In today’s Gospel, Jesus encourages his disciples to have courage in the face of persecution.  Violent persecution would become commonplace for early Christians at times and would be always be a distinct possibility for them because being Christian was a capital offense for roughly 250 years in the Roman empire.  The Christians would be barred from the synagogues after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem.  And, from the Nero to Constantine, any accusation that one was a Christian would likely bring an arrest, a quick trial, and (for those who refused to deny their faith) a likely execution.

We do not face the threat of such violent persecution in this country.  We do not face the threat of death from our government because of our faith.  However, in some parts of the world, either or both are constant threats. 

In recent days, we are thankfully growing in our awareness of the sin of racism.  I did not grow up experiencing racism.  I try to empathize with those that did.  But I will never fully understand their experience.  And it is an experience that does not go away.  Discrimination based on race is a continuing threat.  So, I try to learn about their experience.  I try to hear them out.  To listen to their pain.  And I try to never dismiss their experience or what they feel about it.

My concern for racism does not diminish my concerns for other things.  I do not become any less pro-life.  I do not become any less eager to share the Gospel message with others.  I do not become less committed to my fundamental mission of helping others become saints.  But I do not allow my concerns for those other things to crowd out a necessary concern for racism.  It also does not mean that I am supporting those causes contrary to the Christian faith that might be trying to be included in the movement to combat racism.

Those suffering violent persecution are almost all not of European descent.  Does that lessen my willingness to express compassion for their suffering?  Am I less willing to call attention to their persecution because they are somehow not like me?  Does a difference in skin color lessen my righteous anger when they suffer because of their faith?

Jesus calls us to unity.  All brothers and sisters in Christ are all brothers and sisters in Christ.  Division is not of God.  My concern for, and willingness to act on behalf of, those who are persecuted should not be proportional to their similarity to me. 

Am I willing to speak for them?  Especially if they are different from me?

Today, we celebrate the Immaculate Heart of Mary.  Mary is the only created human being without sin.  As Wordsworth said, she is “our tainted nature’s solitary boast.”  We do not worship Mary.  But we give here a reverence that is greater than that due to the saints.  Dulia is the Greek word used to describe the reverence that we have for the saints.  Hyperdulia is the Greek word used to describe our devotion to the Blessed Mother. 

Yesterday’s Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus focused on the love that Jesus has for all of us.  Today’s memorial points toward the love that Mary has for her Son.  With her Immaculate Heart, only she can love Jesus as he should be loved.  Her love for her Son is the model for all of us.  And, of course, Mary always points us to her Son.  As you may remember, there is a whole class or type of Marian icons that has Mary pointing to her Son.

As with Jesus, we can call to mind Mary’s emotions that came from her heart.  Her joys.  But also, her sorrows.  Many people practice the devotion to the Seven Sorrows of Mary.  In today’s Gospel reading, we can sense her confusion and desperation when Jesus was lost.  We can feel her joy at finding him in the Temple.  And we are told of the astonishment of Mary and Joseph as they saw Jesus questioning the teachers in the Temple.

Yes, Mary is a model for how to love and follow the Lord.  In the Gospel, in just a few words, she provides two great examples of how that is done.  At the Annunciation, she says, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.”  At the wedding at Cana, she tells the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.”

Today, we also celebrate the ordinations of six new priests for the Diocese of Saint Augustine, including our own Father Maurice Culver.  Although the pandemic (and the limited size of our cathedral) make it impossible for all who want to go to attend in person, it is still a great celebration for the people of the diocese.  I hope that you can access the livestream to at least see the ordination remotely.  May Mary, the Mother of Priests, watch over their priesthood.

Can we recognize how Mary is our model for how to love Jesus Christ?  How does our devotion to the Blessed Mother help us to love Christ?

Today, we celebrate the Solemnity of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus.  On this day, we remember Jesus’ divine love as God the Son, his human love in his human nature, and his human emotions…including joy, sorrow, and even humor.

It is interesting that the Gospel passage chosen is the same Gospel passage most often used in the Anointing of the Sick.  Jesus knows suffering from his own experience.  He has a special compassion for those that suffer.  He has compassion on those in need of this sacrament.  Remember the root meaning of the word compassion is “to suffer with.”

We no longer regard this sacrament as “Extreme Unction” or “Last Rites.”  It is not reserved for those actively dying.  It can be repeated if one’s health worsens or if a new recurrence of the condition occurs.  It is for all those suffering from a condition that leaves them at risk of death.  A diagnosis of cancer, an upcoming surgery with general anesthesia, and almost any overnight hospital stay for a serious condition would be examples of when the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick could be done.  It is not necessary to wait to time the sacrament for just before the moment of death of a loved one.  That just creates unnecessary stress on the family at a difficult time as everyone then must hope that the priest makes it in time.

There is something called the Apostolic Pardon that the priest imparts for those who are dying.  Attached to this is a plenary indulgence which remits all temporal punishment for forgiven sin.  So, it is important that our sins be forgiven.  I always recommend a nightly Act of Contrition for venial sins and the Sacrament of Reconciliation as soon as possible (even by appointment) for mortal sins.  But, if a priest is not available, this plenary indulgence is granted by the Church to any of the Christian faithful at the point of death provided that they have been in the habit of reciting some prayers during their lifetime.  In this case, the “Church supplies for the three conditions [Confession, Eucharist, and prayers for the intentions of the Holy Father] ordinarily required for a plenary indulgence.”

In preparing for death, we prepare to be fully united with Jesus’ Sacred Heart.  It is also often up to us to help ensure that our loved ones are prepared.

How am I preparing myself?  Have I communicated to my loved ones how I want them to help me prepare, should it be necessary? 

Today, we hear Matthew’s version of the Lord’s Prayer with its seven petitions.  Matthew’s version is the one that the Church has traditionally used.  Of course, we pray it at every Mass.  And we pray it before every decade of the Rosary (and at the very beginning after the Apostle’s Creed).

One of the seven petitions says, “Give us this day our daily bread.”  There are actually a few different dimensions to this petition.

First is that God will provide what we need if we trust in him.  Both materially and spiritually. 

Do we worry about what to wear or what to eat?  Jesus tells us just a few verses later, “But seek first the kingdom [of God] and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides.” 

Do we worry about our spiritual needs?  God gives us the Holy Spirit and the graces and fruits of the Holy Spirit. 

Most importantly, when we talk about daily bread, we cannot overlook the Eucharist.  The word that we translate as daily is used nowhere else in the New Testament.  In its literal sense, it means “super-essential.”  When we talk about “this day,” it can be a reference to the Lord’s Day.  In the Eucharist, we receive our Lord himself. 

Just as for the Israelites in the desert, daily bread also means what we need for that day alone.  They were instructed not to hoard beyond their daily need.  More than a call to avoid hoarding, this is a call to us to share our surplus.  We keep only what we need and share the rest with those who otherwise lack what they need.  We do so because of a true sense of charity.  We love our neighbor, and so we share with our neighbor that is in need.

In ancient times, the poor depended on family and community to help them.  In today’s world, we depend on government to care for the poor.  Without making a judgment on the role of government, we can see that personal charity is not what it should be.  Few truly share their surplus with the poor.  As Christians, we cannot neglect that call to help.

What do we think of when we hear this petition in the “Our Father” prayer?  Do we struggle with the trust that the petition implies?  Do we struggle with the charity that is also implied?

Why do we do what we do when we do good works?  What motivates us? 

On some level, the desire to do an act of charity for others is written in our hearts.  We genuinely feel good when do something good for another person. 

For some, though, they need to receive accolades from others.  Some of us have seen co-workers who seemingly spend 10% of their time doing things and 90% of their time advertising those things to others.  In the workplace, some degree of that is necessary for your boss and others to know what you have done.  For those who own their own business, it is essential that these things be advertised to potential customers.

But is external praise our primary motivator?  Do we live for the applause, even figuratively, of others?  Are we willing to perform at least some good deeds anonymously?

Remember that Saint Thomas Aquinas talked about an act in terms of its object (the basic action itself), the motivation, and the circumstances.  A generous donation to a worthy cause is a good object.  But, if the motivation is only to get one’s name on a plaque, then the morality of the action overall is not the same as if the act were done for purely altruistic reasons.  It might go from being good to being neutral at best.

Jesus tells us not to do good for the sake of earthly recognition.  If earthly recognition is what we seek, then our reward will be here on earth.  If our motivation is the good of others and/or doing the will of God, then our reward will come from God.  For a reward that might come in the next life, this might be the ultimate in delayed gratification. 

For Christians, our good deeds should be rooted in, and grow out of, our faith.

Our good works can serve as a form of evangelization.  This happens when our motivation for good works from our Christian faith.  Of course, we are all likely aware of the passage from James that our Urban Plunge program has adopted: “Faith without action is dead.”  Our good works are not independent of our faith.  They are a necessary product of a living faith.  When the recipient of a good deed knows that the good deed comes out of our faith, they might decide that they want what we have.

In the home, when children have a sense of warmth that they come to understand is a result of the faith of the parents, they are much, much more likely to retain their faith when they become adults.

When have we done good recently?  Why did we do it?  Was it a product of our faith as a Christian?   Or, was it in some way self-serving?

When people do wrong to us, how do we feel?  Depending on how severe and how unexpected it was, a whole range of emotions might come upon us.  Anger, pain, disappointment and even disillusionment.  We might feel a sense of injustice about the whole situation.  And we might want to demand justice for the situation.

If someone takes something that is rightly ours, we want it back.  And we might want the thief to be punished.  If someone betrays our trust, we are hurt.  And less likely to trust again.  If the person is in an organizational position designated to keep that trust, we also likely think less of the whole organization and its leadership as a result. 

If someone consistently hurts us or does harm to us, we might regard them as an enemy.  A typical definition of an enemy is simply someone who is antagonistic toward us, especially someone that seeks to do harm to us.

Of all the things that we think to do towards an enemy, it is likely that the last thing that we think to do for them is to love them.  But that is what Jesus tells us to do.

Perhaps our understanding of love complicates our reception of this teaching.  We might think of the romantic love of a husband and a wife.  We think of the love of a parent for their child.  We think of close and trusting relationships between two people in close proximity to one another.

That understanding is not what this teaching is about.  Do we have to cozy up to our enemy and intentionally put ourselves in a place where we can be easily hurt again?  No.

If we use the definition of love used by Saint Thomas Aquinas and others, this teaching makes more sense to us.  When we are called to love our enemies, we are called to “will the good” for them.  This definition is often expanded to say that we should “will the good of the other for the sake of the other.”  It does mean that we need to stop wishing harm to our enemies. 

It does not mean that we must nurture a close relationship with our enemies.  It does not mean that we must trust our enemies.  It does not mean that we forget what they did.  Prudence does come into play here.

It might mean that we pray for them.  It does mean that we want good things for them. 

What is keeping me from loving my enemies?

In our base instincts, we have a reflex reaction to danger (and often to any stressful situation).  We are wired to react with “fight or flight.”  We either fight back against the real or perceived danger, or we run from it.  It is an instinct for self-preservation that causes this.

So, how do we read Jesus’ call to turn the other cheek?  What about when someone does some injustice to us?  Do we read it as an act of submission to evil? 

Jesus’ teaching here is neither fight nor flight.  We do not attack the one committing evil against us.  We do not escalate the violence.  But we do not run either.  In order to turn the other cheek, we have to remain where we are to even give the other person the opportunity to do that.  There are legitimate reasons to flee for self-preservation.  There are legitimate reasons to fight.  Just look for the Catholic Church’s criteria for a just war.  But fight or flight are not the only possible alternatives.  It is likely in many situations that the best alternative is the one that Jesus gives us.

Jesus calls us to stand our ground against evil, but in a non-violent way.  We do not practice vigilante justice.  We do not try to get “an eye for an eye.”  Reactions to evil or violence with violence of our own do not bring an end.  It more likely means an escalation of hostilities with more damage to come. 

Instead, we hold our ground, maintain our Christian attitude and our God-given dignity, and call out the evil.  We allow evil to be seen for what it is.  In surprising them with a firm but compassionate response, we open up the possibility of their conversion. 

We must never think that we need their approval to have a firm sense of who we are.  We must never think that another can take away our dignity.  We only lose it when we choose to surrender it.  Our dignity comes from God.  It is inherent in who we are…in what we are.  We are children of God.  No behavior by another person can change this.

We have numerous examples of people who resisted evil using nonviolent means.  Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and even Pope Saint John Paul II.  All brought real change to our world.  All did so without resorting to violence. 

Can I resist the urge to fight or flee when faced with injustice?  Can I discern when the best way is to neither fight nor flee?

The Gospel today is part of the famous passage in John 6 where Jesus talks of himself as the Bread of Life.  He then explains that we must eat his flesh and drink his blood to have eternal life.  We continue to do so today in the Eucharist.  The bread and wine retain their appearance and external characteristics while changing substantially into Jesus’ Body and Blood.

We find the Eucharist prefigured in Genesis 14.  After Abram (whose name God later changed to Abraham in Genesis 17) won a great victory, he met the king and priest Melchizedek, who brought a thanksgiving offering of bread and wine and blessed Abram. 

We find the Greek word root eucharisteō used in the miracle of the loaves and fish when Jesus gives thanks.  We also find it in Saint Paul’s account of the Last Supper in First Corinthians.  Our word Eucharist finds its origin in the Greek verb meaning “to give thanks” or the Greek noun meaning “thanksgiving.”

While there are many dimensions to the Mass and the Eucharist, including sacred meal, sacrifice, and the Real Presence, we should not overlook the dimension of thanksgiving.  To whom do we give thanks?  One example is in the description of the Last Supper in Eucharistic Prayer I, or the Roman Canon, that says: “he took bread in his holy and venerable hands, and with eyes raised to heaven, to you, O God, his almighty Father, giving you thanks, he said the blessing, broke the bread, and gave it to his disciples saying…” 

This brief passage describes the act of giving thanks.  But it also says something about our orientation and attitude at Mass.  We come together and join our prayers to those of Jesus Christ, with the priest acting “in persona Christi capitis” (in the person of Christ, the head), and offer those prayers to the Father through the work of the Holy Spirit.

We do not come together solely for ourselves.  In the Mass, we do not celebrate ourselves.  We are not turned inward on ourselves.  We are turned outward and upward as we join with Christ, the Head of the Body of the Christ.  “With eyes raised to heaven.”  Through the Holy Spirit, we offer to the Father those prayers that are joined with Christ’s prayers.  We give thanks to the Father…not to each other.

Do I recognize the need for this orientation?  What is keeping me from having this orientation at Mass, whether it be occasionally or even often?  Am I able to give thanks?

Do we need an oath to be truthful?  Is it only under threat of perjury that we would tell the truth?  Of course, we hope not.

Like any sin, telling falsehoods gets easier to do the more that one does it.  The first lie might bring pain of guilt and weigh on one’s conscience.  But habitual liars do not seem to carry the same guilt.  It is just a part of their life.

I once read an article that said that we should live as though everything that we do would be reported in a major newspaper.  Today, we would say to live as though everything that we do would be shown on social media.  The point is that we should not have sinful behavior in our life that we need to have remain hidden.  It is one thing to want privacy.  Most people do not want to live in a fishbowl.  It is another thing to need privacy to hide sinful aspects of our lives.

John 3:19-20 tells us, “And this is the verdict, that the light came into the world, but people preferred darkness to light, because their works were evil.  For everyone who does wicked things hates the light and does not come toward the light, so that his works might not be exposed.” 

Lying is our way of avoiding the light for some aspect of our actions.  When we realize that we need to confess that we have lied, we really need to look deeper to find the things that the lies tried to hide.  That is what we really need to work to improve.  And it is likely what we really need to confess.

It is possible that we need to keep some things to ourselves.  Discretion might be needed to protect another person.  It is certainly true that priests cannot share what happens in the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  Everything from the Sign of the Cross to the Prayer of Absolution is protected under the Seal of Confession.  For those who have come to me for this great sacrament of mercy, they have likely noticed my eagerness to get started with the Sign of the Cross. 

While there are these legitimate reasons to keep our actions private, it might be more likely that we are trying to hide our sins.  And it is this desire that leads to the lies to keep things hidden.

What aspects of our lives are we hiding?  What do we not want people to know about?  Do we have a legitimate reason to keep it hidden?  Or are we hiding our sins?

In today’s Gospel passage, Jesus tells us to cut out our right eye or right hand if it causes us to sin.  It is better for us to lose those parts of our body than to spend eternity separated from God.  The state of permanent separation after death is what we call hell, but what Jesus calls here Gehenna.

Does Jesus really want us to start amputating body parts to avoid sin?  Remember that Jesus sometimes used exaggeration in his teaching.  So, we must understand that before taking everything literally.  Origen, the famous theologian from the second and third centuries, was rumored to have taken this passage literally and mutilated himself because of it. 

No, we should not do that to ourselves.  We should, however, read this teaching as part of an overall theme of detachment.  Things of this world are of this world.  The more that we can detach from the things of this world, the more open that we can be to the Holy Spirit filling our hearts and guiding a closer relationship with the Trinity.

Can we find hope and peace and joy in our faith regardless of what we have in this life?  Do we think that we need wealth, power, fame, health, or comfort to be happy?  Do we covet our neighbor’s good fortune?  Do we wish that we had what they have? 

Detachment does not speak to whether we have these things as much as it speaks to whether we can live without them.  It speaks to whether they become an impediment in the spiritual life for us. 

George Carlin had a famous routine in which he said that our houses were not so much homes but containers for our possessions.  If our possessions do not fit in our house, we buy a bigger house (or, these days, rent storage).  Once we get a bigger house, we fill it with more possessions.  The takeaway is that this materialistic existence keeps us from living the life that we need to live.  Our lives become consumed with taking care of our possessions.

To what extent do I focus on my possessions and other things of this world rather than on God?  Are there things of this world that I think that I cannot live without?  Do I realize that God is what I can really never live without?