Homily for Wednesday, 30th Week of Ordinary Time

Homily for Wednesday
30th Week of Ordinary Time

October 31, 2018

Eph 6: 1-9
Don Bosco Cristo Rey, Takoma Park, Md.

When we hear St. Paul’s admonitions to members of the household, as did yesterday and this morning, we may wonder what they have to do with us.

(Pixabay)

We’re not children, so what’s this about obedience?  But Paul also quotes the commandment, which says “honor” your parents.  If you’re fortunate enuf to have one or both of your parents still, Paul strongly invites you to consider how you, as an adult, are bound still to honor, respect, and care for them.  If our parents are deceased, as most of ours are, we show our devotion to them thru prayer.

Paul might have had adolescents in mind when he urged fathers not to provoke their offspring to anger.  As teachers, we may take his words to remind us to be patient and flexible with our teens as we try to carry out the rest of his words about training and instructing them in the ways of the Lord.

Finally, Paul addresses slaves.  Unfortunately, slaves were a significant population in the Roman Empire, as in most ancient civilizations.  If you’ve seen Spartacus, you know that.  And they were a significant part of the early Christian community too.

How does that affect us?  We might focus on the word service.  If we don’t have human masters, we are all still called by Christ to serve one another “in sincerity of heart” (Eph 6:5).  Moreover, all of us are also under some human authority—religious superior, school administration, civil government, diocesan officials—to whom various forms of obedience, collaboration, respect, etc., are due.

May the Holy Spirit of Jesus guide us with his wisdom in our relations with our parents, our students, those placed over us, and all the sisters and brothers whom we strive to serve in love.

Homily for 30th Sunday of Ordinary Time

Homily for the
30th Sunday of Ordinary Time

Oct. 28, 2018

Mark 10: 46-52
Salesians and Salesian Cooperators
Silver Spring, Md.                                                   

“Jesus told him, ‘Go your way; your faith has saved you.’  Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way” (Mark 10: 52).

Christ Giving Sight to Bartimaeus (William Blake)

I’m struck by the word way in that final verse of the gospel reading.  It appears twice, as you just heard, 1st in Jesus’ dismissal of Bartimaeus, then in Bartimaeus’ action.  The way that the healed man goes, the choice that he makes, is the way of Jesus.  Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, and as Mark has made clear to us readers, and tried to make clear to the 12, he’s on his way to his passion and death.

In a sense, Bartimaeus is ahead of the rest of Jesus’ disciples, whom he’s just joined, following Jesus.  As we’ve also heard from Mark, the 12 apostles are following Jesus geographically from Galilee toward Jerusalem, but they’re not following him in faith, in understanding his message—neither his attempts to tell them what will be his fate as the Son of David (10:47-48), that is, Messiah, nor his attempts to convince them that they must be humble and must serve their brothers and sisters.

We’re not told that Bartimaeus understands all that either.  Rather, it’s left to our imagination.  We may read the verse as suggesting that he’s following the way of Jesus wherever it leads—giving Jesus his full faith (“your faith has saved you”).  We also remember that in the Acts of the Apostles, Jesus’ disciples repeatedly refer to his teachings and to their belief in his resurrection as “the Way.”  They are those who’ve finally grasped more fully who he is and what he taught, and are trying to live as he taught, even in the face of persecution.  This is “the Way”—to eternal life.  And Bartimaeus willingly chooses to make this way his way.

All 3 Synoptics record a form of this story.  All of them say that the healed blind man, or 2 blind men in Matthew’s version, follow Jesus, but only Mark uses that telling phrase “on the way.”  None of them, however, gives the healed man’s personal name, which is a 2d point in the passage that strikes me.

Bartimaeus means, as Mark tell us, “son of Timaeus” (v. 46).  It’s not his own name.  So in all 3 Synoptic versions, he’s anonymous.  In a sense, he represents all who put their faith in Jesus Son of David, Jesus Christ; who experience Christ’s healing, in any form that takes; and having been graced, choose to follow him.  He represents us if and when make a conscious choice to follow Jesus, even to Jerusalem, whatever form our own share in his cross may take.  “Go your way; your faith has saved you” is a choice put before us every day, never once and for all.  For that faith to continue to save us, we must continue to follow Jesus on the way.

Homily for Memorial of St. Louis Guanella

Homily for the Memorial of
St. Louis Guanella

October 24, 2018

Collect
Don Bosco Cristo Rey, Takoma Park, Md.

St. Louis Guanella was a “faithful and prudent steward who distributed the food allowance” (Luke 12:42) to the Lord’s people.  He wasn’t a Salesian but was inspired in part by Don Bosco, with whom he collaborated for three years on leave from his diocese.

Louis came from a rugged, trackless region of northern Italy above Lake Como, so remote that the people didn’t even have horses and wagons to help them tend their livestock and do whatever other farming they did.  His family was very poor, but generous benefactors helped him go to the seminary, and he became a diocesan priest.  He immediately displayed care for the poor in his parish and promoted schooling for poor youngsters.

In 1875 he went to Turin and joined Don Bosco in oratory work for 3 years.  Down the street from the Oratory, almost a neighbor, is the Little House of Divine Providence, founded by St. Joseph Cottolengo in the 1820s to provide for the aged and incurably sick and others whom society had no use for.  Fr. Louis drew inspiration from both of these works, Don Bosco’s educational work for youth and Cottolengo’s for the abandoned.

St. Louis Guanella in 1912,

3 years before his death.

Recalled to his diocese, he founded schools, orphanages, homes for the sick and elderly and physically and mentally handicapped—whom he called “the favorites of Divine Providence.”  He and his work were beloved, and Providence took good care of them.  He founded a congregation of men, the Servants of Charity, and one of women, the Daughters of St. Mary of Providence, to carry on his work.

Nevertheless, he met great opposition, especially from anticlerical politicians, who resented his popularity with the common people and felt threatened by it.  They harassed and persecuted him, and on one occasion a mob burned down one of his homes for the elderly.

But thruout, St. Louis maintained an absolute trust in Divine Providence.  Asked whether he didn’t lose sleep with financial and political worries, he answered, “I worry until midnite, and then I let God worry.”

St. Louis models for us concern for the poor, including the young, the work that we’re doing here, and complete trust in God’s goodness and care for us.

Homily for Memorial of St. Ignatius of Antioch

Homily for the Memorial of
St. Ignatius of Antioch

October 17, 2018

Collect
Our Lady of Lourdes, Bethesda, Md.

Our 1st reading ended with these words from St. Paul:  “Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified their flesh with its passions and desires.  If we live in the Spirit, let us also follow the Spirit” (Gal 5:25).

The saint whom we honor today lived those words.  The Collect spoke of “the confessions of holy martyrs.”  Confessions here doesn’t mean the sacrament of Reconciliation but “testimony” or “praise of God.”  In the case of the martyrs—like Ignatius of Antioch—it’s the public testimony of their love of God even to the point of giving up their lives rather than deny Jesus Christ or worship an idol or the Roman State.

The Collect refers specifically to “the glorious passion of St. Ignatius,” i.e., his suffering and death, which “brought him eternal splendor,” i.e., a share in the eternal glory of the risen Lord Jesus—and even a commemoration among the saints named in the 1st Eucharistic Prayer.

Ignatius gives a twofold public testimony to Christ, thru his writings and thru his martyrdom.  He is one of those early Christian authors whom we call Fathers of the Church because of the doctrine and inspiration they put into writing—one of the very 1st of those Fathers, and likely one who knew personally some of the apostles.  He was bishop of Antioch, the ancient Syrian city often mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, perhaps the most important city in the Empire after Rome.  (It’s now located in southernmost Turkey.)  He was arrested as a Christian leader and transported to Rome for trial and execution by being thrown to wild beasts in the Coliseum in 107 A.D.

On his way to Rome, his ship made port calls along the coast of Asia Minor (modern Turkey) and he was able to visit with the bishops and other faithful of the ancient churches there such as Ephesus and Smyrna, and subsequently he penned letters to them, 6 of which have survived, plus one that he wrote to the Christians of Rome in advance of his arrival.  In them he expresses his longing to be completely united with Jesus Christ thru his death, echoing those words of St. Paul that I cited.  He calls himself wheat that’s waiting to be ground by the teeth of the beasts “so that I may become Christ’s pure bread”—words that will be quoted in the Communion Antiphon.  He continues, “I prefer death in Christ Jesus to power over the farthest limits of the earth.”  He pleads with the Christians of Rome “not to stand in the way of my birth to real life….  My desire is to belong to God.  Only [so] can I be fully a human being.”

Thus his desire for a complete union with God thru Jesus Christ.  Union or unity is the other main topic of his letters.  Bishops must maintain a union with God the Father and with Christ his Son thru the sound doctrine they teach, most particularly that the Son truly took on our human flesh, died, and rose in that flesh for our salvation.  Priests, deacons, and faithful must maintain union with the bishop in what he teaches and in public worship.  There’s only one Church of Christ—Ignatius is the 1st author to call it the Catholic Church, the universal Church.  There’s one faith handed on from Christ, and one altar around which the local Church worships with its bishop.

Our Collect prayed that “the glorious passion of St. Ignatius of Antioch, which we celebrate today … may be for us unending protection.”  His passion for Christ in life and in death is a message for us:  for adherence to true doctrine in Christ’s Catholic Church, for unity around our bishop (which doesn’t mean ignoring a bishop’s failings), for regular, faithful worship in communion with our bishop (no longer possible in a regular physical presence in our large dioceses), and finally, for putting Christ in the 1st place in our lives, above any earthly passions and desires.

A Nite on Bald Mountain?

A Nite on Bald Mountain?

I had a Salesian meeting at the Marian Shrine in Haverstraw early in the afternoon of October 12.  Before I returned home to Silver Spring, I took advantage of the fine weather and Harriman State Park’s proximity to go hiking. 

I hadn’t been to Bald Rocks for a while, and it’s a site I’ve always liked.  There are several approaches to that highest point in the park.
 

The start of the ascent up Black Rock Mt. toward Bald Rocks

I think the most challenging one is the Ramapo-Dunderberg Trail from the hiker’s parking lots on Rte 106, one that I hadn’t used for a very long time.  It wasn’t as demanding as I remembered—I certainly can’t claim that I’m in the best of shape.

  

A ridge section of the R-D Trail along Black Rock Mt.

It took an hour, 10 minutes, to go the mile and a half; I got there about 5:10 p.m.

The shelter at Bald Rocks (2005)

I’d been hoping to use the shelter there, but it was already taken by a party of 2 or 3, already spread out on the half-platform.  The other half of the shelter is just bare rock, sloping somewhat, and it was wet from some leaks.  Altho the woman in there at the time I arrived offered to let me join them, I don’t think she was especially comfortable with the idea in the limited space, and I wasn’t either.  So, with thanks, I went to the area behind the shelter.

There were 2 tents already pitched out there, and I’d seen one off to the side on my way into the area; so I became the 4th tent camper.  I used the hour or so of daylight I had to gather firewood, then pitch my tent and a tarp to shelter my pack from possible dew or rain; so had to prepare supper in the dark, balancing my stove on the rocks of the firepit while I sat on a log.  Preparing supper was simple enuf:  boiling water for my freeze-dried meals (½ packages of lasagna and beef stew left over from my Maryland AT hike), washed down with plain water.  In the post-supper dark, I didn’t want to mess with rigging up a bear bag; about the only thing in my pack that might really have been attractive was some peanut butter.

The sun sets over the ridge. My tent's in the shadowed foreground.

There was a stiff west wind blowing, so it got rather chilly especially when the sun set around 6:00 p.m.  After cleaning my mess kit, I got a nice fire going and sat by it to pray the Liturgy of the Hours, using photocopies of the texts, and read a bit. 

But by 9:00 p.m. I’d let the fire die down and went into my tent to snuggle into my sleeping bag.  I sure wished I was in the shelter, out of the wind and using the fireplace! 

I got a half-decent nite’s sleep (typical when camping), not helped by some loud jerks who arrived and pitched their tent just over the ridge in the middle of the nite and talked for a very long time.  

But in the small hours of the morning, 4:00 or 4:30, heard raindrops on my tent fly.  I didn’t feel like getting my arms out of my mummy bag to look at my watch for a more precise time.  But all the more reason to wish I’d been in the shelter!  Despite all my hoping the rain would be brief, it wasn’t.  I may have dozed off a little bit more, but I must have been pretty much awake by 6:00.  My one-man tent is too confined for sitting up for long or for much reading prone in the sleeping bag.

So I finally decided at 7:30 I might as well face the weather and got dressed, topped off with my rain jacket, and exited into a steady rain—fortunately not a heavy one, but no mere drizzle either.  Breaking camp in the rain ain’t fun.  I was glad I’d put my pack under a tarp; as I gathered gear to stuff into it, I covered it with my poncho.  At first I thought I’d hike out without the trouble of breakfast, but I’ve always treasured a nourishing breakfast; furthermore, as a diabetic I do need to get something into my system before vigorous activity.  So I thought better of it, and I boiled my water, ate my oatmeal, and drank my coffee standing in the rain.  I think I added a few almonds.  Not ideal conditions, but it did hit the spot.  Least fun was breaking down the tent in the rain; naturally a wet tent also adds to the weight of one’s backpack.

A bit of autumn color along Black Rock Mt. on the hike in on Friday

I wasn’t keen on hiking on a slippery, very rocky trail with a lot of descent, fairly steep in several places (remember? Bald Rocks is highest point in the park), but had no other choice.  Happily, another camper was departing at the same time, so we hiked out together without any misadventures, in just over an hour.  At the parking area I met a troop of Scouts preparing to hike up to Bald Rocks, confident that the rain would soon stop—which it did, and the sun even came out a bit in the afternoon.

After returning to the Marian Shrine, my first stop was the residence so that my confreres could see that I was safely back and so that I could get a cup of hot coffee.  Then I “retreated” to my room in the retreat house—there being no guest rooms available in the residence, that where the community kindly quartered me—and got myself cleaned up and did my best to spread stuff out to dry in my room and on a bannister over a stairwell.  I celebrate my Saturday Mass; doing so in the retreat house had been my plan all along, and wasn’t compelled by the rain.  As always, I enjoyed the company of my confreres in the Marian Shrine community for evening prayers and supper.  After reading email, including the news that comes to me thereby, I retired earlier than usual for a better nite’s sleep than I had at Bald Rocks.

More photos: https://pix.sfly.com/TFfHeF

Homily for Mission Sunday

Homily for Mission Sunday
29th Sunday of Ordinary Time          

October 21, 2018

Mark 10: 35-45
Collect
Nativity, Washington, D.C.

As noted 3 posts below, my blog was down for 4 weeks.  So I'm gradually posting material, and this Sunday homily is a week behind the current date.  Sorry 'bout that.  It's Google's fault.

“The Son of Man [came] to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10: 45).

World Mission Sunday is an annual observance of the entire Catholic Church.  Perhaps in fact we don’t always observe it in our parishes; but this evening we’re doing so.

The intent of the observance is to remind us that the entire Church is missionary.  Our Lord Jesus commissioned us—all of us—to “go into the whole world and proclaim the Gospel to every creature” (Mark 16:15), words that we heard in the Collect.  You can try that on such creatures as your dogs and cats and the weeds in your flower beds if you like, but of course Jesus really means “to every person,” however a biblical literalist might interpret him.

After that reminder, the day encourages us to pray for the spread of the Gospel, as we’re doing in our Mass this evening:  to pray that missionaries will go courageously and humbly into places where Jesus isn’t known; that each of us will be a witness to Jesus Christ in the way we live our own lives and will be ready to talk about our faith when it’s opportune to do so; that people will be receptive to God’s Word; that cultures like our own Western culture may be converted once again.  Don’t we very much desire that our country will be “one nation under God” and not a nation worshiping the stock market, a political party, self-indulgence, or even the Redskins?

What is this Gospel message of Jesus that we pray will be proclaimed and heard everywhere and among everyone?  There are numerous ways of summarizing it, and the last line of today’s gospel reading from Mark is an apt summary:  “The Son of Man”—Jesus’ self-description—“came to give his life as a ransom for many.”

The Last Supper by Dagnan-Bouveret

"This is the cup of my blood … shed for you and for many."

That 2-word prepositional phrase “for many” echoes the words of consecration at Mass, doesn’t it?  “This is the chalice of my blood ... which will be poured out for you [the apostles in front of him] and for many for the forgiveness of sins.”

What does “for many” mean?  It refers to our salvation and to the scope of Christ’s redemption.  In a passage recorded by St. Luke, someone asks Jesus, “Lord, will those who are saved be few?” (13:23).  In the Lord’s time, and in the 1st years of the apostles’ preaching of the Gospel, there certainly were people who thought that God’s saving power was restricted to a few, that God loved only a few, meaning mainly devout, virtuous Jews; and today there are Christian sects who teach that God’s grace touches and saves only a chosen few, excluding from the very possibility of salvation anyone who hasn’t explicitly accepted Jesus as Savior.

Is God’s will that “everyone be saved,” as St. Paul writes to Timothy (1 Tim 2:4), so ineffectual that only a few will actually get into Heaven?  No!  In both today’s gospel and in the words by which Jesus instituted the Eucharist, Christ proclaims the purpose of his mission:  “to give his life for the ransom of many,” for the forgiveness of the sins of many.  Christ’s saving will is wide, not narrow.  The Good News of grace is for all of humanity.

It’s the mission of the Church and of every faithful disciple of Jesus to preach that Gospel of God’s love and forgiveness given us thru Jesus Christ.

What does that mean for us, sisters and brothers?  How do we carry out what the Collect prayed for us, “feel a more urgent call to work for the salvation of every creature”?

1st, hear the Gospel yourself and come confidently to Jesus, “confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy,” as the Letter to the Hebrews urges us today (4:16).

2d, pray for missionaries who are preaching the Gospel in foreign lands that have never been evangelized, in de-Christianized Europe, on agnostic college campuses.  When I mention foreign lands, you might think of your dear Salesians, for instance, 1,700 of whom are bringing Christ’s love to 42 nations in Africa, from Tunis in the north to Cape Town in the south, from Dakar on the Atlantic to Dar-es-Salaam on the Indian Ocean.  As you know, Fr. John Cosgrove was once one of those missionaries in Sierra Leone; presently there are 2 Americans and 1 Canadian Salesian on the continent, and 2 Americans and 1 Canadian Salesian sister.

American SDB Fr. Larry Gilmore with kids 

at the Salesian mission in Monrovia, Liberia, in 2003

3d, pray for the people of these missionary lands, those who’ve yet to receive Christ as their Redeemer  and those who’ve accepted the Gospel and are trying to follow Christ faithfully—some of them in the face of vicious persecution, e.g., in Iraq, Pakistan, India, China, Nigeria, and elsewhere.

4th, when opportunity presents, give your financial support to appeals here at Nativity for overseas missionaries or appeals you receive in the mail, as many of you do from Salesian Missions in New Rochelle.

5th, be a missionary.  Live the Gospel the best you can in your families, your workplaces or schools, and among your friends; if given an opportunity, speak of your faith modestly but confidently.

6th, if you’re relatively young, healthy, and independent, consider becoming a Salesian Lay Missioner, making a one-year commitment to service with the Salesians or Salesian Sisters in Africa, South America, or even a U.S. site like Tampa.

May God bless you, his beloved children, my sisters and brothers.  May our Lord Jesus keep us all in his grace.

Homily for Tuesday, 28th Week of Ordinary Time

Homily for Tuesday

28th Week of Ordinary Time

Oct. 16, 2018                                                

Gal 5: 1-6
Don Bosco Cristo Rey, Takoma Park, Md.

We’ve been reading from Galatians for about a week, hearing Paul urge us not to rely upon observance of the Law to establish and maintain our relationship with God, but upon the grace given to us by Jesus Christ (cf. Gal 5:4).

Paul means the Law given by Moses—all the commands and rules set out in Exodus, Numbers, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy, plus the rabbinic interpretations like ritual washings (cf. Luke 11:37-41).  Paul doesn’t mean they’re unimportant; it’s hard to discount the 10 Commandments.  But all those rules have no power to save us, and in fact no one can observe all of them unfailingly.

So, “thru the Spirit, by faith, we await the hope of righteousness” (Gal 5:5).  Jesus Christ gives us the Holy Spirit, forgiving our sins, restoring our broken relationship with God.  We don’t have to be perfect; we can’t be.  But “faith working thru love” (5:6)—Christ’s love for us and our loving response to his love—saves us.

Today’s saint, Margaret Mary, reminds us of that everlasting love of Jesus for us, a love rekindled for us in every Eucharistic celebration.

Homily for Memorial of St. Dennis

Homily for the Memorial
of St. Dennis

Oct. 9, 2018

Collect
Don Bosco Cristo Rey, Takoma Park, Md.

Of St. Dennis and his 2 companions, a priest and a deacon, we know only that they were sent into central Gaul as missionaries in the middle of the 3d century.  Perhaps they were sent out from the ancient Christian presence at Lyons in southern Gaul, the mother Church of France.

They arrived at the Roman settlement that grew into Paris, and Dennis is regarded as that city’s 1st bishop and the principal patron of France.  He and his companions preached with some success, but they were swept up in one of the mid-century imperial persecutions, either that of Decius in 250 or that of Valerian in 258, and beheaded.

There’s a medieval legend that after Dennis was beheaded, he picked up his head and carried it some 2 miles from Montmartre (the Mount of the Martyrs) to the spot where, later, a great abbey and church were built in his honor and where the kings of France were entombed. [See illustration above.]

If we ask ourselves how is it that men like Dennis and his companions had such “constancy,” to use the word the Collect uses, 1st to go to a strange land among pagan people to preach the Gospel, and then to die for the Gospel, the answer must be the same that we find in today’s readings.

Paul recounts how the Father had set him apart, called him thru grace, and revealed the Son to him (Gal 1:15-16).  Paul had directly encountered our Lord Jesus, which changed his life and gave him the call and the zeal to preach the Gospel and die for it.

Jesus tells Martha, “Mary has chosen the better part” (10:42).  What part was that?  To contemplate Jesus.

Like Mary, like Paul, Dennis and his companions had contemplated Jesus—not in the flesh and not in a revelation; but in the same manner that you and I can:  in his sacred word, in the sacraments of the Eucharist and Reconciliation, and in prayer.  That contemplation was the source of their constancy in preaching the Gospel and dying for Jesus, and it’s similarly the source for our own strength to live the Gospel “undaunted” (Collect).

Homilist-blogger's note:  I don't care how the Roman Missal spells his name.  This is the usual (tho not universal) way of spelling it in the U.S.

Where, O Where, Has Fr. Mike Been?

Where, O Where, Has Fr. Mike Been?

When I tried to sign in to Blogger on June 9 to post a homily, the blog account was nowhere to be found under either my long-used salesianstudies address or my relatively new one from Holy Cross.  After Google had a problem with Google+ that I heard mention of on the news, I had to sign in again to those 2 gmail accounts.

I spent an extremely frustrating almost 4 weeks trying fruitlessly to find out how to get the blog account just to show up again.  Nothing worked, and there was no way to contact either Blogger, Google, or Microsoft (email, phone, running thru all the "Help" links).  I even wrote an old-fashioned letter, which Google hasn't had time to respond to yet (if they will condescend to do so).

I contacted my trustworthy go-to man for IT back in the Northland, but he was as bamboozled as I was.  I showed the problem to the IT man at school: ditto.

Lo and behold, tonite as I was cruising thru various links at Blogger Tips and Tricks, I hit on one that led me to the mysterious answer to my problem (thank you, Lord!):  the blog was created from my old Juno account, and I had to plug in that email address, and voila! my account appeared, just asking for my password (which was never the issue).

And here I am, faithful readers!

And I have a PILE of homilies I've been waiting to post.  Anybody suffering from insomnia?

Homily for 27th Sunday of Ordinary Time

Homily for the
27th Sunday of Ordinary Time

October 2, 1988

Mark 10: 2-12
St. Theresa, Bronx

“Some Pharisees came up, and in order to test Jesus asked, ‘Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?’” (Mark 10:2).

Source unknown, but it looks like Dore'

The Univ. of Notre Dame recently sponsored a major survey of American Catholics.  According to this survey, many, perhaps most, ordinary, church-going Catholics think the Church’s prohibition of divorce and remarriage is too strict.

Divorce was also a hot topic among the Jewish rabbis of the 1st century.  It was a topic that Jesus would naturally ask about.

The discussion focused on what Moses had written in the book of Deuteronomy:  “When a man takes a wife and marries her, if then she finds no favor in his eyes because he has found some indecency in her, he may write her a bill of divorce and send her out of his house…” (24:1).  What did that mean?  What was “favor in his eyes”?  What constituted “some indecency”?  In other words, what were the proper legal grounds for a man to divorce his wife, according to the Law of Moses?

Divorce was already accepted in principle.  In practice, adultery on the wife’s part was universally conceded to be indecency allowing, or even demanding, divorce.  Beyond that, opinions varied widely, with theological liberals arguing that a man could properly divorce his wife if she burnt his supper or raised her voice—or if he just found a younger woman more “favorable in his eyes.” 

You may have noticed that all the rights in Jewish divorces belonged to the husband.

So some Pharisees asked Jesus what he thought.  He flatly contradicted all the opinions of his day.  Moses permitted divorces, he says, only because you’re so hard of heart, so stubborn, so unfeeling, so undisciplined, and so unteachable.  Moses made a concession to human sinfulness.

On what authority can Jesus contradict Moses and the leading rabbis of his time?  He cites the book of Genesis—also attributed to Moses—and God’s original creative intention.  “God made them male and female” (1:27).  “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one” (2:24).  God created sexuality and its male-female complementarity.  God created marriage.  God intended that marriage make 2 persons one new person.  “So they are no longer 2 but one.  Therefore what God has joined together, let no one put asunder” (Mark 10: 8-9).  God makes the one-flesh relationship between husband and wife as permanent and inseparable as the one-flesh relationship between brothers or between mother and daughter.  You can’t break that; it’s indissoluble.

Marriage is a human institution, but not a man-made one.  When a man and woman choose to enter it, they consciously or unconsciously invoke God’s plan and God’s will.  And God, says Jesus, wills permanence and unity to marriage.  To challenge that is to challenge God’s plan, which is sin.

There are many human institutions which are man-made.  Consequently man may change them at will.  Nationhood is an example.  Man draws boundary lines, creates government, defines citizenship.  He may change these at will, either by rewriting his laws or by migrating to a new place.

But man has no such power over marriage, says Jesus.  Marriage comes from God.

And that so shook the sensibilities of Jesus’ disciples that they wanted to talk further about it when they got home.

Who is a disciple?  What does the word mean?  A disciple is someone who’s teachable, capable of learning, willing to learn.  Jesus called the advocates of divorce hard of heart, unteachable.  He continues to teach his disciples, continues to teach us.  Today his disciples are the Church.

At home Jesus teaches more bluntly than he did with the Pharisees:  divorce and remarriage is adultery.  We noted before that in Judaism the husband had rights in divorce.  So Jesus is speaking up for women in this matter.  He’s a feminist, protecting a wife’s right to be cherished, not to be treated like an animal or a slave.

Now St. Mark apparently wrote his Gospel in Rome for Roman readers.  In Rome women could file for divorce.  So St. Mark has Jesus add, “If a wife divorces her husband and married another, she commits adultery” (10:12).  Jesus, a true feminist, teaches that rights and responsibilities run both ways.

Out of the blue, it seems, people begin to bring children to Jesus for his blessing.  This is not just a cute scene accidentally following Jesus’ strict teaching about divorce.  It belongs in the context of teaching and teach-ability.  “Whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it” (10:15).

The scene has to do with receptivity, openness, teach-ability—with discipleship, in other words.  Children are teachable.  If we want to be Jesus’ disciples, we must be just as teachable, just as open to his word—not hard of heart, insensitive, undisciplined, like those who favored easy divorce.  If we want to enter the kingdom of God, we must be like children around Jesus.

So with childlike faith we come to holy Mass this morning, to hear Jesus, to celebrate our discipleship, to seek his guidance, and to ask his blessing on our families.

Homily for Saturday, 26th Week of Ordinary Time

Homily for Saturday
26th Week of Ordinary Time

October 6, 2018

Luke 10: 17-24
Our Lady of Lourdes, Bethesda, Md.

“Rejoice because your names are written in heaven” (Luke 10: 20).

Of the various lessons we might draw from today’s gospel, I’ll point to two.

1st is God’s gift to us:  our names are written in heaven, i.e., we are marked or sealed for salvation thru the power of Jesus.  This isn’t our own doing but Jesus’ doing.  Nothing we do on earth—earning oodles of money, building a great business, earning a fine reputation, learning the secrets of the universe, winning honors—none of that matters unless our names are written in heaven, unless we know our Father in heaven because Jesus has made him known to us (10:22) and claimed us for him.

Picked up thru http://thegoodheart.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-holy-name-of-jesus.html

2d is the power of Jesus’ name.  When Jesus is invoked, Satan is powerless; he falls.  It’s not learning or earthly power or wealth that defeat him but the humble power of Jesus.  Jesus forgives our sins, which are Satan’s grasp at our souls.  Jesus offers us a share in his victory over the grave, and eternal life.  So we put our trust in him, call upon him, come to him in his sacraments.

Blessed are we who see Jesus in our lives (10:23)—God’s gift to us, God’s power effecting our redemption!

A Good and Bad Appalachian Trail Hike

A Good & Bad Appalachian Trail Hike

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”  If anyone’s still reading Dickens, and I suppose many adults are, one immediately recognizes that opening line of A Tale of Two Cities.  It somewhat overdramatizes my experience last weekend on a short portion of the Maryland section of the Appalachian Trail.

Overlook at Pen Mar Park with AT sign (mileage posted on it isn't accurate).

I’d planned a 4-day, 3-nite trip covering a not-very-ambitious 17½ miles for a long weekend of Sept. 28 to Oct. 1, from Pen Mar County Park near the Pennsylvania border down to U.S. Rte 40.  Two small mishaps—“the worst of times”—combined to alter my plan, and I bailed out after 2 nites and 9 miles.  The 1st was a back so painful, for no particular reason, on Saturday nite that I scarcely slept; the 2d was a painfully bruised 4th toe on my right foot.  If it had been just one of those pains, I probably would have continued on Sunday morning; but with both of them, I reasoned that discretion dictated an “early extraction.”

But most of my 2 days on the trail, Sept. 28-29, were serious, hard hiking thru deep woods—mostly hardwoods like oak, hickory, and maple with some beech, a lot of rhododendron, and some scattered pine.  There were a couple of open fields on Saturday, and some very rocky sections.  Naturally, there were lots of uphills and downs; the former seemed more frequent.  Level sections were few and far between, and there were mud and water everywhere, some of it easy to get over on rocks, some of it easy to edge around without violating the rule of staying on the worn footpaths, and some of it only to be mucked thru.  In addition, there were 2 rip-roaring streams to cross besides quite a few little creeks.

And “the best of times” was the new friends that I made on the trail on Saturday.

Day 1, Friday, September 28

My hike began at 11:05 a.m. on Friday with the pleasant company of my brother-in-law David, who picked me up in Silver Spring and drove me to Pen Mar, then hiked with me for about an hour and a half before we stopped for lunch.  We found the trail blazes confusing at the 1st turn in the trail; I expected turns to be indicated as they are in New York (all hail the New York-New Jersey Trail Conference), but they weren’t.  So we missed that turn and then had to backtrack a hundred yards or so.  Then, as complained of by virginiatrailchristine, “the trail turned into a rocky mess. There were large boulders and the trail became very hard to follow with limited blazes.”  But we found our way thru that (and David had some trouble getting thru it again when he returned to his car).

Speaking of lunch, we found this along the trail--looks like what some owl didn't swallow as part of its lunch.

After lunch (mine was a leftover chicken salad sub washed down by water), David headed home, I continued solo hiking but was passed by a couple (at least, I never saw them) on the approach to High Rock, where I diverted from the trail briefly.  I diverted longer at High Rock itself, enjoying a fine view to the west and north; a good number of other folks, teens, young adults, and older adults, were doing the same.  I counted 8 cars in the parking lot there.

Top pic: High Rock. Lower pic: west view therefrom.

It was 3:00 p.m. by the time I finished that touristy thing, and my legs were begging for me to stop.  My shoulders were doing OK.  As usual, I had a heavy pack, probably weighing in at about 30 lbs., 2 liters of water included.  The rest:  one-man tent, sleeping pad, sleeping bag, small hatchet, Mass kit, slippers, flip-flops, one change of underwear and socks, and a spare lighter pair of socks, rain gear (being really conservative in view of the sunny forecast), food, first aid kit, rope, stove and fuel, mess kit and utensils, and miscellaneous little things like duck tape, notepad, and soap.

Camp at Raven Rock Shelter

About 4:30, and 4.8 miles from the car, I reached the short trail to Raven Rock Shelter.  The shelter was already occupied by a lone hiker; I wanted to tent camp farther off the trail anyway.  At least 2 tent sites were already occupied by distance hikers, it seemed.  So I took what seemed to be the last site with a table, as well as a large fire pit.  I pitched my tent—having a hard time with the rocks just below the surface (that’s why I carry the hatchet)—prayed Daytime Prayer, and prepared my supper:  freeze-dried lasagna and unfrozen green beans with Crystal Lite.  

Left me still hungry because I used only half the package of lasagna, which says optimistically that it serves about 2½ people.  I could easily have eaten it all.  But I’d brought only 2 of these meals for my 3 nites, and I was also mindful of a diabetic’s need for some restraint.  Then I hung my bear bag with an over-long new rope, which I then extended as a clothesline to air out my sweaty underwear and long-sleeved shirt—hoping there wouldn’t be a heavy dew overnite.

My lodgings before I put up the rainfly.

Meanwhile, more campers had come into camp.  There was a dad with 2 young girls whom I invited to come over and use my table for their supper, but they declined to do so.  A troop of Boy Scouts showed up, about 10 of them plus a bunch of adults.  There were others whom I couldn’t make out clearly from my camp.  All in all, the camp was pretty well populated by a mix of weekend hikers and distance hikers.

At dusk I hiked down (200 ft. down!) a distance of .3 mile to the spring, which was pumping out plenty of water.  I didn’t filter it on the spot, preferring to hustle back uphill before it got dark.  I was juggling my Sawyer bag, a coffee pot with water, and my trekking pole, and hoping I didn’t have to bring out my flashlight.  (Of course I’d chosen not to bring the headlamp.)

Then it was time for Evening Prayer and time to try to start a fire.  For the 1st time in my camping experience, I failed to get a fire going.  Even with paper and dry tinder (which I carry), everything was too wet after all the recent rain.

Except for the Scouts, everyone else in camp seemed to have retired by 8:00 p.m.  I did so around 9:00 and slept fairly well.

Day 2, Saturday, September 29

I got up at 7:00; daylight was just coming over the camp.  Already most of the distance hikers were gone, leaving the Scouts, the dad and his girls, and a party of young women whom I took to be Girl Scouts as I passed by them on my way to the privy.

My day began with Mass on the picnic table; I was happy to celebrate the feast of my patron St. Michael and the other archangels.  Then bringing in the laundry and bear bag, making breakfast (oatmeal, an orange, and coffee), praying the Liturgy of the Hours, and packing up in no great rush.  I was so slow that it was 10:00 a.m. before I left camp—still ahead of the aforementioned fellow campers.

Following the hints in the Appalachian Trail Guide to Maryland and Northern Virginia and the aforementioned virginiatrailchristine, I sidetracked from the trail at Raven Rock to see what I could see, which wasn’t a whole lot (westward).  Too bad there were no trails before Raven Rock leading up to the eastward escarpment; I did meet one middle-aged couple along there, the male half of whom was picking his way up the rocks to see whether there was a view, but I didn’t stop to find out.

Top: eastward escarpment on approach to Raven Rock.

Bottom: west view from Raven Rock.

While I was atop Raven Rock, I was passed by the young women whom I’d seen in camp.  When they stopped to take a group photo at the cascade of water tumbling down from the rock, I caught up with them and learned that they weren’t Girl Scouts but a school group from Alabama who were hiking parts of the AT in all its 14 states.  Impressive!  There were eight girls and their adult leader.  

The pretty little cascade tumbling down from Raven Rock.

I trailed along behind them, which was a good place to be because they were moving a little faster than I was.  I was amused when one of the girls paused to try to wash the mud off her shoes at a streamlet before we crossed Md 491—like that was going to be of any use!  The trail was just as muddy on Saturday as on Friday, notwithstanding all the downward drainage taking place—obviously because a lot of the “downward” was coming from above the trail.

Little Antietam Creek

Waiting for us on the other side of the road was Little Antietam Creek, rushing and roaring along with loads of whitewater.  The trail turned left, upstream.  The girls went down to the creek to get water.  I went on ahead and after several hundred feet came to the crossing, which consisted of a line of large steppingstones completely submerged in the fast-moving water.  The creek was maybe 30 ft. across.

Looking down the creek from the AT crossing.

Remembering my bloody experience in the Catskills, I had no desire to trust my footing to underwater rocks.  I removed my boots and socks, zipped off the lower portions of my pants, donned my flip-flops (brought along for just such a need), put my pack back on, slung my boots around my neck, and edged into the water, which fortunately wasn’t very cold (the girls from Alabama would think otherwise).  I got a few feet in, knee-deep, dealing mostly with rocks underfoot, and then slipped.  Thank God I caught myself with my trekking pole in my right hand and my left going wrist-deep onto a rock, so that I didn’t flop face-down into the drink with my pack on top of me.  (After the bath it got, my $20 watch from Walmart is still functioning fine 5 days later.)  From there I was able to reach a sandier bottom and make my way carefully ashore, where I unburdened my back, dried my feet somewhat with the little towel from my pack, and put on socks and boots (but not lower leggings).

About then the young ladies finally showed up and looked with some dismay at the rushing creek and the steppingstones.  I suggested they removed their footwear and wade upstream of the stones as I’d done; I forgot to tell them to tie their shoes/boots together and drape them around their necks.  So the teacher went 1st, using the stones, 

Teacher Molly Stone makes her way carefully across Little Antietam Creek.

and the girls started to follow, gingerly and crying out about the water being cold.  Most, if not all of them, were using 2 trekking poles, and they were trying to carry their boots at the same time, and of course balancing themselves and their packs.  Then one of the girls dropped a boot about 2 feet downstream of the stones.  

Obviously, this wasn't a planned shot--

but there goes the boot as girl in white shirt reaches toward it with her trekking pole.

It held in place for several seconds as she tried to reach for it with her pole—and then it started slowly to float away, caught the current, and was gone.

Many cries of panic!  But 2 of the girls on the north bank started to run back down the trail to try to catch up with the runaway (floataway?) boot.  At that point I called to the rest to tie their boots, etc., and apologized to the leader for having forgotten that.  She said she, too, should have told them.  Anyhow, the rest of the girls crossed without incident, all using the stones.  Then we waited, and by the grace of God the 2 girls returned after several more minutes, with the soggy boot.

Restoration Academy crew recuperating after the creek crossing.

Meanwhile, my right foot didn’t feel right.  I removed the boot and sock and found the 4th toe turning purple; it didn’t look like it was blistering.  I thought it was chafing against the little toe and put on a band-aid and booted up again.  Then I sat down to eat my 2 peanut butter and jam sandwiches and a granola bar for lunch, with water.

When all the girls were across the creek and reshod, they circled up for a prayer led by their teacher.  “Aha!” I thought to myself, “their school’s a Christian school, not a public one.”  If I hadn’t been in the middle of lunch, I’d have joined them.

Slogging Along Behind the Girls

They weren’t saying grace, however.  I heard one ask how far before they’d take a break, and the teacher said about 2 miles, which one of them clarified as 2.2 from what her phone told her.  And off they went.  I picked up and followed soon after.  Every once in a while, they’d stop for a few moments.  I knew they were only regrouping, but I was thinking to (kidding) myself, “How nice of them to wait for the senior citizen to catch up!”

One of the easier sections of the trail.

But as the trail ascended, leveled a bit, climbed some more, I had to stop to catch my breath, and they put some distance between us.  I caught up a couple of times, but they kept booking along.  Finally, with my shoulders in pain, I had to stop longer and remove my pack.  So they were gone.  I hoped I’d catch them at the Ensign Cowell Shelter.

I continued to splash thru water and mud where I couldn’t easily sidestep them, or find rocks to step on—generally trying to keep to the trail, as one’s supposed to do, and not erode its edges or the forest itself.

4.1 miles after having left Raven Rock Shelter, after having crossed 2 open fields (one with a lot of cattle in view, fenced in), 

2 roads, various streams (one well swollen but with a plank crossing barely above water, and so easily crossed), 

The plank crossing over the Edgemont Reservoir feeder stream.

and a stone wall, 

Stone wall with a huge log behind it--fortunately, with good gaps opened in both.

I came to another field and had to plop myself down in the grass and take off my right boot and sock.  The toe had gotten pretty painful.  Altho there was no sign of a blister, I put moleskin on and after my wicking sock and hiking sock an additional lightweight sock for a bit more padding.  It helped.  Just then a middle-aged woman came up, hiking alone.  We greeted each other and then hiked along together, gabbing about hiking experiences, including her hope of really getting into some distance hiking.  It made the remaining .8 mile to the shelter go much faster.  Her name was Amanda.

At Ensign Cowell Shelter

Amanda kept going while I headed for the shelter, where the 8 young ladies and their leader were finishing up their lunch.  It was 3:15 p.m.  A couple of young guys were there, but they were about to leave.  The women were getting ready to launch out for another 5-mile jaunt to the Pogo Memorial Campsite, their day’s destination.  But they were there long enuf for me to get into conversation with “the Mothership,” as her T-shirt labeled her.  When I observed they seemed to be a Christian school, she confirmed that; they’re from the Restoration Academy, and her name is Molly Stone.  I volunteered that I’m a priest, which pleased her—we’re both on the Jesus team.  She spoke about the school and the AT program, and I spoke a bit about DBCR.  Maryland is the 4th state on their list.  Since they have yet to do New York, I offered her info on the AT there via my blog and offered to share my photos of this hike, both offers eagerly accepted.  After I got home I followed thru, and “Miss Molly” and I got a friendly dialog going.

Not only were the Restoration girls not Girl Scouts, but in the shelter I overhead one of them remark, a tad disparagingly, that Boy Scouts go camping and Girl Scouts sell cookies.

I told the girls how amazing they are to be undertaking so masterfully this great AT adventure, and they need to be very grateful to Mrs. Stone.  Later, I received a very gratifying note from her that said, among other things, “We thought of you and spoke of you often on the trail with fondness. Our time with you was such a blessing indeed and we are so thankful God put you in our path.”

When my new friends were ready to move on, I offered them the Aaronic priestly blessing (“May the Lord bless you and keep you….”), which they gratefully welcomed.  And off they went.

I settled into the shelter, then puddled .1 mile down the trail to the spring, which was overflowing down into the trail.  This time I did filter 2 liters of water on the spot and also brought back the Sawyer bag full.  I made a couple of entries in the shelter log—one for the Restoration crew, one for myself—prayed Daytime Prayer, made my supper (freeze-dried beef stew—again, half the package really wasn’t enuf—and some almonds and Crystal Lite); later I had a granola bar.  I prayed Evening Prayer after supper, then used the shelter logbook ball point to jot a few notes in my own pad; my pen had died after a few lines last nite.  There was a fine fire pit in front of the shelter, but once again everything was too wet and my attempts at a fire were duds.

Various day hikers went by.  Eventually some other hikers, either weekend or thru hikers, showed up in pairs and went uphill from the trail to the tenting area.  A young dad and his son, who looked to be about 11, arrived, and I invited them to join me in the shelter, which they did.  Their names were Jeremy and Jael.  Jeremy obviously had a good bit of experience and very nicely taught Jael how to get supper ready and other camping niceties.  It was Jael’s 1st overnite experience after a good many day hikes.

At dusk a young couple came into camp, and we welcomed them into the shelter.  They took the “upper deck.”  They prepared their supper while I read a bit of my magazine (an issue of Smithsonian) and did Nite Prayer.  All 5 of us in the shelter were in our sleeping bags before 9:00 p.m.

I awoke after just a couple (?) of hours of sleep with my back hurting.  It hurt to lie flat, and it hurt (a little less) to lie on either side.  So I tossed, turned, and rolled all nite, never really getting back to sleep.  My toe was fine if I didn’t move it, but if I flexed it, it hurt badly.  That’s when I decided it would be prudent not to push on 5 miles on Sunday, and another 3.8 miles on Monday.  If I didn’t leave the trail at Wolfsville Road in the morning, I wouldn’t have another chance for 8.8 miles at U.S. 40.

Day 3, Sunday, September 30

Sunday morning looked a little foggy as dawn edged into our camp.  Jeremy and Jael got up at 7:00 a.m., as they’d planned last nite, intending to be on the trail by 8:00 with 14 miles to cover, they said.  Since I couldn’t sleep anyway, I got up too.  Our up-above neighbors didn’t stir, and the 3 of us communicated only in whispers.  As they were departing, I told Jael what a lucky kid he was to have a dad who takes him camping.

I texted Fr. Mike Conway asking for a pick-up where the AT crosses Wolfsville Rd.  He replied that Bro. Bill Hanna would come for me, leaving Silver Spring around 8:30.

I didn’t care to celebrate Mass while they were packing up and using one end of the picnic table to do that and eat a little cold breakfast.  So I made my own breakfast, same as yesterday (oatmeal, orange, coffee), adding a granola bar.  Then I took up the breviary.

The young couple finally roused themselves and descended from their perch, did their ablutions, ate a little breakfast, and packed up.  As we talked, we learned that we live only about a mile apart in Silver Spring along the U.S. 29 corridor.  Small world!  He was raised Catholic but is no longer practicing, so I didn’t suggest they join me for Mass.  I thought they’d hiked in from Wolfsville Rd. and said they might take me home; they said that would be fine—but they were parked 6 miles north.  Obviously, I had no intention of hiking 6 miles since I wasn’t going to do even the 5 on my original plan for today.

Meanwhile, the folks tent-camping up above filtered by on their way to the privy and to the bear-bag stanchion, apparently intent on getting on their journeys.  I think I remember a couple of fresh day hikers coming by already.

So my shelter mates left around 9:00, and I thought I had a nice half-hour window to celebrate Mass quietly.  Wrong!  As I was starting the Creed, Fr. Mike called to tell me Bro. Bill was already up somewhere on Wolfsville Rd.  So I moved thru the rest of the Mass as quickly as propriety would allow, topped off my backpack, took a good look around to make sure I hadn’t left anything, and got moving.  My back didn’t hurt at all, and I felt quite ready to hike; but I knew that feeling wouldn’t last if I canceled my pick-up.

The trail guide said that Wolfsville Rd. was .2 mile from the shelter.  It didn’t say that the parking lot was at least .1 mile off the trail!  

Not much activity at the Wolfsville Rd. parking lot.

Anyhow, I got there before 9:45, and there was no sign of Bill.  Then we started phoning each other (with bad connections), and I texted him too, about where I was and where he was.  What we didn’t realize is that Wolfsville Rd. has 2 sections, one between I-70 and Wolfsville, and another a few miles farther north heading into Smithsburg.  All of it is Md Rte 17.  He was wandering around the southern section looking for the street address I’d supplied, which is on the northern section.  He hadn’t checked the directions in the trail guide about going 11.6 miles north on Md 17 from I-70, and I hadn’t consulted the AT trail map in advance to see how Wolfsville Rd. divided.

But eventually, after much back-and-forth (in both communications and on the road), Bro. Bill found me, and we headed home.  It was another great day for hiking, sunny and mild.  Good for my young friends moving on from Pogo Memorial toward Harpers Ferry!