THIRSTING FOR GOD

The gospel for this Sunday is the story of Jesus and the woman at the well (Jn 4:5-42). One verse caught my attention and has kept me thinking for a couple of days. It’s a statement that Jesus makes to the Samaritan woman: 

“Whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst.“

As I reflected on this verse, I kept asking myself why I still wind up thirsting for more. Jesus promises me that I will never thirst, and yet it seems to me that He is never quite enough. 

It occurs to me that maybe this is the human condition, to always be thirsty for something more. There are plenty of places in the Old Testament that witness to this. Just this morning, for example, we sang at Lauds Psalm 63: 

“Oh God, you are my God — It is you I seek!

For you, my body yearns; for you, my soul thirsts,

In a land parched, lifeless, and without water.“ (vv1-2). 

A favorite psalm verse of mine is

“My soul is thirsting for the Lord,

When shall I see him face to face.”

So, there it is again: To be thirsting for the Lord is part of our human condition.

The season of lent is designed to make us experience this built-in

incompleteness. Especially the practice of fasting. During this season, when we are preparing to celebrate the great feast of the resurrection, we are constantly reminded that we are by nature incomplete, that there is, as St. Augustine puts it, this God-shaped hole in the center of our being that cannot be filled by anything except God.

So I’ve decided not be too discouraged when I find that I am still thirsty after drinking of Christ, the Fountain of life. This side of heaven, the best I can do as an imperfect human being is to keep working at drawing closer to Christ and imitating him in his obedient suffering. 

OUR TRANSFIGURATION

Recently I had a serious fall on the stairs in the monastery. (I survived with minimal injury, thank God.) However, I've been reflecting a lot on the experience of lying there on the floor unable to stand up, helpless and humbled. One of the many lessons I've drawn from this experience is that I'm a very vulnerable creature who depends on God for everything, including my next breath. Imagine my surprise, then, when I came upon this ten year-old reflection on the story of Christ's Transfiguration. I'm presenting it here with no changes except today's date.

A SECOND LOOK AT THE TRANSFIGURATION

This Sunday, March 1, the gospel is the Matthew's account of the Transfiguration.

I’ve always thought of this as simply Jesus’ revealing his divine nature to his apostles, giving them a glimpse of his glory to strengthen their faith in him before they witnessed  his passion and death. And that’s certainly true, as I’ve written on a previous post in this blog; and many of the story’s details point us to that interpretation.

ITS ABOUT YOU!

But this morning I came across a couple of readings that suggested a second application as well. It goes something like this: In their glimpse of Jesus’ glory, we see where we are all heading as well. As members of Christ’s body, we are each destined to be glorified with him, to be “deified,” as many of the Church's early theologians early liked to put it.   

In this interpretation, the Transfiguration is not just about Jesus and who Jesus is, but it’s also about you and me, about the Church, and about every human being, destined to be saved through the merits of Jesus Christ. We have been created to share one day in the fullness of God’s glory, and here Jesus is offering us a glimpse of our own glory.

So the Transfiguration has now become more of a personal thing: both an encouragement and a challenge to live my life as someone who has a divine destiny.

I had minor surgery on my left hand yesterday, so I’m typing with a bulky Ace bandage on my hand, which is proving to be quite a challenge. So, let me leave you with the thought that I’ve been reflecting on: If the Transfiguration reveals something about me and the belief that I am destined for glory, then what effect does that have on how I act?  

Happy Lent!

A VISION FOR LENT

FORTY DAYS IN THE DESERT

Although the gospel for the First Sunday of Lent this year is Matthew's version of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness I'd like to revisit a post from a dozen years ago which treat's Mark's version, which is only two verses long:

And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness for forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him. (Mk 1:12-13)

Compared to the much more detailed versions of Matthew and Luke, Mark’s account seems disappointingly short on details. But if we concentrate on what he does tell us, we find some wonderful food for meditation.

First we should look at what Mark is saying. He surely intends (as do Matthew and Luke in their much longer accounts) that we should make the connection between the People of God who spent forty years in the wilderness, and Jesus “the New Israel,” who spent forty days there fasting and being tested. And perhaps more likely the gospel writers want us to recall the fast of Moses (Deut. 9:18) in the wilderness of Sinai, and that of Elijah near mount Horeb (cf. I Kgs 19:8).

I would like, however, to look at two interesting details in the second and final sentence in Mark: “He was with the wild beasts” and “angels came and ministered to him.”

THE BEASTS AND THE ANGELS

In the Old Testament wild beasts are associated with evil powers:

Many bulls encircle me,
strong bulls of Bashan surround me;
they open wide their mouths at me,
like a ravening and roaring lion. …
For dogs are all around me;
a company of evildoers encircles me.
(Ps 22:12,13,16)

Psalm 91 has angels protecting the psalmist from wild beasts.
For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways.
On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.
You will tread on the lion and the adder,
the young lion and the serpent you will trample under foot. (Ps 91:11-13)

Finally, in the account of creation in Genesis the first humans coexisted peacefully with animals:
God blessed them, and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply, and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the air and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.’ (Gen. 1:28)

So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to the man to see what he would call them; and whatever the man called each living creature, that was its name. The man gave names to all cattle, and to the birds of the air, and to every animal of the field. (Gen. 2:19-20)

This kind of peaceful coexistence is also part of the hope of the renewed creation in Isaiah

The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the lion and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear shall graze,
their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp,
and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.
They will not hurt or destroy
on all my holy mountain;
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord
as the waters cover the sea. (Isa. 11:6-9, cp. 65:24-25).

THE VISION OF PEACE
We can see in Mark's account of Jesus in the desert, then, a hint or a hope of the new creation of harmony and peace that will one day be brought about by Him.

The season of Lent is a good time for me to work at my part of bringing the “Peaceable Kingdom” into existence in my world and in my heart. During this holy season I can strive consciously to treat a certain person with more patience or compassion, I can take a step toward reconciliation with someone from whom I’ve become distanced. The ideas for “Lenten resolutions” in this area are countless.

What about bringing about the “peaceable kingdom” inside my own heart? Well, the idea of fasting is to lessen the hold that “the tempter” has on me precisely by taming, with God’s help, the unruly passions in me that try to run my life. Sort of like calling on the angels to help me with the “beasts” that threaten me. This is not about body-hating; in fact it’s just the opposite. The goal of my Lenten fast is that the world of instincts and the world of the spirit can come together in harmony so that I can live in tranquility with myself and with others, and so help bring about “that peace which the world cannot give.”

So, what about you? What specific things will you do during these forty days in the wilderness to help bring about Jesus’s dream of a “peaceable kingdom” in your heart and in your world?

             "The Peaceable Kingdom" Edward Hicks (1780 - 1849)

HOW TO BE SALT?

SALT AND THE KIDS

Here's a reflection I posted almost exactly sixteen years ago. It was evidently a snowy time just like we've been enjoying recently. so I've left if pretty much unchanged.

The sisters have all the children sitting together at Sunday mass; this means that I can go and stand right in front of the kids and have a friendly sort of chat during the homily when I choose to. I had decided that I would preach to them that way at last Sunday’s mass (Feb. 6, 2011).

What do you say to little ones about being “the salt of the earth?” I had prepared the usual ideas about salt being important in the olden days not just for seasoning but also for preserving things before the days of refrigerators. I knew I’d tell them that salt is essential for our bodies if we are to stay healthy. Should I tell them that our word “salary” comes from the fact that the Roman soldiers used to get paid not in money but in salt (the Latin “sal”)? I sensed that this homily was not likely to be terribly engaging for the little ones.

As I made my may across the parking lot to the sacristy door for 8:30 mass, I started thinking that maybe I should just stay at the lectern and talk to the grownups instead. I had to watch my footing as I tip-toed over a place near the door where a melting snow bank had left a wide puddle that had then frozen into black ice.

My practical self grumbled at the slippery ice, “This is dangerous. We should put down some rock salt.”

My sermon-writing self perked up immediately: “Wait! What did you just say about salt?”

My creative self chimed in, “Yes! That’s IT! There’s your homily for the kids! 'You are the salt of the earth!' Think of the tons of rock salt we’ve been using up this winter! Why do we put down salt when there’s ice on the ground?"

By the time I reached the door to the sacristy (without falling, by the way) I had my homily outlined.

YOU ARE THE ROCK SALT

After I introduced them to the purpose of rock salt I asked the children the question, “How can you be the salt on someone’s path today?”

Maybe when someone is sad, you can cheer them up with a smile or a kind word, so that they won’t slip and fall down because of their sadness.

Or if someone is lonesome, you can be the salt on their path by being there for them.

When someone needs help, you can be the salt on their path that makes their life a little easier and keeps them from falling down and getting hurt.

It turned out to be one of those simple children's homilies that, while making sense to some of the children, really hit home with the adults in the congregation. I have this tacit understanding with the grownups in church: If I walk over and start preaching to the second-graders, you better be listening hard because I’m probably addressing myself to you more than to the children.

I hope that my homily spread a little rock salt around the icy streets of our neighborhood during the following week!
............................."YOU ARE THE SALT OF THE EARTH..."
.

IS THERE A PLAN?

 

Every February 2 the Church celebrates the feast of the Presentation of the Lord, when Mary and  Joseph go to the temple in Jerusalem to offer the prescribed sacrifices required at the birth of a firstborn son. (Luke's account is the assigned gospel reading for the feast.) The incident is filled with symbolism and the fulfilment of prophecies. 

My meditation on the feast of the Presentation this year has been colored by recent tragic  events in the news in the U.S. and around the world. I invite you to reflect with me about whatver may e weighing you down today,

A central figure in the Presentation scene is an old man named Simeon who had been promised that he would live to see the Messiah. He took the infant in his arms and thanked God for fulfilling His promise. And he says to Mary,  

“Behold, this child is destined
for the fall and rise of many in Israel,
and to be a sign that will be contradicted
--and you yourself a sword will pierce--
so that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

This is a literary device that Luke is fond of, called a "programmatic prophecy," in which the speaker foretells how the story is going to unfold. I was thinking about the idea of "programmatic prophecy" this morning. It is based on a couple of fundamental assumptions: God has a plan for the world, this plan is ultimately about God's infinite love for the world, and thirdly, that loving plan is unfolding all the time, despite what it may look like to us humans.

The other central figure in the scene of the Presentation is Mary. She's really important to my reflections this year. Here's why: Two of our teachers dying within two weeks of one another doesn't sound like much of a plan to me. But sometimes we're faced, as Mary was, with deep, painful mysteries (--and you yourself a sword will pierce--) that are way beyond our intellect's ability to sort out logically. The gospel tells us that Mary kept pondering these things in her heart. Notice, not in her head, but her heart. We mustn't let the mystery of evil draw us up onto some high level of abstraction, because the Plan is invisible to the intellect, it won't yield to logical analysis. Mary humanizes the issue for us, and invites us to follow her lead by reflecting in our hearts with quiet confidence that the Lord is constantly loving and supporting us. There's an ancient litany of the Virgin Mary that includes the petition: "Mary, who kept the faith on Holy Saturday, Pray for us."

We all know people who have been so overwhelmed by the absurdity of some tragic event that they simply stop believing that there is a plan at all. For some mysterious reason,  they do not yet have the gift of Faith (or, more technically, the virtue of Hope, which allows us to hold on to our confidence in God despite the horrors and evils of this world).

This week I've been saying to the Lord, "I'm sorry, Lord, but this sure doesn't look like much of a plan to me. Or if it is a plan, it seems like a cruel one." And Jesus, who knows our human frailty firsthand, agrees: "Yes. I know just what you mean! I don't blame you for feeling that way. But I promise to help you to hang in there despite how terrible things seem. Try repeating the words I spoke to my Heavenly Father in the garden of Gethsemane, 'Not my plan but yours be done!'" 

I'm asking the Virgin to intercede for me and for my brothers and sisters around the world, that her son, our Lord, will indeed stand by each of us, young and old, as we work our way together through the mystery of the Hidden Plan.

(But, to be honest, I confess that it still doesn't look like much of a plan to me right now.)

ACCEPTANCE LETTER

This past Thursday evening, our prep school hosted a reception for all eighth-graders who had received acceptance letters from us for next year‘s freshman class. They were not registered yet, rather the reception was to help students and their parents who may not be sure of what they were getting into by signing up for our school. We make certain unusual demands on our students (a 53 mile hike in the mountains, jumping off a 7 foot platform into our pool fully clothed wearing a blindfold, a strong emphasis on students running the school, etc.)

The next morning, Friday, I celebrated mass for the Benedictine sisters in Elizabeth. The gospel was Mark’s version of the call of the twelve apostles. It struck me that Jesus's calling the apostles was an invitation to each of them, very like the acceptance letters that we had sent out to those eighth graders. Jesus’s “call” still required a response on the part of the apostles. 

It’s not enough for an eighth grader to run around waving his acceptance letter and feeling great about being accepted to Saint Benedict‘s Prep. The crucial step has yet to be taken: to act on the invitation he has received by calling the Admissions Office to register.

It must have been similar for those twelve apostles. They needed to respond to Jesus’s invitation to follow him and to go forth to preach the kingdom and to cast out demons.

Each of us has been called through our baptism. But that call requires a response on our part.

Like the apostles, we are sent to preach the kingdom by our lives, and even to cast out the presence and power of evil in our own lives and in the lives of people around us.

I picture myself standing with Jesus on that mountain side as he calls me by name. He calls me because he has a job for me to do. He is sending me into the world to be his ongoing presence, to shed light where there is darkness, and to bring joy where there is sadness. 

However, Jesus’s call is not really the point. What matters is my response. I pray that I will be able to act as he expects me to.

Over the next few days, our school’s Admissions Office will be processing all those registration forms received from kids who want to be students here next year. 

There will be others who received the same acceptance letter but have decided not to register, but to go to a different school instead.

This seems to be a good image for me to keep in mind. Our  Savior’s call requires me to respond by living and acting the way he expects. I can’t decide to go in some other direction instead!

And so I pray to those first apostles, who responded to His call.  May they help me respond to that same call that now sends me out into the world to preach the Kingdom and to be his presence for those around me.

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!"