These spiritual blessing are the Holy Sacraments and the Church, which is the grace of the Incarnation of Christ extended throughout history until the Second Coming and final judgment. So, we must not fear that sufficient grace and truth for salvation is lacking for salvation.

Our Blessed Lord suggests to us that what might be lacking is our will to acknowledge, accept and engage the graces that are revealed and on offer when he teaches, “strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter but will not be strong enough.” Of course, salvation depends first and foremost on God’s grace. Once the grace has been given then surely our cooperation, conversion and obedience to the grace and truth that has been given is required. We know, even as we struggle, we must not be after as we were before such grace is given. So much “interpretation” in the air today tempts us to remain the same.

The Lord Jesus is laying out for us the difficulties of the spiritual life necessary to correspond to the grace of salvation. Further, he seems to be indicating that many will not want to take it up precisely because of the hardship it entails. I cannot help but think Jesus is referencing the “Two Ways” teaching of Deuteronomy: “See, I have set before you this day life and good, death and evil.” (Deut 30: 15). Jesus envisions the ease with which we pass through the main gates of worldly ways, living according to what’s egotistic, popular, pleasurable, socially accepted and necessary for material advancement in world.

The few, who have seen and heard the Lord, who have encountered his grace and truth, who wish to live according to “life and good” must exert greater effort to pass through the narrow gate of holiness and Godly virtue. This narrow gate, which gives one access to God is none other than Jesus himself. We pass to and through him to the Trinitarian life and eternal existence of Divine Love through receiving the Holy Sacraments and the Word of God with faith and obedience.

This is why we pray in the opening collect of the Holy Mass that our minds might be united in a “single purpose”, so that we might love what God commands and, most significantly, desire what God promises. We will not pursue the path through the narrow gate, which is the imitation of Jesus Christ, if we do not desire the grace and truth that has been revealed and gifted to us. If we do not desire it, will be tempted to interpret and reduce the Catholic faith to therapeutic bromides; to deploy compassion as a solvent of the truth, not its servant; and we will end up with a mush of nice, but not the utter fullness and holiness of God, which is our dignity, destiny and fulfillment as human persons.

Father Phillip W. DeVous is the pastor of St. Charles, Flemingsburg and St. Rose of Lima, May’s Lick.

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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Father Stephen Bankemper

Contributor

We have from Scripture many images of God that are comforting — Jesus as the Good Shepherd (John, chapter 10), who leads us safely through death and darkness (Psalm 23); Jesus, come not as judge but savior (the famous John 3:17); and many more. There are also many passages in Scripture that show a different side, so to speak, of God, with which we are not so comfortable, for example, God who destroys the wicked (Psalms 101 and 92), raining down brimstone and fire upon Sodom and Gomorrah (Genesis 19). The image we hear in the Gospel for this weekend — the image of fire — is hard to put in one or the other category, but it is worthwhile to contemplate both its “positive” and “negative” aspects.

“I have come to set the earth on fire,” Jesus says to his disciples, “and how I wish it were already blazing!” What is this fire our Lord desired to set?

In his book God and the World, Joseph Ratzinger, Pope Benedict XVI, wrote, “When Jesus talks about fire, he means in the first place his own Passion, which was a Passion of love and was therefore a fire; the new burning bush, which burns and is not consumed . . .” (p. 222) This is a fire with which we can feel comfortable, the fire of God’s love that saves and frees us. And yet, it is a fire, as Benedict continues, “that is to be handed on. Jesus does not come to make us comfortable; rather he sets fire to the earth; he brings the great living fire of divine love, which is what the Holy Spirit is, a fire that burns.” (ibid.)

This is a fire that, as Jesus says in today’s Gospel, brings, not peace but division. This is a fire that makes us uncomfortable because it divides, not just “three against two and two against three,” but even divides us from ourselves. When we accept God as our God, we allow into ourselves and our lives a “consuming fire,” (Hebrews 12:29) a “devouring fire, a jealous God,” (Deuteronomy 4:24), a God who desires all of us, who wants to be our first love (“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength . . . ”) a God who consumes anything in us that is not of God, because in his presence no evil can abide. Do we want this fire?

We tend to think and talk of heaven, hell, and purgatory as three different “places,” but in the last few years I have found myself thinking of them as one place: the presence of God. (I am not claiming this to be Church teaching; it is only an idea, an image.) God, who is all Love, burns eternally with this love. Those who resolutely refuse to let themselves be changed by this love and cling to their sin and selfishness and other loves, are only made miserable by this flaming love, and are thus in eternal hell. Those who desire to be transformed but struggle to abandon themselves to love, who still hold on to some of their own will and other loves, experience God’s love and presence as consuming flames, as purgatory, until they are able to let go of all in themselves that is not God. But those who have given themselves over to God, seeking only His will, and who have let themselves be purified and love God with all their hearts, souls, and strength, rejoice in the Fire, because they themselves are on fire, burning joyfully with God, and are, as Benedict puts it, made “bright and pure and free and grand.”

Many of the saints not only knew about this consuming and purifying fire but experienced it and desired it. Read, for example, St. Thérèse of Lisieux’s experience of God’s fire of love. In her Act of Oblation to Merciful Love she expresses her desire for this love, even as she knows it will destroy her. It is telling that she uses the word “martyr” in her prayer, and “holocaust” — not “sacrifice”: in a sacrifice, part of the animal was consumed by fire, while as a holocaust the entire animal was consumed. The following is a short excerpt:

“In order to live in one single act of perfect love, I offer myself as a victim of Holocaust to your merciful love, asking you to consume me incessantly, allowing the waves of infinite tenderness shut up within You to over- flow into my soul, and that thus I may become a martyr of Your Love, O my God!”

Another saint worth consulting in this context is St. Gemma Galgani, a 20th-century Italian mystic, who described her heart as “all on fire with the love of Jesus.” In a letter to her spiritual director, St. Gemma describes her experience of God’s love as an actual physical burning: “For the last eight days I have felt something mysterious in the area of my heart that I cannot understand. . . this fire has increased, oh so much, as to be almost unbearable. I should need ice to put it out, and it hinders my eating and sleeping. It is a mysterious fire that comes from within, then goes to the outside. It is, however, a fire that does not torment me, rather it delights me, but it also exhausts and consumes me . . . Great God, how I love You! Oh, how I love You!”

Her spiritual director related that “When I questioned her about it, Gemma herself had to acknowledge that the suffering that she felt from this mysterious fire, although it was a joy to her, was really very painful. She said to me: ‘In order to get some idea of it, imagine a red-hot iron, kept constantly heated in a furnace, has been placed into the very center of this poor heart. Thus I feel myself burning’. And yet she would not have exchanged this excruciating torture for all the delights of the world. For while she thus suffered in her body, the sweetness it caused in the depths of her soul was truly beyond all description. Thus in ecstasy she exclaimed, “Come then, Oh Jesus! Your heart is a flame and you wish mine to be turned into a flame as well … Jesus, I feel I must die when you are throbbing so in my heart.”

Jesus expressed the desire that the fire of his Passion and love was already blazing. It will blaze if we surrender to His love and allow ourselves to burn  with it. One of the invocations in the chaplet of St. Michael is, “By the intercession of St. Michael and the celestial choir of Seraphim, may the Lord make us worthy to burn with the fire of perfect charity.” May we be willing to let that love consume us, so that we may spread that fire to others.

Father Stephen Bankemper is pastor, St. Catherine of Siena Parish, Ft. Thomas, Ky.