Author: Peter McCulloch

On Life After Death

(2Macc.7:1-2, 9-14; 2Thess.2:16-3:5; Lk.20:27-38)

Is there life after death (Job 14:14)?  And what happens when we get there?

The ancient Aztecs, Vikings and Egyptians believed in an afterlife.  Some Native American tribes also believed in a happy hunting ground, and many eastern religions believe in reincarnation.

But our secular society doesn’t accept any afterlife, at least not officially.  It assumes that there’s no God and no spirit world, and many people claim to be atheists. 

Yet the popular culture seems obsessed with vampires, zombies and ghosts, and heroes with supernatural powers.  And surveys reveal that most people do have mystical experiences, when they sense that there’s ‘Something More’ to life than what they can actually see. [i]

It seems that searching for the supernatural is a very human thing to do (Jer.29:13).

In today’s Gospel, Jesus is in the Temple in Jerusalem preaching about the resurrection of the dead, when some Sadducees decide to challenge him.

Now, who were the Sadducees?  They were a powerful sect of Jewish priests and merchants who didn’t believe in angels, spirits or resurrection (Acts 23:8).  They only accepted as truth the Torah, the first five books of the Bible.

They put a hypothetical question to Jesus. ‘Teacher’, they say, ‘Moses told us that if a man’s brother dies, leaving a wife but no child, then his brother must marry her and raise up children for his brother’.

To explain, this practice of a man marrying his brother’s widow comes from the Torah (Gen.38:8; Deut.25:5-6). It’s called the Levirate Law of Marriage, and its purpose was to ensure that a widow is looked after and that the first husband’s name continues to live on after him.

The Sadducees’ question is this:  whose wife would a woman be if she marries each of seven brothers, one after the other, after each one dies?

The point they’re trying to make is that God’s Law, as given to Moses, cannot be broken, and that God would never create something that contradicted his own Law. So, he could not have created an afterlife, because it would simply undermine the sanctity of marriage.

Jesus answers them in two ways. Firstly, he says that marriage is an earthly institution blessed by God, and it doesn’t exist in heaven.

Then he says that Moses learnt about the resurrection before he received the Law from God. He learnt this when he first encountered God in the Burning Bush, when God said to him ‘I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob’ (Ex.3:4-6).

What Jesus means is that because God is the God of the living, and because God is also the God of the patriarchs, then the patriarchs – Abraham, Isaac and Jacob – must still be alive.  For God is a ‘living’ God and only the living can experience something that lives.  The patriarchs, therefore, are still alive and they’re now in heaven.

What, then, does Jesus say about heaven? 

He gives few details in this passage, but he does say that in heaven there’s no more death or decay, but only eternal life.  This means that there’ll be no more suffering or pain (Rev.21:4).

He also says that life in heaven is different to life here on earth (‘life is changed, not ended’), and marriage won’t be needed.  However, this doesn’t mean we’ll be separated from our families and friends.  Rather, our relationships will be different, and the fellowship of marriage will be replaced by the depth and diversity of new life in the presence of God. 

Our eternal lives won’t be reduced to some level below that of marriage, though.  Rather, we’ll find ourselves living a much fuller and closer life with God himself and with all of God’s family, and the emotional intimacy and affection we now restrict to just one spouse will be shared with everyone in heaven. [ii]

All this points to the model of the Trinity, which reveals to us that the essence of divine life is perfect loving communion.  Here on earth we experience this in a very special way through the Holy Eucharist, and in heaven we’ll experience it by living in perfect loving intimacy with God and all his angels and saints.

This is why Jesus tells us that the greatest commandment of all is to love God and our neighbour, with all our hearts, all our souls and all our minds (Mt.22:34-40). 

This is our challenge.  Jesus wants us to prepare for eternal life by learning to love God and each other, before we get there.

CS Lewis said that in this life we write the title page of what we will be in eternity.  

But my own father likes to put it this way:  our life here on earth is basically the qualifying round for our next life.

So, what do you think? Is there life after death? 

And are you ready for it?

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[i] William Bausch, The Story Revealed. Twenty Third Publications, New London, CT. 2013:144-145.

[ii] KJV Study Bible, 2^nd Edition. Thomas Nelson, Nashville. 1988:1588

On Fixing our Eyes on the Prize

[Wis.11:22-12:2; 2Thess.1:11-2:2; Lk.19:1-10]

St Martin de Porres (1579-1639) really should have vanished without trace long ago.  In the eyes of the world he was a nobody, and that’s how he was treated: he was ridiculed, abused and excluded.  Why?  Because he was poor and black. 

Yet, here we are today, four centuries later, celebrating his life on his feast day in a church that proudly bears his name.

Why do we celebrate this son of a former slave who was born so far away in Lima, Peru?  It’s because he has something remarkable to teach us.  St Martin’s relationship with God so transformed his broken life that he went on to transform the lives of countless others.

St Martin’s father abandoned him in his infancy because of his colour, leaving him to live in poverty with his mother and sister.  He often went hungry, he only had two years of schooling and he was regularly bullied in the streets. 

When he was 12 he was apprenticed to a barber who taught him the basics of medicine and healing, as barbers did back then.  And at 15 he joined the Dominicans as a servant boy, but his training was ignored.  He spent most of his time cleaning and laboring in the kitchen and in the fields.  He never complained, though.  He was always patient and cheerful.

Eventually his gifts were recognized, however.  At 24 he was invited to become a Dominican brother, and 10 years later he was given responsibility for the monastery’s infirmary where he worked for the rest of his life, healing the sick and helping the poor.  He helped everyone, regardless of their race or social status.  It made no difference whether they were archbishops, monks or slaves.

St Martin went on to do remarkable things: fundraising, feeding and sheltering hundreds of people and animals, planting orchards, teaching people how to farm and establishing a school and an orphanage for street children that are still operating today.

In today’s Gospel, Luke gives us the story of Zacchaeus, the unpopular tax collector.  Unlike Martin, Zacchaeus was rich, but like Martin he was rejected by his own community.

St Martin and Zacchaeus also shared something else:  both kept their eyes firmly fixed on Jesus (Heb.3:1; 12:2).  St Martin did this by spending his nights in prayer and contemplation before a Crucifix.  Zacchaeus did this by climbing a tree to get a clearer view of Jesus as he passed through Jericho.

By firmly fixing their eyes on Jesus, both men found their lives transformed.  St Martin found himself filled with the power of the Holy Spirit, and able to perform miracles (Acts 1:8); while Zacchaeus found joy, acceptance and forgiveness, and a brand new way of life (Ps.16:11).

The message for us today is that as long as we keep our eyes firmly fixed on Jesus, then we’ll find ourselves living happy, meaningful and purposeful lives, even in the most difficult of circumstances.

We see this in Matthew’s Gospel, when the disciples cross the Sea of Galilee during a storm one night.  Peter discovers that as long as he keeps his eyes firmly focussed on Jesus, he can actually walk on water.  But as soon as he’s distracted, he starts sinking (Mt.14:22-32).

That’s the risk we face.  There are so many temptations and distractions out there.  When we turn away from Jesus and focus instead on our grudges or illusions or worldly obsessions, then we’ll find ourselves troubled and even overwhelmed. 

Archbishop Fulton Sheen used to talk about the red lamp near the tabernacle in our churches that signals the presence of Our Lord (Jn.8:12). When we’re near the light, he said, we bask in its glow and we enjoy its comforting warmth.  But if we walk away from that light, the shadows grow longer and the darkness grows.

And so it is with us.  When we lose a sense of God’s presence, or when we refuse to acknowledge his existence, the shadows lengthen, the darkness envelops us, and the storms become more terrifying.

God didn’t want St Martin to vanish because he has something important to teach every generation:  that God’s grace can transform our deepest sorrows into the greatest love and happiness, as long as we keep our eyes firmly fixed on Jesus. 

As St. Augustine put it, ‘In my deepest wound, I saw your glory and it dazzled me’.

St Martin de Porres kept his eyes firmly fixed on the only prize that really matters in this life (Phil.3:13-14).

We must do the same.

On the Fragrance of Love

(Sir.35:12-14, 6-18; 2Tim.4:6-8, 16-18; Lk.18:9-14)

Nothing expresses love quite like a beautiful fragrance. 

Napoleon Bonaparte and his Empress Josephine adored violets.  Every anniversary he gave her a fragrant bouquet of violets, symbolising their passionate love.  And on his deathbed, Napoleon’s locket held a picture of Josephine, a lock of her hair and dried violet petals.

Our noses are closely connected with our memories and feelings about people, places and things.  That’s because the olfactory nerve that controls our sense of smell crosses the parts of the brain that manage memory and emotion.  

This explains why memories and feelings often return to us when we smell familiar aromas, such as certain perfumes or foods.

But sweet fragrances aren’t just romantic. They also connect us with divine love.

We see this in the Bible’s Song of Songs, which is a love poem overflowing with the scent of fragrant perfumes, spices, flowers, fruit, incense and wine. 

At one level, it describes a passionate love affair between a man and a woman.  But at another, it’s an allegory of God’s extraordinary love for his people, and it tells us that God loves gorgeous scents even more than we do (Prov.27:9).

In Exodus 30, God instructs the priests of ancient Israel to keep burning aromatic incense on the golden altar in the Temple’s Holy of Holies.  This golden altar represents our faithful, loving hearts, and the sweet-smelling smoke represents our heartfelt prayers, rising constantly up to heaven.

God gives Moses a recipe for this incense in Exodus 30:34-37.  He must prepare it like a perfumer, by mixing equal parts of certain exotic spices with pure frankincense.  For God likes his incense salted, pure and holy.

In a similar way, today’s readings give us a recipe for our own prayers.  They must be honest and genuine.  They must be borne of faith.  They must express our love and gratitude to God, and they must come straight from our hearts. 

To emphasise the right kind of prayer, Jesus today gives us his Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector in Luke’s Gospel.

These two men go into the Temple to pray.  The Pharisee stands where everyone can see him.  He looks up to heaven and loudly thanks God that he’s not like everyone else, and especially not like the Tax Collector.  For he’s a virtuous man who fasts twice a week and he’s generous with his money.

The Tax Collector, however, stays at the back of the Temple.  He’s ashamed of his life and he can’t lift up his eyes (Ez.9:6).  He prays quietly, saying, ‘God, please be merciful to me, a sinner’.

Now, which prayer does God prefer?  It’s the honest, humble one.

The problem with the Pharisee’s prayer is that he sees no need for forgiveness.  He has no sense of the distance he still has to go in his spiritual life, and his prayer simply lists all the good things he’s done.

While his good works are commendable, he doesn’t compare himself with the holiness of God that he and we are all called to imitate (Lev.19:2; Mt.5:48).  Instead, he compares himself to the Tax Collector he despises.[i]  The Pharisee’s prayer therefore isn’t a prayer at all.

The Tax Collector, however, is lowly and humble.  He’s honest about his mistakes.  He knows he needs help, so he prays, asking God for forgiveness. 

That’s the kind of prayer Jesus likes.  He wants us to be honest with him and ourselves.  He wants us to love him and share our fears and burdens with him. 

When we pray like this, from deep in our hearts, God always welcomes our words as sweet and precious gifts, rising like the smoke of sweet-smelling incense towards heaven. He remembers and treasures such gifts (Ps.141:2).

In the Book of Revelation (5:8; 8:3-5), John the Evangelist tells us that God likes our prayers so much that he collects them in golden bowls near his throne.  And as our prayers waft upwards, so those golden bowls fill up until they tip over and pour out God’s power, love and mercy onto our world.

Some people think their prayers are of little value, but the truth is that God loves them.  He listens and he responds.  That’s what St Paul is saying in our second reading today (2Tim.4:6-8,16-18). 

Our prayers are precious to God.  They serve as a bridge between heaven and earth, and they move his heart. 

St Therese of Lisieux, the ‘Little Flower’, understood this.  She described prayer as a fragrant spiritual bouquet, given to God. 

She also saw the Rosary as a shower of fragrant roses, left at the feet of Jesus and Mary.

So, today, let’s open up our hearts.

Let’s shower God with bouquets of fragrant prayers.

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[i] S. Joseph Krempa. Captured Fire, Cycle C. St Paul’s Publications, NY. 2005:153.

On the School of Mary

(Exod.17:8-13; 2Tim.3:14-4:2; Lk.18:1-8)

St John Vianney used to describe prayer as ‘union with God’.  He said it’s like two candles (one for God, the other for the soul) that have melted into each other.

Prayer can also be described as our heartfelt search for the source of all life and love.   When we find that source and absorb all it has to offer, then we ourselves become a source of new life and love for others.  In this way, prayer both refreshes and sustains us.

We can see this in our first reading from Exodus.  The Israelites are being attacked and they’re fighting to defend themselves.  Meanwhile, Moses is on a hilltop, praying hard.  He’s standing with his hands held high, looking towards heaven (that’s how the ancients prayed).  As long as Moses keeps his arms up, the Israelites are safe, but when he drops them, the enemy gains ground.  The message to us is simple:  Keep praying!

Jesus’ message is similar in his Parable of the Unjust Judge in Luke’s Gospel.  ‘Keep praying!’ he says, ‘Never lose heart!’

Now, October is the month of the Holy Rosary, the ancient prayer that focuses so beautifully on the life of Jesus Christ.  When the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared at Fatima in 1917, she asked us all to pray the Rosary every day. [i]

Many people do just that, but sadly, others choose not to.  They think the Rosary is not about Jesus.  But that’s a misunderstanding. 

In 2002, St John Paul II said that praying the Rosary is like sitting in the ‘school of Mary’, learning about her son Jesus.  ‘Through the Rosary,’ he said, we ‘contemplate the beauty of the face of Christ’ and we ‘experience the depths of his love’.

‘The centre of our faith is Christ,’ he said.  Mary does not detract from him.  She is the one who leads us to Christ, the final goal of our life. ^[ii]

Today, the Rosary is still one of the most powerful and effective tools for Christian prayer and meditation.  The prayer is addressed to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, and the meditation focuses on all the major events in Jesus’ life, from his birth to his Passion.

Edward Sri, in his book Praying the Rosary Like Never Before, says that we pray the Rosary with Mary and not to Mary.  And he describes the Rosary as ‘a portable chapel we can keep in our pocket and pull out anytime, anyplace.  Whether we have a sudden, urgent situation to present to God in prayer or we just want to fill some of our day with thoughts of God, all we need to do is pull out the beads and turn to the Lord in prayer.’ [iii]

The word ‘Rosary’ means a ‘crown of roses’.  The ancient Greeks and Romans used to place crowns of roses on statues of their gods as gifts of love.

The first Christians continued this tradition.  When Christian women went to their deaths in the Roman Colosseum, they wore crowns of roses symbolising their joy and love for God.  At night, the other Christians gathered these crowns, and for each rose recited a prayer or psalm for the eternal rest of the martyr’s soul.

Thereafter the Church encouraged everyone to use their Rosaries to recite the 150 psalms. God loves the psalms, they believed, because they include all of Jesus’ life and ministry.  Most Christians were illiterate, however, and couldn’t read the psalms, so they said 150 Hail Marys instead.   

That’s why the Rosary is sometimes called the Psalter of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

The Venerable Archbishop Fulton Sheen said the Rosary is almost like words with music.  A lady once complained to him, ‘I think the Rosary is monotonous and I don’t think God likes us to say monotonous prayers.’

Sheen asked who the man was with her.  ‘He’s my fiancé,’ she replied.

‘Do you love him?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘How does he know?’

‘I told him: “I love you”,’ she said.

‘When did you tell him?’

‘Last night.’

‘Did you ever tell him before?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I told him the night before.’

‘Don’t you think he tires of it?  Isn’t it a bit monotonous?’ asked Sheen. [iv]

He made his point.  These simple words mean something different each time we say them.  

Every time we pray the Rosary, we are in effect saying ‘I love you’ to the Holy Trinity and to Mary.  And the meaning changes as we contemplate the different aspects of Jesus’ life.

So, now is a good time to join the school of Mary. 

Now is a good time to pray the Rosary.

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[i] Pope Francis, Angelus Address, 4 October 2017

[ii] Pope St John Paul II, Rosarium Virginis Mariae, 2002. https://w2.vatican.va/content/john-paul-ii/en/apost_letters/2002/documents/hf_jp-ii_apl_20021016_rosarium-virginis-mariae.html

[iii] Edward Sri, Praying the Rosary like Never Before: Encounter the Wonder of Heaven and Earth, Servant: Cincinatti. 2017:178.

[iv] Fulton Sheen, Your Life is Worth Living. Image: New York.  2019:402-403.

On the Attitude of Gratitude

(Kgs.5:14-17; 2Tim.2:8-13; Lk.17:11-19)

The German mystic Meister Eckhart O.P. (1260-1328) once said that if the only prayer we ever said was ‘thank you’, it would be enough.

Why is that?  It’s because gratitude is an attitude that leads us to God. 

In Luke’s Gospel today, Jesus finds ten men suffering from leprosy. It’s a curable disease now, but back then leprosy was frightful.  It meant rotting flesh and complete social rejection.

Jesus heals all ten men, but nine aren’t very grateful.  Only one, a Samaritan, returns to thank Jesus.  Only he is humble enough to appreciate the gift he’s given.  And when he thanks Jesus, he receives an even greater gift:  his heart and soul are filled with divine grace. He’s not only physically healed, but he’s spiritually transformed as well.

In John 10:10, Jesus says, ‘I’ve come that they may have life, life in all its fullness’.  Our life is a grace that comes from God.  We are like vessels into which this precious life has been poured.  Like the grateful leper, the more we open our hearts, the more of God’s divine life we’ll receive. 

Now, what is the opposite of gratitude?  It’s taking things for granted.  That’s what the nine lepers did.  Because of their hardened hearts, they missed out on something truly remarkable.

Gratitude is powerful.  It’s the difference between just going through the motions and really being alive.  As Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, it’s only through gratitude that life becomes rich.

Etty Hillesum understood that.  She was a young Jewish woman who lived in Amsterdam during WWII.  She was murdered in Auschwitz in 1943, aged only 29.  But she was drawn to Christianity and she kept a diary for three years. 

She wrote, ‘… even if you live in an attic and have nothing but dry bread to eat, life is still worth living. … There’s so much to relish, life is rich …’ [i]

Etty Hillesum had a strong sense of God’s presence everywhere, even in the Nazi death camps.  God’s presence filled her with warmth and vitality.  She cared for the sick and the vulnerable and she became a real source of life and inspiration to others. 

On the day she and her family boarded the train for Auschwitz, she wrote, ‘We left the camp singing’. 

Etty also wrote: ‘Sometimes when I stand in some corner of the camp, my feet planted on earth, my eyes raised towards heaven, tears run down my face, tears of deep emotion and gratitude’.

Yes, gratitude is an attitude that leads us to God.

Someone else we can learn from is Elizabeth Bartlett, an American University professor who had a heart transplant, aged 42.  

She said, ‘I’ve found it’s not enough for me to be thankful. I have a desire to do something in return. To do thanks. To give thanks. Give things. Give thoughts. Give love. So gratitude becomes the gift, creating a cycle of giving and receiving, the endless waterfall. Filling up and spilling over. To give from the fullness of my being. This comes not from a feeling of obligation … Rather, it’s a spontaneous charitableness, perhaps not even to the giver but to someone else, to whoever crosses one’s path. It’s the simple passing on of the gift’. [ii]

So, gratitude is life-changing.  Elizabeth Bartlett received more than a new heart; her gratefulness gave her a brand new way of living. 

If we want new life, we must open up our hearts, too.  And when we open our hearts, God’s grace flows though us to others. 

G. K. Chesterton once wrote: ‘You say grace before meals.  All right.  But I say grace before the concert and … grace before the play … and grace before I open a book, and grace before sketching, painting, swimming, fencing, boxing, walking, playing, dancing and grace before I dip the pen in the ink’.  

He also said, ‘When we were children we were grateful to those who filled our stockings at Christmas … Why aren’t we grateful to God for filling our stockings with legs?’

We have much to be thankful for.  Life is good. 

Gratitude, then, isn’t just a form of courtesy; it’s the force of our faith.  It stems from humility and it’s the source of all joy. 

Gratitude keeps us grounded in the good times and it lifts us up when we’re down.

That’s why gratitude is an attitude that leads us to God. 

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[i] Meins G.S. Coetsier, Etty Hillesum and the Flow of Presence. University of Missouri Press, Columbia. 2008:159.

[ii] Wilkie & Noreen Au, The Grateful Heart. Paulist Press, N.Y. 2011:5

On God in the Gulag

[Hab.1:2-3; 2:2-4; 2Tim.1:6-8, 13-14; Lk.17:5-10]

The famous Russian writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (1918- 2008) hated communism.  He often criticised its evils and was severely punished for doing so. 

In 1945, at the end of WWII, he was exiled to Siberia.  For 11 years he suffered in prison camps, doing back-breaking work watched over by armed guards.  He was starved, allowed little rest, and forbidden to talk with anyone. He became so isolated and miserable that he thought everyone, including God, had forgotten him.

One day he decided to commit suicide.  But he found he couldn’t do it, because as a boy he’d learnt that suicide is wrong.  So he thought he’d escape instead, knowing he’d be shot.  At least then someone else would be responsible for his death.

On the day he planned to escape, he was sitting under a tree.  He checked the guards’ positions, and just as he was about to run, a prisoner he’d never seen before appeared in front of him, blocking his way.

Solzhenitsyn later said that when he looked into that man’s eyes, he saw more love than he’d ever seen before in any other person.  That prisoner bent down and with a stick silently drew a cross on the ground.  

When Solzhenitsyn saw that cross, he knew that God had not forgotten him. He knew that God was there beside him in that awful place.  What he didn’t know, however, was that Christians all over the world had been praying for his release, and within three days he was a free man in Switzerland. [i]

It’s not unusual for us to sometimes feel abandoned.  Life can be tough.  In our first reading today, the prophet Habakkuk complains about the misery and injustice that’s so widespread in the kingdom of Judah.  In frustration he asks God why he’s not listening or doing anything about it.

But God is listening, for he gives him a reply.  God tells him to have faith and to be patient, for the day of justice will come.

Some of us find that our experience of faith is strong when everything’s fine, but it starts to weaken when we’re struggling.  Like Solzhenitsyn and Habakkuk, we wonder where God might be or if he even exists at all.

But the message for us from Solzhenitsyn and from Habakkuk is that God is listening.  He does care.  He’s with us all the time.  So we must keep our faith, especially when times are tough.  For faith means trust; it means being patient.  Faith means understanding that God is always working, even when we think he’s not.

At the end of WWII, in Cologne, some words were found scrawled on a wall in a cellar where some Jews had been hiding:

I believe in the sun, even when it’s not shining.
I believe in love, even when I don’t feel it.
I believe in God, even when he’s silent.

Most of us would like an instant solution every time something goes wrong, but God’s ways are not our ways (Is.55:8).  Sometimes it’s better for us to work through a problem and learn from it.  We know that’s true, don’t we?  We can see it when we look back on our lives and discover that we’ve not only survived the hard times, but the experience has also made us better people. 

As someone said, there’s more growth in the valleys than on the mountain tops.

When Solzhenitsyn saw that cross etched in the dirt, he knew that God had not abandoned him.  In 1963, after he became famous, he wrote this prayer:

How easy for me to live with you, Lord!
How easy to believe in you!
When my mind casts about
Or flags in bewilderment,
When the cleverest among us
Cannot see past the present evening,
Not knowing what to do tomorrow –
You send me the clarity to know
That you exist
And will take care
That not all paths of goodness should be barred.
At the crest of earthly fame
I look back in wonderment
At the journey beyond hope – to this place,
From which I was able to send mankind a reflection of your rays.
And however long the time
That I must yet reflect them
You will give it me.
And whatever I fail to accomplish
You surely have allotted to others.[ii]

It’s faith that sustains us through the hard times, and it’s prayer that nourishes that faith. 

Our faith might only be small, like a mustard seed, but that doesn’t matter. God is happy with small things (Lk.17:5-6). 

Tiny seeds of faith grow into mighty trees when watered with prayer.

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[i] Joe B Brown, Battle Fatigue. Broadman & Holman, Nashville. 1995:136.

[ii] https://www.solzhenitsyncenter.org/his-writings/miniatures-prose-poems

On the Great Reversal

(Am.6:1a,4-7; 1Tim.6:11-16; Lk.16:19-31)

In today’s parable of the Rich Man and Lazarus, the rich man is enjoying life with fine food, expensive clothes and a beautiful home.  And outside his gate is poor, sick Lazarus, hungry and covered with sores. 

At one level the story is simple – surely Dives [i] could have offered Lazarus a crust of bread.  But at a deeper level, this story isn’t just about the rich helping the poor.  It’s much more than that.

In the second half of the story, both men die and their roles are reversed.  The rich man is shocked to find himself suffering in hell.  And Lazarus is delighted to find himself in heaven, with Abraham.

Jo Fiore, our parish poet laureate, has kindly penned this poem for us:

A rich man lived a privileged life of opulence and greed.
His eyes were blind, his ears were deaf, to everyone in need.
And at his gate a poor man lay and begged for food each day,
but the rich man kept his distance and looked the other way.

The beggar’s name was Lazarus; he suffered grief and pain,
but through it all he kept his faith and blessed God’s holy name.
‘Have mercy! Spare a scrap of bread’ old Lazarus would say,
but the rich man chose to eat his fill, and look the other way.

When both men died the rich man found with great despair that he
would be cursed with fire and torment, for all eternity.
And in the gleaming distance through his stinging eyes he saw
both Lazarus and Abraham – their faces filled with awe.

‘Have mercy, Father Abraham.  Send Lazarus I pray
with a single drop of water! Quench my thirst this wretched day!’
But Abraham replied ‘Alas! Our worlds apart must stay,
and we must keep our distance’.  Then he turned his head away. 

‘But wait! I have five brothers and if someone from the dead
were to warn them, they would change their ways and never share my dread.’
Said Abraham, ‘They have the Law, but if they choose to stray,
not even someone from the dead could change their evil way’.

When Jesus told this parable, He taught us that we need
to turn our backs on evil things like selfishness and greed.
With open eyes and open ears and open hearts we can
reach out and have compassion, for our needy fellow man.              

In this parable, Jesus isn’t condemning the rich man for his wealth.  Rather, the issue is that he’s so self-obsessed that he doesn’t even notice the suffering of others.  Do you know people like that?

In our first reading today, the prophet Amos paints a picture of the ‘wrong life’, where people sit around being lazy, selfish and complacent, and eating too much.  He reminds us that such a life is self-destructive, and that God calls us to do something more with our lives.

And in our second reading, St Paul tells Timothy about the ‘right life’, where people are righteous, faithful, loving, patient and gentle.  He says we should grab these gifts of eternal life now, while we can, because the ‘Kingdom of God is at hand’ (Mk.1:15).  It’s foolish to wait, he says, because we just don’t know how long we’ve got.  Tomorrow might be too late.

And what happens when it’s too late?  That’s when we discover that the tables have been turned.  That’s when the first find themselves last, and the last find themselves first (Lk.13:30).  That’s when those who ‘had it all’ are left with nothing, while those with nothing are given the keys to the kingdom (Lk.6:20-26; Lk.14:11). 

We see this in the stories of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Lk.1:46-55), Zacchaeus (Lk.19:1-10), and the Prodigal Son (Lk.15:1-32).  We see this in the washing of the feet (Jn.13:1-17) and in the glorious resurrection of Jesus the humble carpenter.

This is what’s known as ‘The Great Reversal’, and it horrifies the Rich Man in today’s parable.  His problem is that the rules of this world don’t apply in heaven.  He shouldn’t have been surprised, however.  We know that God’s ways aren’t our ways (Is.55:8-9).  In God’s kingdom, the lowly are lifted, the hungry are filled, the high and mighty are torn down and the proud are scattered (Lk.1:51-54; 1Sam.2: 1,4-5,7-8).

Are you prepared for The Great Reversal?  If not, there’s no time to waste. 

Take a look around:  who is Lazarus waiting at your gate?  Who are the poor you’ll see today?  They might not be materially poor, but they could be poor in friendship, poor in health, poor in hope, poor in joy ….

Reach out to them.  Welcome them in.

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[i] St Jerome in the fourth century called the rich man ‘Dives’.  It simply means ‘rich man’ in Latin.

On Serving Two Masters

(Am.8:4-7; 1Tim.2:1-8; Lk.16:1-13)

Carlo Goldoni’s play The Servant of Two Masters (1746) includes a scene where the character Truffaldino (‘Little Trickster’) tries to serve his two masters at simultaneous banquets, without either being aware of the other. It’s a farcical situation that highlights the absurdity of trying to please two masters at once.

This is like the old Japanese proverb that says, ‘A loyal soldier cannot serve two lords’.  It’s impossible for us to please everyone and to always be in two places at the same time, so from time to time we all have to choose between competing priorities (Rom.12:2).  But that’s not always easy to do.

In Return of the Jedi (1983), Luke Skywalker has to choose between the goodness of the Force and the evil of the Dark Side.  In Ben-Hur (1959, 2016), Judah has to choose between his Jewish heritage and the glory of Roman power.  Neither man can have both, and they have to fight for their choices.

In sixteenth century England, St Thomas More and St Margaret Clitherow had to choose between the whims of King Henry VIII and their Catholic faith.  That took great courage, and both died for their choices.

It’s not surprising then that some people avoid making important decisions.  They’d rather wait for a crisis, such as a health problem or losing their job or marriage, before doing anything.  But sometimes it takes a crisis to bring out the best in us.  Crises can be very useful turning points in our lives.

In today’s Gospel, a landowner finds that his steward (his estate manager) has been squandering his property, and he dismisses him. The steward had, in effect, two masters: his employer and himself, and his employer expected loyalty.  In those days, stewards had the right to charge a commission on every transaction they handled for their landholder.  We don’t know what he did wrong, but he’s fortunate in only being dismissed and not imprisoned or fined. 

But this is a moment of crisis, and he has to make a decision.  He knows his prospects are limited because he’s too old to dig, and too proud to beg.  So what does he do?  Does he hide in shame or does he take this opportunity to turn his life around?  He decides to do the latter.

This steward knows he has a little time before others hear about his sacking.  So he calls in the master’s debtors and he offers to reduce their debts.  He appears to do this by deleting from each contract the commission he would have earned for himself. 

He’s taking a loss, but he’s also taking care of his future by making the most of what little he has.  The debtors are delighted and the landowner’s reputation is enhanced.[i]  Everyone benefits.

Like all parables, this one’s meant to surprise us and to make us think.

Now, why is Jesus praising the steward? He’s not praising him for his dishonesty.  Rather, he’s praising him for solving his problem in a way that benefits everyone.  He’s put aside his greed and he’s chosen to use what he has to help others, as well as himself. And is it wrong that he himself might benefit? No, not at all. Jesus promised us that whenever we give, we’ll receive even more in return (Mk.4:8).

Bishop Robert Barron says that Jesus admires this man for three reasons, and each is of great spiritual importance.  Firstly, the steward finds himself in serious trouble, but he’s not complacent about it.  He knows he has to make a choice.  Secondly, he makes an honest assessment of his situation, and thirdly, he acts decisively.  He decides to make amends, by doing something that benefits all the stakeholders, including himself.

Bishop Barron says we need to do the same.  He says that we all live in a time of crisis, and it’s time to wake up.  We must stop deceiving ourselves, saying that everything’s OK when really we’re being far too complacent. 

It was Karl Barth who said that the greatest of the deadly sins is sloth, where people simply don’t care about their spiritual life.^[ii]  St Thomas Aquinas described sloth as ‘sluggishness of the mind’ which is evil because it stops a person from doing good deeds (Heb.6:12).

Many people today say they love Jesus and call themselves Christian, but do little or nothing about it.  At the same time, they live very secular, self-indulgent lives.  Are they serving two masters?  Are they trying to embrace two competing goals?  Jesus says you cannot be the slave of both God and mammon (Mt.6:24).

At this time of crisis, it’s time to wake up, to make a clear decision: are we with Jesus or against him (Mt.12:30)?  There’s no room for complacency; the stakes are too high.

Every crisis gives us an opportunity to turn ourselves into something better than we were before. Has the time come for you to revisit your priorities?

What changes will you make?

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[i] John J Pilch, The Cultural World of Jesus. Liturgical Press, Collegeville.1997:139-141.

[ii] https://wordonfire.podbean.com/e/the-unjust-steward-1466014215/

On Rembrandt’s Prodigal Son

(Ex.32:7-11,13-14; 1Tim.1:12-17; Lk.15:1-32)

Rembrandt’s masterpiece The Return of the Prodigal Son has been called one of the greatest paintings of all time.[i]  I saw it last year at the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg.  It’s much bigger than I expected, at 262 x 205 cm (8.5’ x 7’).  Rembrandt painted it shortly before he died, penniless, in 1669.

This painting gives us a snapshot of the action in Jesus’ famous parable, from Luke’s Gospel today.  But it also depicts some of Rembrandt’s own story.

Look closely.  There are six people in front of a dark archway, but we can only clearly see three.  On the left, the elderly father is embracing his younger son who has just returned home, feeling deeply ashamed.  He has squandered his inheritance on a life of debauchery and now he’s desperate.  His clothes are filthy and torn.  His shoes are ruined.  Like a convict, his head has been shaved.  His eyes are swollen and his skin looks sickly.  He has a rope for a belt and a dagger for protection from the outside world. He’s kneeling and begging his father for forgiveness.  He wants to come home.

There’s a warm glow about the father.  He looks wise and gentle.  His left eye is blind and his right is fixed on his son.  His red robe symbolises the pain of martyrdom, the fire of the Holy Spirit and the blood he shares with his two sons. 

The father, of course, represents our loving God.  He’s delighted to have his son back. We can see the love, mercy and forgiveness flowing down from his bowed shoulders into his hands as he caresses and blesses the boy.  One hand is soft and feminine, the other is broad and masculine.  These healing hands remind us that God is both our mother and our father, and that God is always so much more than we can ever imagine him to be.

Emerging from the gloom on the right is the elder son, dripping with envy.[ii]  We can see this in his rigid back, his lowered eyes, his wringing hands and his distance from his brother.  He has served his father well – he’s never once disobeyed him. Yet, now this sinner, this brother of his, is being rewarded for doing just the opposite.  

The other three people in the darkness are unknown.  One might be the mother; the others could be servants.  But Rembrandt often used light to emphasise the presence of goodness and love and the power of God’s divine mercy (Jn.1:5; Jn.12:46). He also used shadow to indicate the presence of sin (Jn.3:19-20; Rom.13:12).

We can see this in the elder son’s hands. One is dark, the other is light. He’s clearly struggling with the two sides of his nature.

Now, this isn’t Rembrandt’s only painting of the Prodigal Son.  Over a period of thirty years he etched, sketched and painted many different scenes from this parable.  

In an earlier painting, The Prodigal Son in the Tavern [iii] (c.1637), Rembrandt portrayed himself as the prodigal son.  It shows him carousing with his wealthy wife Saskia, drinking from a huge wine goblet and wearing extravagant clothes. The peacock on the left symbolises vanity and opulence.  

Rembrandt revelled in Saskia’s money, expecting it to last forever.  But Saskia died in 1642, aged only 32, and three children died as well. Then he took on a mistress, but Dutch society disapproved and he found himself shunned, unemployed and, in time, destitute.

To be prodigal is to be recklessly wasteful and extravagant.  Rembrandt saw that in himself.  His tragic life had left him broken and desperately needing mercy and forgiveness.  That’s why he painted The Return of the Prodigal Son.  He painted this masterpiece while suffering the agony of the death of his last beloved son, Titus. ^[iv]  It was an autobiographical statement.

But it’s also a word of caution for the rest of us, because Rembrandt’s situation isn’t so unusual today. Too many people continue to revel in self-love, self-indulgence and self-righteous pride.

Rembrandt saw himself in all three characters of this parable.   He was the younger son, ruined by self-indulgence.  And he was the elder son, guilty of resentful pride.  But he also knew that his biggest challenge was to become like the father.  Having suffered so much in the darkness, he understood the importance of having someone to turn to.

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus tells us to ‘be compassionate just as your father is compassionate’ (Lk.6:36).  Henri Nouwen says that this is the core message of the Bible.  In his book The Return of the Prodigal Son, he explains how much he has learnt from Rembrandt’s tragic experience and he declares, ‘I now see that the hands that forgive, console, heal and offer a festive meal must become my own.’ ^[v]

This is our challenge, too. 

So, where are you in this picture?  Are you the younger son?  Are you the elder son? 

Or are you now the wise and compassionate parent, offering unconditional love and acceptance to those who suffer?

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[i] http://www.visual-arts-cork.com/famous-paintings/return-of-the-prodigal-son.htm

[ii] Madeleine Stebbins, Looking at a Masterpiece. Emmaus Road: Steubenville OH. 2017:18-21.

[iii] This painting is also known as The Prodigal Son in the Brothel, as The Happy Couple, and as Rembrandt and Saskia in the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

[iv] Stefano Zuffi, Gospel Figures in Art. Getty Publications, Los Angeles. 2003:225.

[v] Henri Nouwen, The Return of the Prodigal Son: A Story of Homecoming. Image Books, N.Y. 1992:126.

On our Deepest Longings

(Wis.9:13-18; Phlm.9-10, 12-17; Lk.14:25-33)

In his autobiography The Seven Storey Mountain, Thomas Merton recalls that he’d just converted to Christianity and was walking through Greenwich Village with the poet Robert Lax. Lax asked him, ‘What do you want to be, anyway?’

Merton hadn’t much thought about it.  He replied, ‘I don’t know; I guess what I want is to be a good Catholic.’  But Lax wouldn’t accept that.  He said, ‘What you should say is that I want to be a saint’. 

‘How do you expect me to be a saint?’ asked Merton.

‘By wanting to,’ Lax replied.  ‘All that’s necessary to be a saint is to want to be one.  Don’t you believe that God will make you what he created you be, if you’ll let him do it?  All you have to do is desire it.’ [i]

Napoleon Hill said something similar in his book Think and Grow Rich (1937).  He said that the starting point for all achievement is desire.  Keep this constantly in mind, he said, because weak desire brings weak results. But he wasn’t just talking about money; he was talking about living a rich, fulfilling life.

It can be hard to understand our own desires, because there’s often so much noise, pressure and control around us.  It can be hard to read our own hearts.  This is where we need to find time for silence and prayer (Mt.6:6).

And desire itself comes in many different forms, from simple wishes through to sudden impulses and our deepest longings.  A wish is a desire that’s unlikely to happen, and an impulse is something we haven’t much thought about.  But a longing is a strong and continuing desire, especially for something that’s hard to achieve.

Peter van Breemen SJ says that if we could all realise our most authentic longings, then the Kingdom of God would already be here.  He says the will of God isn’t something strange and terrible that gets laid down on top of us and to which we must blindly bow.  On the contrary, it corresponds to our true deepest being.

‘Just as … God is the deepest foundation of our nature … so in the realm of the will, God’s will is identical to our own deepest personal will (Jn.15:8).  God wants to see the unfolding and true fulfilment of our person – much more than we ourselves want to …  (His) will for us to live is stronger and more authentic than our own.’ ^[ii] That’s why Jesus says, ‘I came that they may have life, and have it to the full’ (Jn.10:10).

So desire is where sainthood starts. But as St. Philip Neri once said, ‘One should not wish to become a saint in four days, but step by step’.  

Today’s Gospel is useful here, for Jesus outlines some of these steps.  He says, ‘If any man comes to me without hating his father, mother, wife, children, brothers, sisters, yes and his own life too, he cannot be my disciple’.

Now, Jesus isn’t encouraging us to actually hate our family, because the 4^th Commandment [iii] tells us to ‘honour thy mother and father’.  Jesus’ language, Aramaic, didn’t have a word for ‘prefer’.  In Aramaic, if you preferred one thing over another, you’d say you ‘loved’ one thing, but ‘hated’ the other.  But it doesn’t mean ‘hate’ as we use the word today. [iv]

So, what Jesus is saying is to get our priorities straight.  Put Jesus first.  Be prepared to leave people and things behind when he calls us, because they can distract us.  They can stop us doing what we should be doing. 

Similarly, Jesus tells us to hate our own lives (Lk.14:26).  In other words, be prepared to resist our own human failings, because pride, laziness, selfishness and fear can stop us doing what we should be doing.

Jesus then talks about a man building a tower, and a king going to war.  The point he’s making is that before doing anything significant, we must first think carefully and then make a decision.

He’s talking about our faith.  If we’re serious about being Christians, then we need to reflect on it and make a decision.  Our Christianity isn’t just a label; it’s a way of life.  It’s a relationship with Jesus, and we must put him first.  That’s why Jesus says ‘you cannot be my disciple unless you give up all your possessions’ (Lk.14:33). 

The French novelist Marcel Proust wrote that desire makes everything blossom, but possession makes everything wither and fade. 

This is great wisdom.  If we want to achieve our deepest longings, we must be prepared to let things go.  Mother Teresa left her family.  St Therese of Lisieux gave up a comfortable life.  St Katherine Drexel gave up a huge inheritance.

Jesus Christ sacrificed his life.

What are you prepared to let go?

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[i] Thomas Merton, The Seven Storey Mountain. Harcourt, Orlando, 1998:262-263.

[ii] Peter van Breemen, The God of our Deepest Longings.  Ave Maria Press, Notre Dame, IN. 2009:11.

[iii] It’s the 4^th Commandment in the Augustinian system, but the 5^th in the Philonic (Protestant) system of counting.

[iv] Brendan Byrne, The Hospitality of God. The Liturgical Press, Collegeville, 2000:125.