Footprints in the Snow

Footprints in the Snow

A Christmas Parable

An oversized hand pushed back the panel of a lace window curtain and two eyes peered out from inside. The eyes bore the marks of age. Wrinkles were their bookends. But there was something else about those eyes. They were childlike, eyes that were beacons of innocence, goodness, awe and wonder.

“A white Christmas!” he exclaimed in a tone that conveyed both giddiness and resignation. “I guess I won’t be making it to Midnight Mass this year; I doubt anyone will,” he said to no one but the solitude that was his companion that Christmas Eve and the eves and days that preceded it for many years. Solitude greeted him in the morning and tucked him into bed at night. It sat across from him for morning coffee, and was his dinner guest each evening. It was the silent listener to his mumblings, to his memories, to his prayers, to the humming of the songs of his youth, and to the sighs and grunts that invariably now accompanied standing, sitting, walking, and just about every movement of his eighty-something year old body. It would be the first Midnight Mass he would miss since the years when “visions of sugarplums danced in his head.” But it had been snowing since early morning and it would be a fool’s mission to be out on the roads that night.

As he fell into the comfort of his armchair, a chair that knew the shape, the contour, every curve of his body, he surveyed the room. It was a large living room in a large house, where there were now more rooms closed off than the three which he presently occupied. It was a house where memories took up more space than furniture. And those memories all came rushing forth out of their usual hiding places that Christmas Eve. He smiled, his eyes became heavy, and his head nodded as his memories became more real to him than the stark reality of being alone.

His brief sleep was startled, however, by the sound of tires spinning nowhere on the street outside his house. And sure enough, as his hand once again pulled back the curtain of the living room window, he made out in the blizzarding snow, the image of a man kneeling as if in prayer beneath the street light, his hands immersed into the cold snow, vainly attempting to dig his car out of the snowdrift into which it had skidded.

“Damn fool!” he mumbled as he let go of the curtain and moved toward his front door as quickly as a man his age could. “Hey! Hey you! You’re stuck! Come here! You’re never gonna to be able to dig yourself out until a plow comes, and God knows when that will be. You might as well come inside and wait.” And so, the man abandoned his car, and the snow, and the cold, and accepted the invitation.

“Look at you! Not even a coat on! You’re gonna catch your death of cold! Take off your shoes and let them dry out a bit,” he said as he opened the door for his unexpected guest to enter. “The name’s Sam.”

“Oh. Heard by God,” his guest smiled in response as he kicked off one shoe.

“What’s that?” Sam squinted back.

“Your name, 'Samuel.' It means Heard by God.”

“Ohhh . . . Well, if God’s heard me, all he’s heard lately is a lot of cussing and complaining,” Sam chuckled.

“I’m Manny,” said his guest as he kicked off the second shoe.

"Well, pleased to meet you Manny. Do you want to use the phone and call your family to let them know you’re okay?” inquired Sam.

“No thanks,” replied Manny. “I’m not from around here.”

“Not spending Christmas with family?” said Sam in a tone that reflected both his surprise and his softheartedness. “Well, I guess we’re kindred spirits then . . . So, if you’re not from around here, where are you from?”

“Hmm . . . Here, there and everywhere, really,” responded Manny vaguely. “I kind of move around a lot.”

“Good for you!” beamed Sam. “It’s great for a young man like yourself to see the world before having to carry the weight of responsibility on his shoulders . . . Come on into the living room and make yourself at home. Come sit by the fireplace and get warm. Let me turn off the radio,” which had been playing Christmas carols nonstop all day.

“No, please!” Manny protested. “I like it. I could listen to Christmas carols the whole year through, and, as a matter of fact, sometimes I do.”

“Say, I bet you’re hungry and could use a nice hot cup of coffee. And I just made something that I think you’re gonna like – tomato soup cake – from an old family recipe, treasured and passed down from generation to generation . . . from the back label of a Campbell’s Tomato Soup can,” chuckled Sam. “Sit here and let the fire warm you. I’ll be right back.”

But when he emerged from the kitchen several minutes later, rather than sitting and warming himself, he found Manny standing at the mantle of the fireplace examining the photographs that were carefully arranged there.

“That’s my family,” Sam offered. “This is my wife, Maeve, the sweetest girl with the prettiest eyes to ever come across the sea from Ireland. That one there is my daughter Megan. And this . . . this is my son, Daniel. Megan lives in California now. She’s very successful, very busy. A lawyer! So, there’s really not much time for visits. And Daniel . . . Daniel was killed in the war. And picking up the picture of his wife and holding it to his chest as if to hug her, he said, “Maeve was never the same after that. Those Irish eyes lost their smile. The doctors say it was a heart attack that took her. I say it was a broken heart.”

And, so as to not give into the melancholy of the moment, he directed Manny’s attention to another picture on the mantle. “And this one . . . well this one is my favorite! It’s of Maeve and Daniel and Megan out in the front yard after the blizzard of ’78. Just look at the smiles on those faces! And look at the tracks they left, the snow angels and footprints in the snow! You know, all winter long I would look out the window and would see those footprints and would get this overwhelming sense of peace, of joy, because even though my children or my wife might have been in school or shopping, the footprints were the telltale signs that they had been there. Those vacant footprints, to me, were still filled with life and love and laughter. That’s why I cherish this picture. Because, although those footprints have been covered over with many seasons’ worth of grass and leaves and more snow, in this picture, those footprints are preserved and frozen for all time.”

“You know, Sam, not everyone who visits us leaves footprints in the snow.”

“What? What’s that? What do you mean?” asked Sam, baffled by Manny’s statement.

“Angels leave no footprints. And neither does God. Yet without a doubt, they visit us, walk with us, stay with us. Some are unconvinced that God is with them, knows them and cares about them. And others despair when they don’t see the footprints. They believe God has abandoned them or worse – that he doesn’t exist at all. But the pure of heart don’t need to see footprints to know he has visited them, walked with them, loves them.”

Sam’s eyes widened; he scratched his head, and then nodded as the realization of Manny’s insight sunk in.

They spoke of many things that night - of faith and of folly . . . of laughter and of lament . . . of love and of loss . . . of things remembered and of things that are better forgotten. Was it hours they spoke? Minutes? Or was it only merely moments? All Sam knew is that the time sped by all too quickly; time that he wished was tangible, that he could hold onto and savor.

A pause came to their conversation and a glint of glee sparkled in Sam’s eyes as he glanced at his small Christmas tree which stood where grander trees stood tall in Christmases past. He got up from his chair and moved toward the tree with a briskness that his legs hadn’t known in years.

“Ohhh! I have something for you! A Christmas present!” Sam exclaimed. “Every year I buy myself a present and wrap it, put it under the tree and open it on Christmas morning, trying to convince myself that I don’t know what’s inside. I want you to have it. Here . . .”

Sam handed the crudely wrapped box to Manny who opened it and smiled. It was a grey cardigan sweater.

“Sam, it’s beautiful. And you’re so kind to offer it to me. But I can’t,” protested Manny.

“Ah, I’ve got a dozen of them. Try it on,” insisted Sam. And Manny obliged.

“Well, it’s a little big but you’ll grown into it,” Sam said with a wink and a smile. “But take it off now so you feel the good of it outside later.”

And just as Manny did, the sound of steel gliding across asphalt interrupted the serenity of the Christmas music on the radio, of their conversation, of the moment, and a stark and unwelcomed reality suddenly hit Sam.

“The plow,” he said without expression. He knew his Christmas guest would soon be leaving.

“Yeah, I guess I better go out and clear the snow off my car and hit the road,” responded Manny with a tone of somber reluctance.

“Let me walk you to the door . . . Now don’t forget your shoes!” Sam joked. And, as he reached the hallway, he was both confused and amazed when he realized that they had left no puddle on the floor.

Sam then gathered the courage to ask the question that had puzzled him and grew with greater intensity all night long. “Say, do I know you. Have we ever met before? Your face seems awfully familiar to me.”

“Maybe we’ve met before,” said Manny. “Or maybe I just have one of those faces that looks like everyone else,” he said with a smile.

And Sam’s childlike eyes stared deeply into Manny’s, hoping that a time, a place, some remembrance of a past encounter, would surface from the dust and cobwebs of his mind. But no recollection emerged, which didn’t stop Sam from believing somehow, somewhere, sometime, the two had met before.

“Well anyway. . . umm . . . Merry Christmas, Manny,” Sam offered.

“Merry Christmas Sam.” And as his hand reached for the door knob, he turned back and looked intently into Sam’s eyes. “Sam, today salvation has come to this house. You are not far from the kingdom of God.” And with that, he turned away, opened the door, and was gone.

The door closed. Sam returned to the living room, to his old familiar chair, to the carols on his radio. As his head found the hollow in the upholstered back of the chair that was its usual resting place, he tried to make sense of Manny’s parting words and of that whole Christmas Eve night. Suddenly his eyes caught sight of the sweater that Manny had left draped on the arm of the chair where he had been sitting.

“Hey! Hey! Wait a minute! You forgot! You forgot your sweater!” Sam raced to the door and, as he opened it, the radio suddenly began to blare at an almost deafening volume with the most beautiful sounding choir he had ever heard singing:

Hark! the herald angels sing,

"Glory to the new-born King!

Peace on earth, and mercy mild,

God and sinners reconciled.”

And . . . coming seemingly from both nowhere and everywhere . . . was Manny’s voice above the sound of the choir:

“For I was hungry, and you gave me food, I was thirsty, and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me.”

Sam squinted to see past the falling snow. But beneath the street lamp, he saw no plow. He saw no car. He saw no Manny. And suddenly, Sam gasped. Tears brimmed from those eyes which again beamed with childlike innocence, awe and wonder. The cascading tears warmed his frozen cheeks as he looked down at the pathway that led to his door. For he realized . . . there were no footprints in the snow.

Two thousand years ago, a babe was born in a manger, wrapped in swaddling clothes, serenaded by angels, visited by shepherds and Wise Men. He grew, and walked the dusty roads of Galilee and Judea, walked up a hill called Calvary, and walked out of a tomb that held his body for three days. And today, he walks whatever road life takes us. He is Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. He is Emmanuel, “GOD WITH US.” Blessed are the pure of heart who need no footprints in the snow to know that God has been in their midst.

Deacon Bruce Olsen: 2018

Revised: 2022

An Advent Prayer to St. Joseph

 Advent Prayer to St. Joseph

by Deacon Bruce Olsen

Hail Joseph, weary Advent traveler, protector of the treasures of heaven! You led the Virgin Mother and the Child in her womb along winding and rocky paths, through desert and mountain and valley and plain, to the city of David, to honor a decree, to fulfill a prophesy. We, too, are Bethlehem bound. Will you show us the way?

A star guided the Wise Men to the stable, and an angel pointed the way for the shepherds. But we desire you to be our guide - because in following in the footsteps of your faith and virtue, your strength and courage, your humility, righteousness and purity, your complete trust and abandonment to the will of God, and your unconditional love and devotion to the Blessed Virgin and the child in the tabernacle of her womb - we have absolute assurance that we will encounter, not only the Babe in the manger, but the Savior on the cross, the One risen from the tomb, the Bread of Life in the Eucharist, and the Lord of Lords seated on his Heavenly Throne.

Please light for us the dark and arduous pathways we travel till we encounter the true Light born to you and for us. Keep us alert and focused. Free us from distraction, lest the commotion of the world causes us to stray and takes us only to lighted trees and presents rather than to a star-lit stable and God's greatest gift. 

Sure our footing and let us not stumble or wander from the path through sin. Protect us, as you did Mary and the Promised One, from all that might bring danger to our souls. Reassure us when we are wearied and discouraged by the struggles, disappointments, anxieties and fears that tempt us to abandon our journey to Bethlehem and the one whom we desire to encounter there.

And when I, too, am rejected by the innkeepers of the world, when there seems no room for me and I don’t know where my place is, grant me welcome and acceptance at the stable by you, Mary and Jesus, the holiest of all families. 

This Advent, keep us watchful, keep us alert, to see the face of the One we seek in the face of the hungry and the thirsty, in the stranger and the naked, in the sick and the prisoner, in the sinner and the saint, and within ourselves. Bless us, O Righteous One, with the same Advent hope, peace, joy, and love that marked the first Advent, your Advent, on the journey to Bethlehem.

The Second Sunday of Easter (Year ABC) - Divine Mercy Sunday

A FOUNTAIN . . . A STREAM . . . A RIVER . . . AN OCEAN OF MERCY

Divine Mercy Sunday

The Second Sunday of Easter (Year ABC)

Acts 5: 12-16; Revelation 1: 9-11a, 12-13, 17-19; John 20: 19-31

One thing I love about the Gospels, and especially the Gospels in the first few weeks of the Easter season, is that often they play out like an episodic drama. We hear one part of the story one week, but it is continued the following week, similar to a good television series or soap opera. Case in point, our Gospel today. Last week, Easter Sunday, we heard that Mary Magdalene, following the instructions she had received from Jesus, goes to the Apostles, locked behind the doors that they hoped would hide them from the Jewish and Roman authorities, the same Jewish and Roman authorities that had cruelly, brutally, mercilessly put to death three days before - their master, their teacher, the one they had followed for three years, the one they had pinned their hopes on, the one they had loved. Her message was an incredible one, “He is risen!” And on hearing that, Peter and John have a foot race to the tomb, where they find it just as Mary had told them – empty.

Today’s “Part Two” of the story, takes place the same day - Easter Sunday night. Huddled in fear in this locked room are these friends of Jesus who, after the Last Supper, could not stay awake one hour to pray with him, and who ran away when the Roman guards came to arrest him; friends who spoke not a word in his defense at his trial - except for Peter who three times denied he even knew Jesus. Here are the closest disciples of Christ who were nowhere to be found when Jesus needed help carrying his cross. They were counted among the absent at the foot of the cross. But notice the immediacy and even urgency of Jesus. Not days, but only hours after his Resurrection, allowing neither death nor bolted doors to hold him back, Jesus appears to his Apostles and offers words of forgiveness, words of peace, words of mercy. No judgment. No condemnation.

Five weeks ago, on the Third Sunday of Lent, our First Reading, from the Book of Exodus, recalled when, from the burning bush, God revealed His name to Moses – “YAHWEH” . . . “I AM WHO AM.” And just who is “I AM WHO AM? God also revealed that to Moses, this time on Mount Sinai when he gave the two stone tablets to him, on which were inscribed, by God’s own finger, His law, the Ten Commandments. For He said to Moses, “The LORD, the LORD, a merciful and gracious God, slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity, continuing his kindness for a thousand generations, and forgiving wickedness and crime and sin.” God is the fullness of all things bright and beautiful; all things just and true; all things sweet and pure. God is love. God is mercy. And so, that the risen Jesus would find it in his divine heart of hearts to forgive this unfaithful bunch shouldn’t then surprise us at all.

When Pope Francis inaugurated the Year of Mercy in 2015, he said, “Jesus Christ is the face of the Father’s mercy.” And indeed, He is. God’s mercy streams from Jesus’ heart. I’m sure you’ve seen images of the Divine Mercy, representations of the vision of Jesus by St. Faustina, with rays of light emanating from his heart. Our Lord, himself, explained this to St, Faustina, saying: “The two rays denote Blood and Water. The pale ray stands for the Water which makes souls righteous. The red ray stands for the Blood which is the life of souls. These two rays issued forth from the depths of My tender mercy when My agonized Heart was opened by a lance on the Cross. Happy is the one who will dwell in their shelter, for the just hand of God shall not lay hold of him” (299).

• Christ's heart is God's mercy on us . . .
• Christ's heart is God's forgiveness of our foolish sins . . .
• Christ's heart is God's pardon for our crimes against the hearts of others in our lives . . .
• Christ's heart is offered in love for all the times we have selfishly held on to our own desires, for all the times we have stubbornly held back what was ours to give and share . . .
• Christ's heart, sentenced to the Cross, is our freedom, our parole, our own sentence served.
• Christ’s heart is an eternal fountain of forgiveness that never stops pumping, flowing, gushing forth with mercy, mercy that has no end. The font of Jesus’ mercy is never turned OFF by the vagaries of our repentance - or lack of it.

God’s mercy precedes our sins . . . the small ones, the medium ones, the large ones, even the extra-large ones. God knows that we will sin and is ready to forgive our sins long before we even think of sinning. That sin I find so hard to acknowledge? to bring to speech? to confess? God’s mercy was there to wash away, to forgive, to erase long before I did what I did, long before I failed to do what I should have done. God only waits for me to claim the mercy already prepared for me and offered to me in the sacrament of reconciliation, that I might be set free of what burdens and haunts my heart.

God has mercy to spare - eternal springs and rivers and oceans of mercy to spare. Many of us spend a good part of our lives struggling to believe that God’s mercy and love are truly meant for us. And many of us spend a good part of our lives struggling to forgive someone who has deeply hurt us. Sometimes the only way we can forgive those who have hurt us is to entrust them to the mercy of God . . . God who has so generously forgiven us who find it so difficult to forgive one another.

On this Divine Mercy Sunday, we are also challenged to discern where, in our own lives, each of us stands in need of God’s mercy. AND, on this Divine Mercy Sunday, we are called to discern when and where and how, in our own lives, each of us has the opportunity, the responsibility, to be merciful to those around us. If Jesus is the face of the Father’s mercy, then each of us is called to be the face of Jesus for one another.

I know that many of you right now might be saying, “How do I tap into this ever-gushing font of God’s mercy?" It’s simple . . . go to Confession, the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Sin without repentance is the only obstacle that prevents Jesus Christ from deeply healing and sanctifying our souls. Take an inventory of your heart. If there is anything in your heart that is impeding your love for Jesus or prohibiting you from accepting His - any grudge still held, any despair or mistrust, any kind word left unsaid, any duty seriously neglected, any unloving thought, word or deed - this is the time for a "spring cleaning of the soul." Make a good confession, and then try your best, with the help of grace, to keep your soul clean, open, and ready to receive our Savior in Holy Communion. 

On that first Easter Sunday night, the master, the teacher, the one they had followed for three years, the one they had pinned their hopes on, the one they had loved, said to his Apostles, “Peace be with you.” He says that also to us. And like them He desires to pass through the bolted door of our souls with urgency and immediacy. Like Thomas, he allows us to probe the opening in his side from which flowed the blood and water from His most Sacred Heart and which now flows out the ocean of his Divine Mercy. Will we, in turn, allow him to probe the wounds of our afflicted lives, to touch our souls? For with His peace comes joy to our broken hearts. With that peace comes mercy to our sin-stained souls.

“God our Father,

your Son Jesus expired,

but the source of life GUSHED forth for souls,

and the OCEAN of mercy opened up for the whole world.

We pray that this FOUNTAIN of Life,

the UNFATHOMABLE Divine Mercy,

ENVELOP the whole world

and be EMPTIED out upon us.” Amen.

The Third Week of Lent (Year C)

KIND, MERCIFUL, GRACIOUS:

THE GOD OF SECOND CHANCES

The Third Week of Lent (Year C)

Exodus 3: 1-8A, 13-15; 1 Corinthians 10: 1-6, 10-12; Luke 13: 1-9

Two and a half weeks ago, as Lent began, we were marked with ashes, reminded that we are dust and unto dust we shall return upon our death, and instructed to repent and believe in the Gospel. We listened with fresh ears to St. Paul’s appeal as an ambassador of Christ calling us to be “reconciled to God” and enjoining us not to procrastinate, saying that “Now is the acceptable time. Now is the day of salvation.” Lent is a period in which we remember, in the words of today’s Psalm, that the Lord is “kind and merciful,” pardons all our iniquities, heals all our ills, redeems our life from destruction, and crowns us with his kindness and compassion. It’s a chance for us to ponder how merciful and gracious he is, how slow to anger and overflowing in goodness, and to come before him to allow him to fill us with his merciful love, press the reset button on our life, bring our soul back to its baptismal splendor and make all of heaven rejoice that we, who were wayward and lost, have been found. And we who were dead through sin have the chance to experience resurrection through reconciliation.

But we need to ask ourselves what difference this special season, overflowing in God’s mercy and kindness, has made in our life until now. Have we heard and responded to Jesus’ call to conversion and spiritual growth? Have we prayed more, read Scripture more, sacrificed more? Have we demonstrated more patience, more love, more compassion, more mercy? Or have we been nonchalant about the opportunities Lent offers us and find ourselves on this Third Sunday of Lent no spiritually different than we were on March 1st, the day before this holy season began.

That’s one of the reasons why today’s readings are so important, because they’re meant to shock us out of complacency — almost as defibrillator paddles for our souls — and get us to examine honestly whether we have been responding to God’s kindness and mercy as he desires us to do this Lent or whether we have been taking these 40 days in vain - casually, no different than the other 225 days of the year.

Today’s Gospel begins with the people discussing what is weighing heavily on their minds and in their hearts. Pontius Pilate has made a religious sacrifice to the emperor - who was often considered a kind of demigod. And, as a part of that burnt sacrifice, he slaughtered a gathering of Galilean Jews and placed their remains on the sacrificial pyre, mixing their blood with the blood of the animal sacrifices that the Galilean pilgrims had brought to the Temple. And as if that isn’t horrifying enough, at the same time Jesus hears of Pilate’s treachery, news arrives that a tower in Siloam has fallen, crushing eighteen people.

We can relate, can’t we? Because technology has made the world smaller, we hear of all the disturbing and unsettling tragedies from around our country and in our world; tragedies which break our hearts and shock our sensibilities. Just in the past two years the world has dealt with pandemics, floods, draughts, earthquakes, volcanos, locust infestation in Africa, terrorist attacks in Afghanistan and Somalia, war and inhuman atrocities in the Ukraine. And like the crowd in today’s gospel, their questions are our questions. Why? Why God? Why do bad things happen to good people? Do these people deserve their fate? Is it God’s will? Is it his punishment? And Jesus emphatically says to them, and to us, “BY NO MEANS!”

Although our mind often likes to connect a cause with an effect, Jesus’ response is good news that should give us a sense of peace and consolation. Because what Jesus is saying is, we don’t have a vengeful, spiteful God. He doesn’t punish us with tragedy, calamity, misfortune, bad luck or disease. We don’t have a “Gotcha God,” one who lurks in the shadows and behind the corners ready to lunge out and punish us at our smallest indiscretion. God just doesn’t work that way. It’s not who he is. We are, however, vulnerable to human nature, to the poor, sometimes evil, sometimes even horrific decisions of other people. And we’re also vulnerable to the forces of nature, forces that can bring about both atmospheric calamities and disease. Our faith is not a suit of armor that renders us impervious from these things, but it can be a shield to help us remain strong in the face of them.

So, from a feeling of compassion, and maybe even empathy, that we might feel for the Jews who had to come to grips with the tragedies mentioned in the gospel, to a feeling of consolation that God doesn’t rain misfortune on our sinfulness, Jesus then seems to pull the rug from in under us. He says, “But I tell you, if you do not repent, you will all perish as they did!” Just as we were feeling safe and secure, Jesus reminds us that God is just and that he does punish . . . in the afterlife. And we know that, of course, but it’s certainly something that most of us would like to forget - that what we do does have consequences . . . eternal consequences. That we aren’t blameless. And that we need to repent, or our fate will be worse than those who lost their lives in the tragedies in Israel.

From there, Jesus tells us the Parable of the Fig Tree that doesn’t bear fruit. In ancient times, Palestinian fig trees were valuable. They bore fruit ten months of the year, and their fruit was very popular. In Jesus’ story, the gardener has spent three years nurturing that tree, encouraging it to mature and grow fruit, but it has produced nothing. The orchard owner has lost patience and is ready to cut it down, but the gardener pleads with him to give the tree one more chance, to let him prune it, to cut away what is dead, to fertilize it, and see what that attention and care might yield.

And so, yes, Jesus says that if we don’t repent, we will all perish, but through the parable, he reassures us that God is a God of second chances. And maybe even third, fourth and fifth chances. Jesus wills that we live. He wills that we bear fruit. And he will do everything possible, even move heaven and earth, to get us to do that.

As with many of Jesus’ parables, we don’t get to hear the end of the story. We don’t because the end of the story is still to be written. Many of Jesus’ parables are meant to be mirrors for us to look at and see ourselves. Are we the fig tree that responds to the care and attention of Jesus the gardener? Or, despite his efforts, do we still bear no fruit?

What type of fruit does God want us to produce? I’d like to suggest that there are three kinds of fruit he’d like to see from us.

• Firstly, there are the Fruits of the Spirit that St Paul talks about in his Letter to the Galatians: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Do you produce all these fruits? Do they reflect your life today?
• Secondly, there’s the Fruit of Good Works, which St Paul also talks about in the Letter to the Colossians. What good works are you now doing for others? What should you be doing for others?
• And finally, there are the Fruits of Praise. Our reverence, praise, gratitude and joy start from a seed of awareness and acknowledgement of God in our lives and is grown in the soil of our hearts, enriched with humility, surrender and trust. Do you spend time getting to know God? And how do you express your love for him?

As we approach Christ, the Tree of Life in the Holy Eucharist, as we draw near him who is the incarnation of the God, we thank Him for all his blessings — for our baptism, for the privilege to receive his body and blood, for the availability of his life-changing forgiveness in Confession, for his great hope in us — but especially for giving us more time this Lent to bear the type of fruit that he expects. The most fruitful tree that has ever existed was the Tree of the Cross, and it’s here at Mass that we become truly united as branches on the Tree with Christ on the Cross so that, together with him, we will indeed bear much fruit. In the Mass, from the Cross, Jesus is fertilizing the soil of our souls so that we will bear abundant fruit, fruit that will last, fruit that will bring us to salvation. Jesus tells us that if we do repent, if we do respond to his mercy, if we heed his warning, then we will experience what we prayed in today’s psalm: that the Lord will redeem our life from destruction, crown us with eternal kindness and compassion, and bring us to that place where our soul and all our whole being will bless God’s holy name forever!

Ash Wednesday

REPENT & BELIEVE

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2:12-18; 2 Cor 5:20-6:2; Matthew 6:1-6, 16-18

Today, Ash Wednesday, begins the holy, penitential Season of Lent, 40 days of preparation for the great and glorious celebration of Easter. The meaning of the word Lent comes from the Old English word “lencten” (from which is derived the word lengthen, referring to the lengthening of days – which happens during Springtime). Spring is seen as a time of renewal when the cold winter gives way to warmth, to new plants & flowers, to new life. Spring is a new beginning. MLB baseball teams usually (but sadly, not this year) would now be in “Spring Training,” all with the hope that a new beginning will bring a successful season ahead. And so, the Season of Lent, for us Catholic Christians, can be a new beginning in our faith – a new beginning for us to start over, to get back on track in our faith lives and back on the road that leads to eternal life.

In today’s first reading the prophet Joel speaks the Lord’s words, “Blow the trumpet in Zion, proclaim a fast, call an assembly, gather the people.” In other words, make sure everyone knows how important this is!

In the second reading, St. Paul says, “We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God . . . Behold now is a very acceptable time, now is the day of salvation.” Both St. Paul and the Prophet Joel are saying now, right here and right now, return your hearts to God. This is what the Season of Lent is about. It’s an opportunity to come even closer to our God, to return to Him with our whole heart. Lent is a call to a metanoia, a change of heart, a call to conversion.

To help us in a conversion of heart, the Church provides the means: First and foremost, the Sacrament of Confession, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve gone to the sacrament. And so, we have “Welcome Home to Healing,” the opportunity to reconcile with God on any Monday evening during Lent, in any church throughout the diocese. Then, here at St. Kateri, we offer things like attending morning mass at 8:15, Monday through Friday. Adoration before the Blessed Sacrament on Wednesday afternoons from 2:00 to 4:00. Stations of the Cross on Friday evenings at 7:00. Our weekly Bible study, “No Greater Love,” on Wednesdays at 7pm. And beyond that, you're encouraged to read and meditate on a chapter of scripture or the readings of the day. To pray the Rosary. To give something up . . . Fast from food or pleasures, fast from social media. To give alms. And to serve in some way.

In a few minutes we will be receiving ashes on our foreheads, with Fr. Vidal and myself saying, “Repent and believe in the Gospel.” “Repent and Believe.” Those are the words with which Jesus began his public ministry. And those are the words with which we begin Lent. As the cross of ashes is inscribed on our foreheads, so too those words should be inscribed on our minds and in our hearts for the next forty days.

Repent means change, turn around, do a 180 degree, turn our heart away from sin and bad habits. Believe means to turn back to God, to trust in Him and to live the Gospel. The ashes identify us as “marked men” They are a sign that we’re sinners, that we aren’t perfect. But ashes in the sign of the cross means that God loves us, He died for us, and He wants to help us improve in our lives. Ashes are a sign of death (to self and our sinful ways) to new life and a new beginning. They’re an outward sign of the start of a conversion of heart.

“Repent and Believe.” The forty days of Lent begin with this challenge, and it sets the tone. We’re reminded (and God knows we need to be reminded) that we have work to do. We’re not finished products. Yes, God loves us and accepts us as we are, but He’s not the God of the status quo. He challenges us to grow, to change our hearts, to become the perfect work of art that we were created to be.

Jesus says to each of us today, Repent! Turn from your sins. Turn away from them in sorrow and contrition. Change your mind, change your way of thinking, from the world’s way of thinking and from the selfish desires of your flesh. Recognize how you have broken God’s commandments, how you have not loved God with your whole heart, how you haven’t loved your neighbor as yourself. That’s what sin is. That’s what being a sinner is. Own it. Confess it. Don’t rationalize it or excuse your sins. Don’t compare yourself to other people, focusing on how bad they are. No, look in the mirror. See how you have sinned - in thought, word, and deed, in what you have done wrong and in what you have failed to do right. Admit you’re a sinner, lost without God’s mercy and forgiveness. Recognize your need and your powerlessness before God’s righteous throne of judgment. The wages of sin is death. All that - yes, all of that - is packed into this one word of Jesus, “Repent.”

But thank God, Jesus has another word to speak to us today. And it’s this: “Believe in the gospel.” The gospel is the good news, the glad tidings of God’s undeserved favor toward sinners like you and me. This is something to rejoice over, that God doesn’t only have words of judgment to speak to us, but that he also speaks words of salvation and grace, words of comfort and consolation.

Believe the Good News! Sometimes the bad news in which we find ourselves immersed and drowning in causes us to lose hope, to despair, to become overwhelmed by the negative – our problems, our worries, our struggles; by the stress in our lives, our faults, our failures; by the daily dose of the evening news, which most of the time is anything but good news.

But Jesus proclaims GOOD NEWS! It’s no Pollyanna pronouncement. It’s the good news of God’s grace and mercy and it comes to us absolutely free and, at the same time, at great cost. For Jesus Christ is the heart and center of this gospel. His person and his work is the specific content of this good news. Who Jesus is and what he has done - this is what makes the gospel “good news.”

So, here we are, Day 1 of our forty-day season to examine our lives, to ferret out those places where we’re being less faithful than we ought, to look at our choices in life, and to decide if we’re where we should be. The trumpet has been blown; the call has been sent out - the call to be closer to Jesus at the end of Lent than we are at the beginning. The trumpet has been blown, calling us to a change of heart. The time is now! Repent and believe!

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

UPSIDE DOWN, INSIDE OUT, TOPSY-TURVY

Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

1 Samuel 26: 2, 7-9, 12-13, 22-23; 1 Corinthians 15: 45-49; Luke 6:27-38

The poor, the hungry, the weeping, the hated, the excluded, the insulted, those falsely accused are blessed? Upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy.

The rich, the well-satisfied, those who are joy-filled and praised are cursed? Upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy.

Love those who hate you? Do good things for those who harm you? Take no revenge for harm done to you? Give more than you are asked to give and expect nothing in return? Upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy.

I guess that’s how most of society views today’s gospel, as well as the one we heard last week. And maybe add to that opinion: naïve, absurd, impractical and unattainable. Maybe we feel the same way, at least sometimes. If you wanted to find the most challenging, most difficult, most confounding passage in all of the gospels, this just might be it. It’s also the most fundamentally Christian – because it’s the passage that calls on each of us to be the most like Christ.

That’s a tall order and look at what it entails: Turning the other cheek. Giving away what you own. And the most radical and counter-cultural of all: Loving your enemies and praying for your persecutors.

Take a moment to reflect on your own life. Consider all the people who have hurt you. Those who have lied to you. Stabbed you in the back. Remember the ones who spread rumors about you that were untrue. Those who have gossiped about you, or judged you, or mocked you, or bullied you.

Consider the friend that you trusted who betrayed you. The co-worker who broke a confidence. The person whose name you’d rather forget who wounded you or disrespected you or took advantage of you or even abused you. Look back on all the people in your life who have left bruises and scars, with a word or a look or a touch.

Now, imagine doing what Jesus commands – LOVE THEM. Love them and PRAY FOR THEM. Love them, and pray for them, and FORGIVE THEM. If you’re like me, that can be hard to do. 

But the words of Jesus cannot become mere slogans that we put on the bumpers of our cars or embroider and hang up on the walls of our homes. Jesus asks us to do that which may seem to be unreasonable and perhaps fanciful, unrealistic and even impossible: to love as God loves . . . not sparingly, not grudgingly - but fully, deeply, robustly; not with strings attached and hope for something in return - but freely, selflessly and generously; not with hidden pockets of resentment - but with peace and forgiveness.

Christians are called to bring an experience of God to the world, to BE an experience of God to the world. To live a 'normal' life, all we have to do are the things that the world does. But Jesus calls us to a much higher standard. We are called by Jesus, not to live 'normal' lives, but to share in the divine life, to be perfect as our Heavenly Father is perfect. And we pray for that at every Mass. During the offertory, as the deacon pours a drop of water into the chalice to become one with the wine, he prays, “By the mystery of this water and wine may WE come to share in the DIVINITY of Christ, who humbled HIMSELF to share in our HUMANITY.”

But how can we be that experience of God to the world if we behave in a manner that is a total antithesis to God? God is Love. How can we proclaim God if we hate and are unforgiving? Some may say “Get real, Jesus. It just can’t be done.” But he did it. In the final moments of his life, surrounded by his enemies and his persecutors, he hung on the cross, stripped, bleeding, gasping, as they gambled for his clothes and waited for him to die. And in that moment, Jesus pleaded and prayed: “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.” Here is Christian perfection – our model for living, captured at the moment of death. Here is love beyond measure.

But I know what you’re thinking . . . “Easy for him, Deacon Bruce. Jesus was God. How can mere human beings, like you and me, be expected to live out such radical love and mercy.” But the thing is, others have done it. Before being beheaded, from his cell, St. Thomas More, forgave King Henry VIII for destroying his reputation and his life. On her deathbed, twelve-year-old Maria Goretti forgave Alessandro Serenelli, the twenty-year-old man who stabbed her fourteen times when she refused to give in to his sexual advances and prayed that someday he would be with her in heaven. And in January 1984, in Rome's Rebibbia prison, St. John Paul II tenderly held the hand that had held the gun that was meant to kill him. For 21 minutes, the Pope sat face to face with his would-be-killer and forgave him for the shooting.

Jesus proposes a holy life. Not in the common sense of holiness – keeping our hands folded and following all the rules. But holy in the truest sense of that word, which means, "set apart to God."

He prescribes a new ethic for us – a new way of living. The cornerstone of the world’s ethic is ME and what’s best for ME. But the ethic Jesus proclaims, the ethic of the kingdom, is far different. The kingdom’s ethic is LOVE - love that begins in God and flows from Him to us, and then out toward others. It’s a proactive and positive ethic – it doesn’t wait to see what the other guy is going to do, and then react based on how we’re treated – rather it goes ahead and acts based on who God is and what He does.

We live in a world that itself often seems upside down, inside out and topsy-turvy. A world in which might makes right, the consensus of the majority trumps the will of God, human intellect is deified and supernatural faith is mocked and dismissed. A world in which gender is no longer something that you’re born with, but something that you choose. A world in which life outside the womb is respected and protected, but that same life inside the womb, mere seconds before, is considered non-human and disposable. A world in which becoming high is now sanctioned by our government as a way to increase tax revenue. Upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy.

But something spectacular happens when the upside down, inside out, topsy-turvy world meets the radical, counter-cultural way of Jesus. That which is upside down, inside out and topsy-turvy becomes upright, correct-way-round, ordered.

One day several years ago, when I taught theology at Bergen Catholic, I finished one of my classes early and told my students that they could talk quietly with each other until the bell rang. Instead, they spent the time asking me questions . . . personal questions. One of the students asked me this: “Deacon, what’s your greatest ambition in life?” Hmmm . . . It was a question I didn’t expect and one that I really never considered before. But somehow, the answer came to me immediately: “My greatest ambition is to become a saint.” They all laughed, as many of you are now. But I couldn’t have been more serious. And MY ambition, should be YOUR ambition too. Impossible? No. Because Jesus told us exactly how to achieve it: LOVE your enemies. DO GOOD to those who hate you. BLESS those who curse you. PRAY for those who mistreat you. GIVE to everyone who asks of you. Be PERFECT . . . as your Heavenly Father is PERFECT.