KEEP CONVERTING!

 

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The Gospel passage at mass today (Jan.17, 2026) tells the story of St. Matthew's conversion. It reminded me of a post from a few years ago, which I offer below.

As Jesus passed by,

he saw a man named Matthew sitting at the customs post.

He said to him, "Follow me."

And he got up and followed him. (Mt 9:9)

Matthew's response is an extreme example of someone following the invitation that Jesus extends to each one of us:

“If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother,

wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life,
he cannot be my disciple.
Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me
cannot be my disciple.....
anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions
cannot be my disciple.” (Lk 14:26, 27, 33)

The last verse interesting, especially the verb that's translated here as "renounce." In Greek, the word apotassomai means "to say farewell, to take leave of." In an earlier chapter of Luke, Jesus invites a man to follow him, and the fellow responds, "Let me go first and say good-bye to (apotassomai) my father." But in the above passage, the word is used in the extended sense of "to part with possessions."

This morning I asked myself, "What are the things that I need to say good-bye to in order to follow Jesus?" Each of us has his or her unique list, obviously, that may include worrying, trying to control other people, being preoccupied about material goods or money, and so on. The verb apotassomai  gave me pause: "unless you say good-bye to whatever you have..."  Okay, so let's say that I decide to give up my habit of trying to control everything, so that I can follow Christ. Let's say, further, that my resolution works and that I find myself walking across the wilderness with Jesus as a faithful follower. Then, I imagined the following scene this morning: As I'm following Jesus, I glance behind me and I see a little cloud of dust on the horizon, but I don't think anything of it. Ten minutes later, though, I look again and the cloud has gotten much bigger, and much closer. Clearly it's being caused by something travelling across the dusty wilderness -- something that's following us. I begin to wonder what it could be. The next time I look over my shoulder, I can make out what it is that's following us: it's my need to control all the people around me! The very thing that I left behind in order to walk with Jesus. The very thing that I "said goodbye to" not so long ago.

The problem is twofold: First, that although I had said good-bye to the habit, the habit hadn't said goodbye to me, and second, that I thought I was doing this all on my own, like spiritual a do-it-yourself project. Both of these are bad mistakes. Think of this image: You say goodbye to someone who you've come to realize is a bad influence on you; you leave them with a sigh of relief, not intending to see them ever again. But shortly thereafter, this person comes ringing your doorbell or starts texting you, clearly thinking that they're still part of your life. How frustrating! And you thought you were rid of this problem person! It seems that "saying goodbye" is not always enough to finish the job of separating from that other.

So, I've "said goodbye" to some practice or habit that could hold me back from following Jesus more closely. I think of Matthew having to constantly give up his former life as a tax-collector. My "conversion" project is not as dramatic as Matthews's was. But I bet that he was a lot like me in this: one goodbye wasn't enough: I need to keep repeating the same goodbye every day, I need to be converted not just once but constantly.


Clearly this can get frustrating and tiring -- which is why Jesus tells me to keep walking close to him: After all, this isn't my project as much as it is His.

I pray to St. Matthew for the gift of humility so that I can keep admitting that I depend on the Lord's help to keep converting every day of my life. I hope that I'll be able to accept his help and hear his words, "Do not be afraid. I am with you!"

A week ago I came across a passage in a book called "Come, Lord Jesus," by Mother Mary Francis, P. C. C. of the Poor Clares.

I keep reflecting on the three-page meditation on the Annunciation (p 201ff). The following is a mixture of my own thoughts and those of Mother Francis.

We are all familiar with the story of the Annunciation (Lk 1:26ff.), when the angel Gabriel appears to the young Virgin Mary and presents her with God’s plan. Her answer, which in Latin is only a single word, has become very well known. She says “Fiat,” meaning “Let it be done.“ This Response has become Christianity’s shorthand for submitting to God‘s will in one’s life.

But this Fiat,was only the first one of many that she uttered throughout her life. For her Fiat, is not something passive. Mary shows us not just how to say, Fiat, but how to live it, not only in the large, dramatic occasions of life, but in the little hidden ones. She had many a hidden Fiat to say in her life. 

Fiat is a very active word. Her “be it done” was said over and over and over. She was a very active doer in letting it be done. 

In the beginning, God said, “Fiat!” to light and it came into being. Through God‘s Fiat,, the world came into being. He spoke that word for each of us: “Fiat! Let him be.” And there I was. There you were.

In our own human fiats, we too have to be active doors in letting it be done. Fiat was not just a lovely word of God. It was a word that galvanized into action.

Fiat made the light to be, 

Fiat made the world to be, 

Fiat made the ocean to be, 

Fiat made Adam and Eve to be.

In the same way, our own Fiat must be the action of our whole life, expressed in our loving. 

Then Fiat really is done; it really is LIVED!

INFRARED CHRISTMAS

James Webb Space Telescope

On Christmas Day, 2021, NASA launched a telescope into space. The James Webb Space Telescope (JWST) went into orbit around the sun almost one mullion miles from earth This tremendously complicated and powerful instrument is actually made up of several super-sensitive instruments. 

The unique thing about this space telescope is that it is designed to detect infrared light. The human eye can only detect light from what is called the visible spectrum. Infrared light lies in a part of the spectrum that lies below that of visible light.

Among its advantages, infrared light can pierce right through those clouds of cosmic dust that obscure so much about objects in outer space. Infrared light also lets us observe the so-called "red shift" in light. Because the universe is expanding rapidly, light rays too lengthen over time, shifting to the infrared part of the light spectrum. Thus we can calculate the distance from earth of objects by measuring their red shift, i.e. the age of the beam of light when it hits the telescope. The JWST has been able to detect light from stars and galaxies that date from close to the time olf the "big bang." 

So, seeing with infrared light lets us see things we cannot otherwise see. What does this have to do with Christmas?

When we look at the babe lying in the manger in Bethlehem, we see just that: a helpless infant wrapped in swaddling clothes. But with the eyes of faith we can see, so to speak, in infrared. We see far deeper than the surface reality into the dimension of the supernatural. We can look at the babe in the manger and see the divine presence in the there in our midst.

The launch of the JWST infrared telescope on Christmas Day in 2021 was a well-timed gift to us, reminding us of the gifts from God that lie beyond our normal sight.

May the gift of the eyes of faith be yours throughout the coming year of 2026 and for the rest of your life!

 

NOT SEEING IS BELEVING

On December 27 the Church celebrates the feast of St. John, Apostle and Evangelist. The two readings at mass make for a good meditation on the gift of Faith. 

First, there are the opening verses of the First letter of John:

What was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we looked upon and touched with our hands concerns the Word of life —for the life was made visible; we have seen it and testify to it and proclaim to you the eternal life that was with the Father and was made visible to us— what we have seen and heard we proclaim now to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; for our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son, Jesus Christ. We are writing this so that our joy may be complete. (1 Jn 1-4)

The words in bold print seem to indicate that John was handing on to us things which he had actually experienced. He had seen, heard, and even touched with his hands. That doesn't sound like the faith that you and I are called to. 

But then there’s the gospel passage. As you remember, on Easter morning Peter and John run to the tomb to see for themselves what Mary Magdalene had reported. John gets there first and peers into the empty tomb, but waits for Peter to catch up and enter first.

When Simon Peter arrived after him, he went into the tomb and saw the burial cloths there, and the cloth that had covered his head, not with the burial cloths but rolled up in a separate place. Then the other disciple also went in, the one who had arrived at the tomb first, and he saw and believed.

In this passage John is no longer dealing with the Jesus who walked the roads of Galilee preaching and healing, the one whom John saw and heard and touched. Now John is encountering the resurrected Christ and sees only the empty tomb and yet believes! This the kind of faith that you and I experience.

John's feast comes only two days after Christmas. After weeks of listening to the Old Testament prophets foretelling the coming of the great King, the Messiah who will deliver us form sin and suffering, what do we get on Christmas morning? Just a newborn, helpless infant. Yet we keep returning with great joy and devotion to the manger. We take for granted  the wonderful gift of faith that allows us to see in that babe the long-awaited Savior.

On this feast each year I remember a certain woman I met in a pizza parlor some years ago. I was sitting at the counter. When thus woman comes and sits on the stool to my left, the waitress, who knows both of us, says to the new customer, "He's a priest."  Almost immediately this woman says to me, in a sad tone of voice, "How I envy you! I wish I could believe the way you do, but I just don't have your faith. I wish I did!" As I remember it, we had  a pleasant conversation for some time sitting there at the counter.

She gave me a great gift that evening, one which I hope I'll always remember: Gratitude to God for the gift of faith. During this season when we are thanking God for the gift of His Divine Son in the stable at Bethlehem, I always think of that lady who keeps reminding me of what a special, incredible gift I have in the gift of Faith. 

PERSPECTIVES ON ADVENT

The following are some notes I borrowed from various internet sources for a presentation to our junior monks at the beginning of Advent 2019. I hope you find this post informative. 

I  Theology of Advent

The Directory on Popular Piety and the Liturgy describes Advent:

“Advent is a time of waiting, conversion and of hope:” 

waiting-memory of the first coming of the Lord in our mortal flesh; 

waiting-supplication for his final, glorious coming as Lord of history and universal judge; 

conversion, to which the liturgy at this time often refers, quoting the prophets . . . 

joyful hope that the salvation already accomplished by Christ . . . and the reality of grace in the world, will mature and reach their fullness, thereby granting us what is promised by faith.

When you look at the liturgical calendar, you’ll notice that Christmas isn’t the Church’s major holiday. It never has been. Church Fathers such as Augustine didn’t include a commemoration of Christ’s birth in their lists of holidays at all. Early Christians focused their attention on Easter, the holiest day in the Church’s calendar, the solemnity of solemnities.

II   Easter: the queen of feasts

 In fact, our pattern of activity each week still echoes the Easter Triduum. That’s why every Friday has always been a day of penance (it still is, by the way—the rule is either no meat or an equivalent penance, every Friday).

Saturday was originally a day to lie low and keep quiet, which is why we have two-day weekends instead of laboring six days, as it says in Genesis. Sunday is the “little Easter” commemorating the Resurrection in the splendid liturgies of the principal Mass of the week.

 The early Church recalled this more explicitly in its weekly liturgies, but in the old days Easter itself was surrounded by vigils, processions, songs, presents, feasts, and parties for which everybody bought new clothes. 

Today we’ve shifted much of the fuss and festivities to Christmas, and we pass over Easter almost entirely. But Easter still overshadows the commemoration of the birth of Jesus—spiritually, theologically, and liturgically—as the high holy day, the most solemn and joyous holiday of all.

 III  The development of Christmas celebrations

 That’s undoubtedly why we didn’t get around to commemorating the birth of Christ in the liturgy until about the late fourth century. 

 The earliest surviving record of a specific celebration of the Nativity is a sermon by St. Optatus, bishop of Mileve in Africa, from about A.D. 383. Evidently, Optatus was the first to put a Feast of the Nativity into his diocese’s calendar.

The idea caught on almost immediately, but the feast was celebrated on different days in different places any time from November to March. It wasn’t set at December 25 for the whole Church until about 650, and even then it wasn’t a major holiday. It wasn’t called “Christmas” until about the year 1000. The Feast of the Nativity didn’t get loaded down with all secular customs of Christmas—the caroling, the banqueting, and the elaborate exchange of presents—until about 500 years later.

Christians in northern Africa, the Middle East, and the Mediterranean were still observing Christmas low-profile around the year 1500. 

 But it was different in northern Europe. About that time, that part of the world experienced a mini-Ice Age. Suddenly there was snow in the winter, lots of it; people had to work all summer to store up food for the weeks and months they’d be kept indoors. By the end of December you’d probably be stringing the dried fruit into endless garlands and singing incomprehensible songs anyway, holiday or no.

Certainly, having the neighbors in to sit around a blazing Yule log wouldn’t cut into your workday. All of the extras that naturally settled around Christmas—which comes just after the winter solstice—were not so much a burden as a welcome excuse for some social and physical activity. The parties back then were a well-earned celebration of a whole year’s work harvested and gathered into barns. 

 Nowadays, of course, we wear ourselves out doing all of that stuff in addition to our normal daily workload, which negates the whole point of it. Simplifying things to a leisurely level would be a courageous countercultural stand. But as our forebears in faith filled their empty hours with Yuletide cheer, they did something else, too, in the weeks before Christmas, something that can still put the holiday in perspective: they observed Advent. 

IV  A season of anticipation

 Advent is really a lot like Lent. Both are roughly monthlong seasons of preparation for a joyful holiday. In fact, starting in about the sixth century, Advent and Lent used the same liturgies, Mass for Mass, in the Latin Rite. During both seasons, you would see the purple vestments of mourning, symbolism echoed today by the colored candles of the Advent wreath.

 In the reign of Innocent III (1198-1216), the vestments of Advent were black. Long after that, pictures and statues were covered, the organ was silenced, and flowers were banned from the churches, just as during Lent. Even in the Ambrosian and Mozarabic rites, where there was no special Advent liturgy, there was still a requirement to fast during the season before the Nativity. It was designed to remind us of the need to repent in preparation for a holy season.

 In Protestant denominations, of course, Advent has largely faded away. That’s probably why the secular observances of Christmas, as they rushed in to fill the void, got out of hand. Advent fasting and almsgiving used to keep people aware of the proper use of material goods and of the need to offset other people’s poverty with the excess from our own prosperity. If you take the penitential observances away, the secular celebrations can seem somehow obligatory, somehow the essence of Christmas. 

 Well, you wouldn’t get far asking people to give up Santa’s jolly red suit in favor of sackcloth and ashes. But there’s one crucial difference between Lent and Advent: Christmas doesn’t have Passion Week preceding it. The penitential observances of Advent always had a festive character to them. The idea was to contain your excitement before Christmas and to use that energy in preparing for Christ’s coming.

 So people took on these penances joyfully—something that only a Christian could do. They’d pause in their celebrations to acknowledge their sins and to clean house spiritually, overjoyed that Christ came to us, but aware of our unworthiness to receive him. 

 V   Celebrating Advent today

We still use Advent calendars and wreaths to measure out joyful anticipation, but we can learn a lot from the old Advent practices that we’ve forgotten. Kids probably begged Optatus himself for Christmas presents, but  

for a month before that they would collect pennies for the poor, going door to door with a little Christ-child doll in an Advent variation on trick-or-treat.

Families would have meager meals and give the unused food to the needy. 

Parishes used to have penitential feasts after Mass during Advent, with menus that were abundant but austere: bread and water, maybe, or fish, but plenty of it.

People had a good time keeping Advent, although music and dancing were forbidden then, just as during Lent. It was all part of a “discipline of joy” that is still an important part of our heritage today. Listen to the Mass after the Lord’s Prayer: “In your mercy keep us free from sin . . . as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ.” That’s Advent, right there.         

How might we recapture this uniquely Christian attitude of joyful penance? 

Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!

NEED A LITTLE ADVENT?

I don't know how you feel these days about the state of our world, our country and our families, but when I think about these and so many other topics I feel a deep need for Advent.

The name "advent" comes from the Latin word "adventus" which means "coming, arrival." Starting four Sundays before Christmas, as you know, it's a period of preparation for the coming of Christ. I've been pondering the theological meanings of the season, hoping to make advent this year as meaningful as possible in the face of all the worries that confront us. Here are some of my ideas so far.

The Crucible

The crucible: One of God's best tools

Advent reminds us of the thousands of years during which the just were waiting for the coming of a Savior. This expectant longing was especially evident in the Jews, whose prophets kept telling them that one day the messiah would come to deliver them. (No wonder the prophet Isaiah is given center stage in the liturgical readings during this season.) The prophets' message of hope was a very hard sell during periods of exile or foreign oppression, but it was precisely in the crucible of suffering and darkness that Judaism was formed into the People of God that the Lord had in mind. So here's a good reminder for me: No matter how grim or depressing things seem, the Lord's plan is working itself out in history, in the wide sweep of world events and in my own life. The period of advent-waiting is a good reminder that humanity's weakness and sinfulness cannot overcome God's loving plan for us -- and that in fact the Lord makes use of our weakness and sinfulness to achieve his final victory.

The Tension 

At the heart of advent is a contradiction: Christ has already been born years ago, yet we are anxiously awaiting his birth. A classical image the church uses to express this contradiction is that we are living in an in-between time, in the tension between the "already" of Jesus' birth in Bethlehem and the "not yet" of his final coming when he will return to set things right once and for all. Tension is a central element of the natural world: Think of the tension produced by the blood in your arteries pushing outward against the pressure of the surrounding atmosphere. If that tension is not there, and your have a peaceful BP reading of 0 over 0, you obviously are not alive. To use a rather playful image, I remember the advertisements in the back of comic books touting the body-building exercises of Charles Atlas, based on the secret of "dynamic tension:" The secret was that growth comes when you make the right use of tension. Advent is like that, I think -- a time for experiencing the tension between the fact of Christ's birth in Bethlehem and the not-yet of today's sin-sick world. The secret is to use this tension to strengthen our faith and hope.

Our Lady of Sorrows - Titian

Mary: The Advent Attitude

This is why the church has always made Mary a central figure during advent, seeing her as the first person to keep advent. Despite any confusion or wondering, despite not knowing clearly what was happening to her, Mary held steadfastly to her confident belief that God would take care of her, that "the Lord's words to her would be fulfilled." We sometimes honor her as "our Lady of Sorrows" who in the midst of all her trials never lost hope in God's promise. She'll be a good companion for me over the next four weeks.




Let's pray for one another and for our world that so badly needs Advent's message of Hope.

Amen! Come Lord Jesus!

THE KINGDOM IS AT HAND

 HEAVEN TOUCHES EARTH

This post from a couple of years ago still has a message for us. 

For most first-century Palestinian Jews the phrase “The Kingdom of God is at hand” would have meant that God was sending a military messiah to re-establish the Davidic monarchy by expelling the Roman occupation forces. But there was a more ancient and more authentic interpretation of the metaphor of the “Kingdom of God." Let me first repeat a couple of ideas from last week. In the Old Testament God was always acting in history to deliver and save. For the Israelites, heaven could and indeed often did touch earth: in the Law, for example, in which God came into intimate contact with the hearts of humans. But the most special place where heaven touched the earth was in the temple in Jerusalem, where "God dwelt among his people." Much of this material on the Kingdom is borrowed from a wonderful book by N.T, Wright entitled "Simply Christian."

Jesus picked up on this idea in his preaching that the Kingdom of God had arrived, by teaching that heaven and earth had come together in his own person. That’s why he was such a threat to the priests: He saw himself as the new temple that would replace the old temple as the place where God dwelt among human beings. Further, he told his followers that they, too, the new people of God, were also the new temple, the place where heaven meets earth.

And we followers of Jesus, the new People of God, the new temple, are now the place where heaven touches earth in the twenty-first century. Jesus, God-made-man, in whom heaven touched earth, showed us by the example of his life how to live out the Kingdom in our lives: A kingdom of gentleness and peace, a kingdom of giving more than receiving, and a kingdom built on self-sacrificing love, on “not my will but yours be done.” Yesterday (Saturday of the first week of Advent) at our community mass, Father Philip preached on the first reading in which Isaiah paints a picture of a time when God will draw close to us humans, when heaven will touch the earth. It reads in part:

Yet the LORD is waiting to show you favor, and he rises to pity you; For the LORD is a God of justice: blessed are all who wait for him! People of Zion, who dwell in Jerusalem, no more will you weep; He will be gracious to you when you cry out, as soon as he hears he will answer you. The Lord will give you the bread you need and the water for which you thirst. No longer will your Teacher hide himself, but with your own eyes you shall see your Teacher, While from behind, a voice shall sound in your ears: "This is the way; walk in it," when you would turn to the right or to the left. And you shall consider unclean your silver-plated idols and your gold-covered images; You shall throw them away like filthy rags to which you say, "Begone!" (Isaiah 30:18-22)

Father Phil concentrated on a single verse (v.21): “While from behind, a voice shall sound in your ears: ‘This is the way; walk in it’” In the Kingdom God is close enough to whisper in my ear, “This the right path over here, now follow it.” Heaven is touching earth. And I am located at the very point of contact. Now I have to decide. Do I follow the quiet voice sounding in my ears, or do I listen instead to the dozens, the hundreds of other voices from other kingdoms, the alluring voices of “silver-plated idols and gold-covered images.”
The Baptist’s cry in today’s gospel says that the Kingdom has drawn near and that I must respond by a conversion of heart. But how do I know what that means for me in practical terms? Well, I now have two guidelines that can help me:

First, I can look at Jesus’ lived example of how to live the Kingdom. Gentleness, humility, obedience, peace-making, self-offering.

Second, I can be quiet this Advent and listen for a voice from behind sounding in my ears, "This is the way, walk in it," a voice that points out my personal idols of silver and gold that are keeping heaven from touching earth in my life.

Let’s pray for one another that each of us can indeed be a place where heaven touches earth and the Kingdom comes into being. More about the Kingdom next week.
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.........."The Kingdom of God Is Among You"
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