Msgr. Robert Batule, Author at Amazing Catechists

About Msgr. Robert Batule

Msgr. Robert Batule is a priest of the Diocese of Rockville Centre, N.Y. He is on the faculty of the Seminary of the Immaculate Conception in Huntington, N.Y., where he teaches systematic theology.

The Integration of Love and Truth

By Msgr. Robert Batule

(Editor’s note: While this is a homily from Holy Thursday mass, it is packed with catechesis on the Eucharist, the priesthood, and the necessity of accepting suffering in order to evangelize and truly live the Christian life. Highly recommended! LM)

Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper

Corpus Christi RC Church

April 17, 2014

The basic facts of his life are the following: born in Pennsylvania in 1904; ordained a priest in 1937; slipped into the Soviet Union in 1940; arrested and charged with espionage in 1941; imprisoned for 23 years in the Gulag; given his freedom in 1963 and, finally, died in 1984. This man is Fr. Walter Ciszek, S.J.

A similar set of facts situates another life for us: born in 1928; ordained a priest in 1953; elevated to the episcopacy in 1967; arrested in 1975 and imprisoned for 13 years in North Vietnamese re-education camps; released from detention in 1988, and, finally, died in 2002. This man is Francis Cardinal Thuan.

As you have just heard, imprisonment figured decisively in the personal history of each man. The confinement meant of course deprivation of every kind – except what matters most in the spiritual life of every priest and his ministry. I am referring to the Holy Eucharist.

In the book With God in Russia (1964), Ciszek writes: “I had a little chalice and paten that one of the prisoners made out of nickel. . . . I would try to have the men get up early in the morning and go to various points around the camp. I’d meet them there, ostensibly by chance, in groups of two or three and, under the guise of a morning greeting, distribute Communion.” In the book Five Loaves and Two Fish (1997), Thuan writes: “At 9:30 PM, the lights were turned off and everyone had to sleep. I curled up on the bed to celebrate Mass, from memory. . . . [T]he prisoners received communion around me. . . . We made small containers from cigarette packages to reserve the Blessed Sacrament. . . . [T]he prisoners took turns for adoration. . . . Many Christians regained the fervor of their faith during those days, and Buddhists and other non-Christians converted.”

In tonight’s second reading, we have Saint Paul’s account of the institution of the Holy Eucharist. (cf. 1 Cor. 11:23-26) Recalling the words of Jesus at the Last Supper, the apostle notes also that the Lord commanded the apostles to repeat what He had done for the very first time in history. (cf. 1 Cor. 11:24) Moreover, in this command to repeat, we are instructed about frequency. As often as the apostles want to be in communion with the Lord, often then should they celebrate the Eucharist. (cf. 1 Cor. 11:25)

In listening carefully to the text, we realize that often is the only condition Jesus established for the Eucharist. He did not prescribe, for instance, in what place or at what time the Eucharist should be offered. Throughout history, these secondary matters of place and time have varied enormously depending on conditions favorable and unfavorable to the Church.

What great risk there was in Ciszek and Thuan offering Mass clandestinely! The fact that each one assumed that risk of harsher treatment and greater suffering is a powerful lesson about the irreplaceability of the Eucharist in our lives.

We celebrate the Eucharist often because, as Saint Paul says, we proclaim the death of the Lord until he comes. (cf. 1 Cor. 11:26) Every Eucharist is thus a foreshadowing of the Lord’s parousia or second coming. But in between the first and second comings of Christ, we continue to have the Lord’s Presence – what we traditionally call His Real Presence.

Now this surely explains why Ciszek and Thuan took the risk they did. Even though they could not be physically free, they knew that it was salutary to be in the presence of the One Who makes everyone free of his sins. In His earthly ministry, Jesus healed the blind, the deaf and the lame, and He continues to do this for us now by His sacramental presence. For without the Eucharist, Ciszek and Thuan might very well have given in to the darkness of unbelief, the silence of despair and the crippling state of apathy.

Unbelief, despair, and apathy are present in all the ages of history, and these afflictions are seldom missing in one form or another from individual lives. Faith, hope, and love – the remedies for the aforementioned burdens – come to us through Christ and the Spirit He sends to regenerate us. They come of course when we ourselves are there at the Eucharist to receive these divine favors.

The challenge we all know is that many of our co-religionists are often not with us. The new evangelization bids each one of us then to live the supernatural virtues of faith, hope, and charity as best we can, and thereby invite a curiosity about their origin in the one bread and the one cup we share tonight.

Saint Paul expresses the evangelizing spirit this way: “For the love of Christ impels us,” (2 Cor. 5:14) that is, it thrusts us forward into contact with others. We are led to do this, Saint Paul contends, by a conviction. (cf. 2 Cor. 5:14) Our conviction about the Eucharist is that the Lord is with us Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, although our eyes see just bread and wine. Conviction is not group think; on the contrary, it is inexorably personal. At the same time, conviction is sustained by good outward example, and when that example accords fully with unseen conviction, it causes others to inquire, How can I believe like that too? As the belief of Fr. Ciszek and Cardinal Thuan might move us to a deeper devotion to the Eucharist, might we in turn be catalysts for others to have a deeper, more profound faith in the Lord Who dwells with us on the altar and in the tabernacle.

In tonight’s gospel, Saint John records Jesus announcing that not all of the apostles are clean. (cf. Jn 13:10) This declaration is prompted by the betrayal of Judas which Jesus discloses explicitly and is recorded a few verses later. (cf. Jn 13:21-30) Concerning being made clean, the Fathers of the Church interpreted this reference as an illusion to Baptism. And tonight I would like to use this baptismal motif as a springboard for commenting briefly on the ministerial priesthood.

There is one priesthood of Christ. Yet there are two participations in it – the priesthood of the baptized and the ministerial priesthood. Moreover, the Second Vatican Council teaches that the ministerial priesthood differs from the priesthood of the baptized not just in degree but in essence. (cf. Lumen Gentium, 10)

The ministerial priesthood is also at the service of the priesthood of the baptized. (cf. Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1547) When we consider the lives of Ciszek and Thuan, it is clear that these two priests served by their suffering. They lived for years at a time what Jesus did for all men when He hung upon the Cross on Good Friday.

It is not in its length but in its ordering to love that suffering is redemptive. Suffering endured out of love affords the priest the opportunity to be more Christ-like, which after all is the preeminent goal of his vocation. And following Christ’s example, the priest chooses to accept suffering because it is, in the words of Blessed John Paul II, “the firmest basis of the definitive good, namely, the good of eternal salvation.” (Salvifici Doloris, 26)

The one who attains eternal salvation is the one who lives a holy life. The priest’s holiness is found partly in his ministerial activities: offering Mass; hearing confessions; anointing the sick and dying; preaching and pastoral administration. But surely it does not end there. Holiness for the priest requires that he be willing to suffer for the truth. And for that, you need not be detained against your will although that was the penalty for speaking truthfully in the case of Saint John the Baptist.

When John told Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother’s wife (Mk 6:18),” he found himself arrested and imprisoned. (cf. Mk 6:17) This outcome is unlikely today for the priest who dares to address moral subjects in the pulpit, but with speech codes and the like, we are moving closer and closer in that direction. It is much more likely that he be accused of upsetting people when he has departed from the social consensus on topics like birth control, homosexuality, and same-sex marriage. Suffering for the truth comes in different forms – sometimes for the priest it takes the form of being cast as out-of-touch with modern ideas and being branded as pastorally inflexible.

The prophetic ministry of the priest is vindicated because it is not his own word he preaches but the word of God. That word will never pass away, but it is going to be resisted. Yet even in the resistance there is a real opportunity for likeness to Christ on the part of the priest. “If the world hates you, realize that it hated me first,” Jesus tells the apostles at the Last Supper. (Jn 15:18) Like Christ in being rejected, the priest finds encouragement and solace in these words spoken by the Lord of the world at the Last Supper: “[T]ake courage, I have conquered the world.” (Jn 16:33)

All the while the priest is trying to imitate Christ, he must still have his eyes trained on Saint John the Baptist. A sign of vocational maturity for the priest then is the extent to which he makes his own the words of the Baptist: “He must increase; I must decrease.” (Jn 3:30) And nowhere is this attitude of self-forgetfulness more evident than in tonight’s gospel. For the One Who is increasing there is increasing paradoxically along the path of humility.

In tonight’s gospel, Jesus washes the feet of the apostles. (cf. Jn 13:12) With this gesture, Jesus bids the apostles to wash one another’s feet. (cf. Jn 13:14) It is clear, too, that in this humble action, the apostles have a model which they can use even when the Lord is not with them. (cf. Jn 13:15) With this part of the gospel, I take an opportunity to comment on the service rendered by Catholic lay men and women who strive after holiness also.

In the latter part of the text, we ought to pay attention not only to what Jesus does, but also to what He says. He acknowledges the titles given Him, Master and Teacher, and approves of them. (cf. Jn 13:13) A teacher instructs, and thus his words are as meaningful as his actions. Indeed, there is no gap between word and deed – where one ends, the other begins. There is a veritable seamlessness between speech and conduct.

The unity of word and deed is expressed still another way at the Last Supper. Besides the mandatum or foot washing and besides the titles of Master and Teacher, there are petition and consecration. The petition concerns Jesus’ prayer that God’s love be in the apostles. (cf. Jn 17:26) The consecration is that the apostles be made holy in the truth. (cf. Jn 17:19)

When we bear love and truth through our direct service, these same gifts are received together by the poor, the vulnerable and the marginalized. And through our works of mercy, we address the suffering and pain of the people whom we want to help. At the very same time, our works of mercy contribute to the holiness of servant (ourselves) and served (the people we are trying to help) because they reflect the correct integration of love and truth. But not all forms of assistance preserve this correct integration of love and truth.

The Church’s refusal to cooperate in same-sex adoptions, for instance, is not a violation of anyone’s civil rights. The Church is only saying that she has a right to maintain her Catholicity all the while she helps people. The same holds for the HHS mandates which threaten to force the Church out of the health care and education fields. The Church’s service must be consonant with her nature. Doxology or giving glory to God does not exist where right belief and right practice are unhinged.

Let us resolve tonight to be more committed to the Holy Eucharist, to pray for priests and to practice love in the truth. We have begun to celebrate the Lord’s paschal victory in word and sacrament tonight. Let us prepare to go now with the Lord into the Garden and pray not to be put to the test. (cf. Lk 22:46)

Praised be Jesus Christ!

The Holy Thursday Mandate: Love and Teach

By Msgr. Robert Batule

Evening Mass of the Lord’s Supper (Holy Thursday)

Saint Joseph Seminary

March 28, 2013

On the Fourth Sunday of Lent this year, we listened at the liturgy to the story of the prodigal son. (cf. Lk 15:1-3;11-32) Early in the account, the evangelist relates how the younger of two sons petitions his father for his share of the estate. (cf. Lk 15:12) A share of the estate is the inheritance which would come to the younger son upon his father’s death. It is shocking that the younger son should have such little regard for his father that all he wants is his dad’s money. We recognize in the son a real contempt for his father, beginning for the son a descent into what the text calls a life of dissipation. (cf. Lk 15:13) What bankrolls the dissipation of course is an inheritance obtained prematurely and squandered swiftly.

Obviously, not all inheritances are used in such a reckless fashion. Most are not demanded up front and many are applied to unobjectionable pursuits. We acknowledge too that not all inheritances are of money.

In October of last year, we started observing a Year of Faith, recalling jointly the 50^th anniversary of the opening of the Second Vatican Council and the 20^th anniversary of the publication of the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Faith too is an inheritance; it has been passed on to us. In most cases, our parents saw to it that we were baptized and taught the basics of the faith we profess today. As priests and future priests, we endeavor to do our part to pass on the Catholic faith by preaching, celebrating the sacraments and witnessing to Christ in manifold ways.

The faith we hold is not vague and undefined; it is particular – scandalously so. Not causing us to stumble, particular truths of faith are stepping stones to a deeper relationship with the Lord. Tonight we are bid to consider what we have inherited particularly in the Holy Eucharist, the ministerial priesthood and service to others.

In tonight’s second reading, we have heard Saint Paul’s account of the institution of the Eucharist. In this brief passage, the apostle says he has received the teaching on the Eucharist from the Lord. (cf. 1 Cor. 11:23) In turn, he hands it on to the Corinthians that they might make it the irreplaceable center of their faith. (cf. 1 Cor. 11:23)

The teaching concerns not just a commemoration of what Jesus did at the Last Supper. For we believe that the Lord is really present to us in His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity under the signs of bread and wine, and that this presence surpasses any other way that He is in our midst. (cf. Mysterium Fidei, 38)

We don’t inherit presence the way we do hair color, height and other characteristics. The Eucharist is not, as it were, in our genes. But the DNA of faith has given us a likeness to Christ. Indeed, it is even suggested to us by Saint Stephen who in his martyrdom imitated the Lord by forgiving those who stoned him. (cf. Acts 7:60) But what about a likeness to the Resurrection? We have of course Saint Paul’s words that Christ will change our lowly bodies to be like His glorified one. (cf. Phil 3:21)

More magnificently though, there is the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist which attests to the Resurrection. Msgr. Robert Sokolowski, a professor of philosophy at the Catholic University in Washington, D.C., writes: “[I]n the Eucharist, the risen Christ [is] ‘scattered’ throughout the world even while he subsists within the Holy Trinity. . . . Through the Eucharistic continuance of the Son’s act of obedience, glory is given . . . not only in the heavens but also on the earth.”

We might be able to add a few years on to our lives with good genes. But not even good genes can stop death. The inheritance that does overcome death is the Eucharist. “This is the bread that comes down from heaven so that one may eat it and not die.” (Jn 6:50) The glory of the Eucharist is not ephemeral and passing away; it comes splendidly first to our altars and remains so in our tabernacles. It is a hidden glory, to be sure. But with the eyes of faith, we see what merely natural eyes miss. On this most blessed of nights, we beseech you, Lord, give us always the grace to see your Risen Son whose appearance under the form of bread and wine belies the strength and power of One Who has triumphed over the darkness of the grave.

Big events in the Catholic world invite every kind of speculation and Benedict XVI’s renunciation and abdication of the papacy was no exception. Would this be the moment, some wondered, when the Church’s Latin Rite would finally make celibacy optional for priests? Others were more brazen and issued calls for a married priesthood as a panacea for the Church’s woes. Inasmuch as clerical celibacy has a long tradition in the Church, it can be considered an inheritance. But just how much of clerical celibacy is an inheritance?

Peter Seewald is a journalist whose interview of then-Cardinal Ratzinger became the book Salt of the Earth (Ignatius Press, 1996). Seewald asked the future Pope about celibacy for priests and the answer came with a reference to the Old Testament. “Israel,” the future Pope said, “marches into the land. Each of the eleven tribes gets its land, its territory. Only the tribe of Levi, the priestly tribe, doesn’t get an inheritance; its inheritance is God alone. . . . The land where the priest lives is God.”

In tonight’s gospel, Jesus indicates His intention to wash the feet of the apostles. (cf. Jn 13:4-5) Peter objects and Jesus responds firmly, “Unless I wash you, you will have no inheritance with me.” (Jn 13:8) What, though, could Jesus pass on to Peter but the wealth of the Kingdom?

Peter was a married man (cf. Mk 1:30) and he was likely present when Jesus taught about marriage’s indissolubility. (cf. Matt 19:6,9) In Saint Matthew’s Gospel, the teaching on marriage is linked to Jesus’ teaching on celibacy, that is, “some . . . have renounced marriage for the sake of the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt 19:12)

Jesus in His public ministry addressed the difficulty of abiding in the kingdom of God. They will have it easier, Jesus contends, who give up houses, children and lands and thus gain eternal life by their sacrifices. (cf. Matt 19:29) Again, the former Cardinal Ratzinger comments: “I forego bringing forth further life . . . and I live in the faith that my land is really God – and so I make it easier for others, also, to believe that there is a kingdom of heaven.”

The fact that we – priests and seminarians – are living celibately now does not mean we have a lock on heaven. By no means indeed! But we have embraced a mode of existence which not only gives us more time than most, but more significantly, celibacy signifies the reality of the eschaton in every human life. What we do and how we do it are important to the degree they find their fulfillment in the victory of the Eternal Son over the immanence of time.

We cannot overlook the humility of Jesus washing the feet of the apostles in tonight’s gospel. Almost on a par with this humility is the respect the apostles have for Christ. They refer to Him as master and teacher and the text indicates that Jesus accepts these titles. (cf. Jn 13:13) For Jesus, there is no disjunction between what He says as teacher and how He acts as servant. The two are not opposed to each other.

There is a long history in the Church of linking together service with teaching – whether you call these elements the corporal and spiritual works of mercy, orthopraxis and orthodoxy or doctrine and the social gospel. With this long history and our reception of it, we would then have another inheritance and it would once again be a matter of our stewardship.

In recent times, pressure has been mounting to have us de-couple service from teaching and the HHS mandates of the Patient Protection and Affordable Health Care Act of 2010 are but one example. We must resist this pressure because the Church cannot serve interests which inherently contradict what she is, in fact, supposed to uphold by a fidelity to her Teacher and Master. The Church cannot teach one thing through her Magisterium and act in a way which makes a mockery of that same teaching. The Church has a right to maintain her Catholicity all the while she helps people.

At the Last Supper, Jesus prays that the love He has for the Father be in the apostles (cf. Jn 17:26) and that the apostles be consecrated in the truth. (cf. Jn 17:19) This prayer issues forth from the lips of Jesus as He sends the apostles into the world. (cf. Jn 17:18) Love and truth are thus borne by the same messengers. Just as love and truth are borne by the same messengers, so can they be received together by those who have the Gospel proclaimed to them through direct action or service. The correct integration of love and truth, then, reflects how nature and mission coincide, prescribing some measures and proscribing others.

In entering upon the Sacred Triduum, we have opened the door to a rich liturgical feast. At the table of the Lord, we are guests who long to be seated at the banquet of heaven. Before reaching our ultimate goal, we are fed with the gift of finest wheat which has been sanctified by the Lord’s priests, and exhorted to serve one another according to Christ’s model of humility.

In the judgment scene of Saint Matthew’s Gospel, the Son of Man says to the righteous: “Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” (Matt 25:34) May we continue to advance along the path of righteousness, giving glory and praise to the Lord Jesus Christ for His mercy and His favor!

Moral Leadership: A Gutsy Tradition

By Msgr. Robert Batule

Moses was first to prove himself in the Exodus. With the Egyptians in pursuit, Moses stretched out his hand over the sea and the escaping Israelites were led to safety. The Egyptians, meanwhile, died on the seashore. (cf. Ex 14:26,30) Next he was to vindicate himself at Sinai. There, Moses received and announced the Decalogue from the Lord. (cf. Dt 5:5)

Parting the Red Sea and presenting the Ten Commandments could have been easy next to the challenge for Moses in today’s first reading. In this text from the Book of Exodus, God commands Moses to “[g]o down at once to your people . . . for they have become depraved.” (Ex 32:7) The depravity, the text indicates, stems from the Israelites making a molten calf and worshipping it. (cf. Ex 32:8) False worship and immoral conduct are often found together.

When he is called by the Lord, Moses is tending the flock of his father-in-law Jethro. (cf. Ex 3:1) God takes His servant away from one flock and places him at the head of another one, the flock of His people. At the time, this flock is under cruel Egyptian oppression. The oppression, when it is relieved by the hand of God, does not mean for the Israelites that they are home free, morally speaking. Far from it, in fact. Enslavement at the hands of others is no immunity against making ourselves slaves to sin in the future.

Moses is the divinely appointed leader of a people with hopes and fears; aspirations and misgivings; desires and failings. Moses and others like him are given to peoples who show their leaders affection and respect; kindness and solicitude; decency and honor. Those appointed as leaders are wise to build on these usually generous conferrals from the people they govern. And, not surprisingly, they are disinclined to put these favors at risk by engaging unpopular subjects.

Obviously, then, we cannot overlook the serious charge given to Moses in today’s first reading, that is, to confront the depravity of the people in his care. This really is a consideration for every moral leader of every time, including our own. How does a moral leader address the disorders of the soul present in his people and not place in jeopardy the relationship he has with his congregants?

John Haas is a moral theologian. At a symposium on the priest as a moral teacher and guide in 1990, he observed that there is an “unfounded timidity of many priests to teach the hard doctrines of Christ, whom they represent.”

Think of it for a moment. When was the last time you heard a mention of contraception or homosexuality in the pulpit?

Preaching on moral issues is never easy and for many different reasons, too. But recall that John Haas said timidity is unfounded. It is possible to treat difficult subjects from the pulpit with confidence and even boldness because of the example given to us by Saint John the Baptist. Jesus mentions him in today’s gospel. (cf. Jn 5:33) Jesus refers to him as having testified to the truth. (cf. Jn 5:33) He is a burning and shining lamp, Jesus says. (cf. Jn 5:35) John brings light to the darkness of our lives. (cf. Jn 5:35)

John, we know, paid a high cost for this. After telling Herod that it was not right to take his brother’s wife in marriage, he was thrown in prison and was eventually killed for his witness. (cf. Mk 6:17-29) But John was a free man. And his freedom was real because he abided in the truth. Abiding in the truth may not elicit praise from others (cf. Jn 5:44), but it will bring praise from God as Jesus promises in today’s gospel. (cf. Jn 5:44)

We should not fear the truth, but we can still wonder about the persons involved when we speak about violations of the moral law. Even here, we are not without good example.

In Saint John’s Gospel, the evangelist records how an adulterous woman is brought forward. The Pharisees and scribes then appeal to Moses. “Now in the law, Moses commanded us to stone such women . . . [W]hat do you say?” (cf. Jn 8:3-5) Jesus, the new Moses, admonishes her and sends her on her way, “Go and from now on do not sin any more.” (Jn 8:11)

It seems awfully obvious but nonetheless it must be said. The moral leader detests the sin but loves the sinner. Even with this approach, it will not remove pastoral tension because of the inclination there is to reject not just the admonishment but the one who administers it. The admonishments we make, though, are admonishments in the name of the Lord. The Lord’s name is on all the commandments, including those which may be broken by moral leaders. All who are called to observe the commandments are destined to be judged by the same Lord.

In the Farewell Discourse, at the Last Supper, Jesus prepares the apostles for their mission with these words: “If they persecuted me, they will also persecute you.” (Jn 15:20) This Lenten season commemorates the Lord’s persecution while He was on earth. The Lord also promised in the same Farewell Discourse that He has overcome the world (cf. Jn 16:33). He indeed has. And so will moral leaders who proclaim the Lord’s word in season and out of season. They, too, will overcome the world by the power of the Spirit Who converts the timidity of our hearts into the zeal of saints.

Padre Pio and the Cross: Glorifying God in Our Bodies

By Msgr. Robert Batule

Last year, I gave a lecture at Stony Brook University. I gave it on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in October with brilliant blue skies. More than 100 people showed up too! But, alas, they were not drawn to the event because I was the speaker; they were in attendance because of the subject matter. I spoke on Padre Pio.

In the question and answer period that followed my lecture, a good many of the queries were about the miracles attributed to the pious Capuchin friar who died in 1968. And a few of the probes were specifically related to the saint’s reported bilocations. A source for this phenomenon were pilots of the US Army Air Force who recounted seeing the holy man of God thousands of feet in the air while on bombing raids in Italy during World War II. According to testimonies given, Padre Pio’s bilocation caused these pilots to avert their missions and thus there wasn’t any loss of life or destruction of property. An astonishing feature like a bilocation no doubt adds to a saint’s reputation, but it’s hardly the most important facet in the overall sanctity of one so dedicated to God. That a man or woman gives evidence of an extraordinary cooperation with God’s will in all circumstances is far more significant, we would have to say in judging holiness.

In June of 2002, when Padre Pio was canonized and declared a saint of the Catholic Church, Blessed John Paul II in his homily for the occasion never made a single reference to the miracles attributed to Padre Pio or to his bilocations. Instead, the Holy Father referred to Padre Pio as a man of suffering, a man of the Cross. From his physical infirmities to his internal agonies – all of them offered up for the Church – Padre Pio carried within himself the dying of the Lord. (cf. 2 Cor. 4:10) And that Saint Paul not be misunderstood in this matter, Padre Pio’s suffering in union with Christ was also that the life of Jesus be manifested in our bodies. (cf. 2 Cor. 4:10)

In Luke’s gospel, we find Peter’s confession of faith. (cf. Lk 9:18-22) It is a rather sparse account, especially when it is compared with parallel passages in Saint Mark and Saint Matthew. (cf. Mk 8:27-33 and Matt 16:13-20) For instance, this text does not include any reference to Caesarea Philippi, the location for Jesus to pose the question about his identity. And unlike Saint Matthew’s account, there is no conferral of authority on Peter in this text. What it does include of course is Jesus’ promise that the Son of Man must suffer greatly. (cf. Lk 9:22)

C.S. Lewis (1898-1963), the great English author once said: “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” It’s a stretch, thinking of our world as a deaf place. There’s noise all the time, everywhere we go. There is the noise of heavy equipment on the nearby interstate, the noise of cell phones ringing in elevators and the noise of blasting car stereos while we’re stopped at red lights. It’s ubiquitous. You can’t escape it!

In one of our liturgy’s opening collects, we pray: “In a world filled with lights contrary to God’s . . . .” We might paraphrase these words and say: In a world filled with sounds contrary to God’s. But just what is the sound of God?

The sound of God is intelligible because it is a word, the Word, in fact. Jesus, the Word made flesh, loves his own in the world and loves them to the end. (cf. Jn 13:1) In love, Jesus endures his suffering, making it redemptive for us. But there is always the possibility that suffering can be rejected. Even Jesus could have chosen this path himself when he was in the Garden of Gethsemane. He could have let the cup pass him by then; instead, he drank of it as the will of the One Who sent him. (cf. Lk 22:42)

All of us must come to terms with suffering and its place in our lives. We have to decide if we are going to flee from it or accept it on the model of Christ. Let us return then to Jesus and the words on his lips as he hangs upon the Cross. Saint Luke records Jesus saying at that moment, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” (Lk 23:46)

These words of Jesus show his complete surrender to the will of the One Who sent him (Jn 5:30) and confirm him as one committed to the divine plan irrevocably. The Son does not hold anything back in doubt or uncertainty; he gives it all away not counting the cost. This is indeed the essence of love. But, as Saint Paul reminds us in his First Letter to the Corinthians, we see now as if through a glass darkly. (cf. 1 Cor. 13:12) Yet, remarkably, our ability to see is improved if only temporarily by figures like Saint Pio of Pietrelcina. He who bore the stigmata showing the depth of his acceptance of the Cross brings the light of Christ to our lives, encouraging us to bear all things with the love of Christ.

The light and love of Christ – more powerful than darkness and suffering – are never far from us. We experience them in every Eucharist we celebrate together. Through the Eucharist, may we confess Jesus as the Messiah the way Peter does in Luke’s gospel. (cf. Lk 9:20) We have a Messiah Who takes no shortcuts, carrying his own Cross to Calvary and then being nailed to it. As great as the Resurrection is, it cannot remove those nail marks from Jesus’ glorified body and from history. We have been purchased at a great price. Therefore, let us glorify God in our bodies! (cf. 1 Cor. 6:20)

Two Small Coins: A Heart Undivided

By Msgr. Robert Batule

The break at Thanksgiving afforded many of us the chance to get out and see family and friends again and find out what’s been on people’s minds these past few weeks, especially since the last mini-break we had in early October to mark Columbus Day. It seemed that everywhere I went this time, people were still talking about the storm of late October and the clean-up that ensued. Along with the loss of life in some places and the loss of property in a lot of places, in the wake of the storm came a gas emergency with motorists waiting on lines for hours. Since this lasted for two weeks or so, drivers were forced to make some choices they otherwise would not have made. Even if you didn’t take out maps and calculators to measure distance against miles per gallon, you found yourself using your car less because you didn’t want an empty tank when you needed to go to work. You limited yourself to essential trips and that called for calculation.

If you’re like me, this probably crimped your style. I’m used to driving my car at the drop of a hat so to speak, and I suddenly had to plan whether or not I could make it to certain destinations on a half or quarter of a tank. Although it may have crimped my style, the lesson it teaches is a good one: Make a prudent use of what you have and it will take you a long way.

In today’s gospel, Saint Luke offers us a description of an episode in the Lord’s public ministry at nearly the end of his gospel. Jesus has already entered the city of Jerusalem where His ministry will reach its apogee and He will fulfill the mission for which He was sent. Today’s passage begins the twenty-first chapter and it consists of just four verses.

Jesus observes some wealthy people putting their offerings into the treasury. (Lk 21:1) At the same time, He notices a poor widow putting two small coins into the treasury. (Lk 21:2) Not missing an opportunity to teach, Jesus declares that the poor widow has contributed more than all the rest. (Lk 21:3) Obviously, Jesus’ appraisal is not about the monetary value of the respective offerings. He is referring of course to the manner of giving. The poor widow has offered her whole livelihood and has given out of her poverty (Lk 21:4) while the wealthy have given out of their excess. (Lk 21:4)

The end of the year and our recent national holiday provide us with a reflective time, a time to review basic orientations in life. In this spirit, I wish to note two life stances which, broadly speaking, capture how we live our lives. According to the first orientation, we ought to play everything safe. Be cautious and circumspect in all your endeavors. Have a plan, a back-up plan and a back-up to the back-up plan. According to the second orientation, strikingly different from the first one, we should take risks as often as they present themselves to us. Lay claim to your choices even if they be reckless and foolish. Leave no margin for error. Go right up to the edge in all you do. We all know people who play it safe and we all know people who don’t plan. Likewise, we can be characterized one way or the other ourselves.

We have arrived at the end of the liturgical year and we are poised to start a new Church year with Advent being less than a week away. The readings at Mass – on this coming Sunday and during the week we are in now – counsel us to be vigilant and to be watchful. Vigilance and watchfulness are what are needed as we await the Lord whose judgment is just and merciful.

An integral part of our preparation for divine judgment and recompense is the example shown by the poor widow in today’s gospel. She is commended by Jesus because she didn’t hold anything back in her offering to the treasury. Her two small coins represent the totality of the gift that we make to God if not always financially than at least vocationally.

As we come to the end of the liturgical year, it is right that we give consideration to our vocations and check ourselves on whether we have given ourselves fully to the Lord or not. We are, after all, stewards of gifts. And even before we open our wallets to give sacrificially, we must open our hearts to give to the Lord according to the measure He has given to us.

There is a parable at the end of Saint Matthew’s Gospel which makes this point well. In the twenty-fifth chapter of his gospel, the evangelist presents Jesus’ lesson about the ten virgins awaiting the arrival of the bridegroom. (cf. Matt 25:1-13) Five of them were foolish and five were wise. (Matt 25:2) What made five of them wise was the fact that they prudently planned. They were the ones who had sufficient oil for their lamps. (Matt 25:4)

The challenge before us is to plan prudently as the five wise virgins do and, at the same time, give of ourselves unstintingly as the widow does in today’s text. How is it possible to do both at the same time? Saint John Chrysostom, the fourth century Bishop of Constantinople, writes: “It is not a question of giving a little of what you have, but, like the widow, of giving everything you have.”

Planning prudently insures that there is always enough gas in the tank or oil in the flask. The Latin adage – Nemo dat non quod habet – is applicable here. You can’t give what you don’t have.

As our semester draws to a close, we resolve to give of ourselves generously in prayer and study. We can do so only because we have planned wisely up to this point. The Lord made Himself poor on our account so that we can become rich. Rich, that is, in grace. Our two small coins are not just all we have to live on, but all that matters for living unto eternity if we give them to God with an undivided heart.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Moving the Stone

By Msgr. Robert Batule

Late last month, I brought my car to a Chevy dealership for some routine servicing. As I got out of the car, I was greeted by an employee who said he had a question for me. He wanted to know how the stone was moved away from the tomb. His reference of course was to Jesus’ tomb. I told him that the moved stone signaled the Resurrection had occurred.

In today’s gospel, Saint John describes for us how Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early in the morning – while it was still dark. (cf. Jn 20:1) Despite the darkness, she saw that the stone was removed from the tomb. (cf. Jn 20:1)

The moved stone is not insignificant, I contend. It is interesting to note, for example, that when the Risen Lord appears to the apostles in the upper room, He passes right through the locked doors. (cf. Jn 20:19) He obviously could have done the same with the stone at His burial place – pass right through it. Nevertheless, our text says only that the stone was removed.

We can figure on two reasons for the stone in front of the sepulcher. One is given by the Pharisees and chief priests: “that the grave be secured . . . lest his disciples come and steal him.” (Matt 27:64) The other reason of course has to do with health. Like Lazarus who had been dead for four days, there would be a stench. (cf. Jn 11:39)

We have no way of knowing the precise dimensions of the stone at Jesus’ tomb. Nevertheless, we can presume it was very large and that it would require a team of men, perhaps even having to use an animal with ropes to re-locate the stone.

A very large stone imposes restrictions, it inhibits you from moving about freely and functions just as bars do in a prison. You are confined to a prescribed place and there you remain until someone removes the impediment.

A very large stone at the entrance to Jesus’ tomb was put there by men – sinful men, you and me. And there is only One who can move it and that is God. The scribes and Pharisees were right: “[O]nly God can forgive sins.” (Mk 2:7) But they were wrong about Jesus: He is not a blasphemer. (cf. Mk 14:64)

The Son not only forgives our sins, He has also conquered death. When Jesus first said that He has overcome death, many of His listeners did not accept it and they walked away in protest. (cf. Jn 6:66) The apostles, though, remained with the Lord on this occasion because they knew Jesus had the words of eternal life. (cf. Jn 6:68)

Jesus has the words of eternal life because He is eternal life. (cf. Jn 11:25) If anyone eats the Lord’s flesh and drinks His blood, the Lord will raise him up. (cf. Jn 6:54) The Eucharist is thus the gateway to eternal life, and no stone – however large – can keep the forgiven sons and daughters of God from delighting in the risen life of Christ.

He who knew no sin was made sin for us, says Saint Paul in the New Testament. (cf. 2 Cor. 5:21) With this expression, the apostle describes what Jesus does to make us righteous before God. (cf. 2 Cor. 5:21) Making use of a similar irony and paradox, Saint Peter proclaims in a post-Resurrection confession of faith. “He is the stone rejected by you, the builders, which has become the cornerstone.” (Acts 4:11)

We have built for death and we have used stones of mortality by our sinning. Jesus has reversed this pattern by His Resurrection. In Him, the destroyed temple (cf. Jn 2:19) has been astonishingly re-made. Our bodies, in imitation of His, can be gloriously transformed. (cf. Phil 3:21) In the Risen Lord, we have become temples of the Holy Spirit.

This Easter, Christ comes to us, a living stone. (cf. 1 Pt 2:4) Here, at this Eucharist, like at our Baptism, we are being built into a spiritual house. (cf. 1 Pt 2:5) In the household of God (cf. Eph 2:19), all that we are and all that we do is inexorably related to the Holy Eucharist. It is the Lord’s sacramental presence which forms and shapes us inwardly, ratifying our identity as the sons and daughters of our heavenly Father before any other allegiance.

“In my Father’s house,” Jesus tells the apostles at the First Eucharist, “there are many dwelling places.” (Jn 14:2) Even if we bristle under the Father’s headship and throw off the easy yoke of our dwelling with God (cf. Matt 11:30), our status as sons and daughters remains intact because of what Jesus accomplished through the sacrifice of His life upon the altar of the Cross. He has reconciled us with the Father, sealing the covenant in His blood. It is the memorial of the Lord’s passion and Resurrection, the Holy Eucharist, which guarantees our access to the richness of the Father’s mercy. (cf. Eph 2:4)

Who, then, would ever want to stay away from such a splendid thing as the Eucharist? We could stay away if we prefer isolation and withdrawal over union and intimacy and fear and loneliness over trust and solitude. The Risen Lord, though, has conferred a matchless power on union, intimacy, trust and solitude and defeated the enemies of isolation, withdrawal, fear and loneliness. This great movement in history began when the stone was moved out of the way on that first Easter Sunday.

Praised be the Risen Christ!

Solemnity of the Resurrection
Acts 10:34a,37-43; Col 3:1-4; Jn 20:1-9
April 8, 2012

The Power of the Passion

By Msgr. Robert Batule

Stripped down to its barest essentials, power is the ability to put an idea into practice. To be sure, how we exercise power is an important matter, but first we must know what it is before we wield it.

In the ancient world, there was no better concrete expression of power than the Roman Empire. The Romans had the best schools and the most learned teachers. Their armies, which marched all over the known world at the time, scored victory after victory and subdued every foe. Roman engineering feats – bridges, great buildings and the like – were the envy of those seeking some permanent reminder of achievement. All of these things testified to Rome’s power, but perhaps nothing was more emblematic of Roman power than the law.

Long after Roman schools had passed out of existence, long after Roman armies had stopped conquering enemies and long after their buildings had been reduced to rubble, the power of Rome was still being felt through the law. The Romans had been notable for developing a system of law that sought justice over caprice, and planted the concept of giving each person his due everywhere they went. History shows that material and physical accomplishments can be leveled to dust quickly, but not so the longing and passion we have for justice.

Early in the passion account of Saint John, Jesus appears before Pontius Pilate, the personification of Roman law, to answer the charge that He is a king. (cf. Jn 18:33-38). Jesus links kingship with the truth in His reply to Pilate, acknowledging that the reason He came into the world is to testify to the truth. (cf. Jn 18:37) Pilate is mystified, however. “What is truth?” he muses. (cf. Jn 18:38) It is not enough for the Roman authority in Palestine to be cavalier in his attitude about the truth, he even says in reference to Jesus: “I find no guilt in him.” (Jn 18:38) Not finding guilt in Jesus, Pilate still – amazingly – does not treat Jesus justly. Instead, he acts on the Jewish custom of releasing a prisoner at Passover, allowing the guilty Barabbas to be spared over the innocent Jesus. (cf. Jn 18:39)

In Christ, One Who is innocent and blameless in every way is condemned to death. (cf. Jn 19:16) What then can we say of power in the case of Jesus? It has been grossly misused against Him. It has been utterly debased, placed at the service of falsehood and compromise. Honor and integrity have been sacrificed in favor of cowardice and pusillanimity.

Holy Week always brings into sharp focus the central mysteries of our Christian faith. From Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday, the Church invites us to witness to and share in the rites by which we claim salvation in Christ. It would be a mistake, however, if through our witness and participation we did not stop to consider this week what is the true meaning of power in our lives.

For some of us, power is found in always getting our own way. We unfailingly manipulate situations so that we always come out on top – we won’t tolerate any other outcome at home, at work, or wherever we may find ourselves. We relish the feeling of having it “one up” on those around us. For others among us, power is in calculating how to make the most number of people dependent on us, thereby satisfying our need to be needed. There is enormous ego pleasure in knowing we are indispensible to others. For still others, power is in being above the fray, detached, and untainted by the vicissitudes of life.

Holy Week shows us a beaten and dejected Savior. Bearing our infirmities and laying upon Himself our guilt (cf. Is 53:4,6), He challenges us to shake off our false notions of power – whatever they may be and in whatever form they may take. Power is not in what I cling to and what I hold on to; it is in how I empty myself, as Saint Paul indicates for us in today’s second reading. (cf. Phil 2:6-7) The Lord’s obedience unto death (cf. Phil 2:8) is the real power at work in His life and in our lives too – if only we allow it to be so.

Let us be alert to the Lord’s power here at this Eucharist. May it cleanse us of our sins and make us the new creations promised by the Resurrection!

Palm Sunday Homily
April 1, 2012

The Deeper Meaning of Wealth

By Msgr. Robert Batule

On a cool autumn night more than thirty years ago, the words of today’s gospel rang out in Yankee Stadium. They were proclaimed in the House that Ruth built as Pope John Paul II celebrated Mass. Commenting on this passage from Saint Luke, the Holy Father said then:

“We cannot stand idly by, enjoying our own riches and freedom, if, in any place, the Lazarus of the twentieth century stands at our doors. In the light of the parable . . . riches and freedom mean a special responsibility. Riches and freedom mean a special obligation.” (Homily at Yankee Stadium)

The appropriateness of the parable of the rich man and Lazarus for proclamation during the pontiff’s first pastoral visit to our country could scarcely be questioned. The United States was then and continues now to be the most affluent nation in the history of the world. Millions and millions of people have become materially rich in America. Even more people have known an unparalleled political freedom here.

In the view of some, the pilgrim Pope had come to the shores of America to afflict the comfortable. To others, he was preaching the Gospel of a preferential option for the poor. To those who accept Michael Harrington’s analysis, the Pope was exposing the other America.

The other America, of course, is poverty, the other side of wealth. There is no getting away from the fact that there are two sides. In today’s gospel, Our Lord indicates that following death, both the rich man and Lazarus are separated by a great chasm. (cf. Lk 16:26) It prevents anyone from crossing from one side to the other. (cf. Lk 16:26)

It is clear from the text that one side is heaven and the other is hell. One side is in the bosom of Abraham (cf. Lk 16:22) and the other is a place of torment. (cf. Lk 16:28) The rich man has brought this judgment upon himself because he failed to attend to the needs of the poor man Lazarus lying at his door. (cf. Lk 16:20) He preferred during his earthly life to dine sumptuously every day. (cf. Lk 16:19)

Jesus teaches that the judgment of the nations will be based on the corporal works of mercy. “I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, a stranger and you gave me no welcome, naked and you gave me no clothing, ill and in prison, and you did not care for me.” (Matt 25:42-43) It is the Lord whom we disregard when we neglect the least ones. (cf. Matt 25:45)

In his homily of thirty years ago, the Pope also said that the Church cannot limit herself to the social fruitfulness of the Gospel. “Along the road that leads the Church to man,” he stated, “she does not offer . . . only the earthly fruits of the Gospel; she brings to man – to every human person – his very source: Jesus Christ.” (Homily at Yankee Stadium)

We all recognize Lent as the season of re-committing ourselves to a care of the poor among us. And certainly we must bear in mind the very serious words of Our Lord that our judgment and salvation hinge on assisting those who are materially deprived. Let us not forget, though, the words of the Pope. The Church is to bring us to Jesus Christ. This is why we evangelize; this is why we catechize; this is why we form men and women in discipleship; this is why we share in the sacramental life.

One of the troubling tendencies pastorally is the widespread acceptance that religion now is just helping people. There is a growing horizontalism which considers prayer and the interior life irrelevant before the main task we have of improving the conditions of the planet. I don’t think this is unrelated to the indifference there is to religious and spiritual doctrine in the midst of the world’s diversity and pluralism. Since there are so many competing ideas about God and there is a reluctance to say which ones are right, it is best to stick with just helping people and the rest will take care of itself.

Pope John Paul II’s successor, Benedict XVI has visited the United States, too, and even before his visit nearly four years ago, he spoke to this problem in his first encyclical, Deus Caritas Est (2005). He wrote then that “it is time to re-affirm the importance of prayer in the face of the activism and the growing secularization of many Christians engaged in charitable work. Clearly, the Christian who prays does not claim to be able to change God’s plans or correct what he has foreseen. Rather, he seeks an encounter with the Father of Jesus Christ.” (DCE, 37)

To encounter the Father of Jesus Christ is the purpose of priestly formation now. As seminarians, you ought to be engaged in the very serious work now of developing capacities and aptitudes for knowing God in the often subtle ways He touches our hearts. For this is what you will be helping others to do later on in your priestly ministries.

We all need to listen to Moses and the prophets. (cf. Lk 16:31) Even more than that, we all need to listen to the One who has risen from the dead. (cf. Lk 16:31) The Eucharist is the bridge connecting one side to the other. It connects the rich and the free with the poor and obedient Christ. We rise here with Him, having found the deeper meaning of wealth under the easy yoke of the Cross. Our trust, the prophet Jeremiah reminds us today, is not in human beings. (Jer 17:5) It is in the Lord, he says. (cf. Jer 17:7) So, too, is our hope. (cf. Jer 17:7)
Praised be Jesus Christ!

Thursday of the Second Week of Lent
Jer 17:5-10; Lk 16:19-31
(Homily to seminarians, presented on March 8, 2012)

Faithful Unto the Madness of the Cross

By Msgr. Robert Batule

Growing up, we get advice all the time and from many different quarters, too. Some of the advice is good, and some of it is, well, not so good. A piece of good advice is to defer a decision until the emotion of the moment has passed. If we postpone a decision from the time when emotions are running high until later when we are calm, it increases the likelihood of a better quality of decision and a more favorable outcome for us.

I am thinking of two examples which support the eminently trustworthy advice of holding off a decision until after the emotion has passed. The first concerns an athlete, one who has not played for several consecutive games – he’s not left the bench, he’s not left the dugout. In a fit of frustration, he takes himself to the coach or manager’s office and announces that he is quitting. After he has handed in his uniform and is away from the team, a few of his former teammates go down with injuries. The opportunity to get off the bench or out of the dugout had finally come, but it is missed. A hasty, imprudent decision had seen to that missed opportunity. The second concerns an employee who has been trying for a promotion. After not getting it, he informs his boss that he is resigning his position. Weeks later – on the sidelines and without a regular paycheck – the unemployed man learns that another position had opened up in the company, a job more attractive than the last one and one for which he is even better qualified. It too was a missed opportunity. And, once again, a hasty, imprudent decision was responsible.

We ought not to let our emotions get the better of us. But, obviously, they sometimes do. We usually regard these situations in life – when our emotions are running high – as not having much potential for placing us in communion with the Lord or deepening our communion with Him. But perhaps then we underestimate them.

God is able to use the immediacy of events in our lives to elicit from us a commitment of heroic proportions. The immediacy of our lives includes upheaval and turmoil, conditions created by events in which we are caught up to one degree or another. The immediacy of our lives includes conflict and anxiety, antithetical to the serenity and peace we normally associate with right dispositions for prayer.

The first reading at mass today comes from the Book of Esther, an Old Testament book which we are not accustomed to hearing from with any regularity at the liturgy. It concerns, not surprisingly, a certain Queen Esther. She is a genuinely remarkable figure, having succeeded with her uncle Mordecai in staving off Jewish destruction at the hands of Israel’s enemies. Queen Esther is thus rightly praised as a deliverer of the Chosen People. Yet, despite her exalted status as a queen, she still exhibits a very common touch in her reaction to things.

The sacred author describes her as being “seized with mortal anguish.” (Est C:12) We might liken this reaction of hers to being at our wit’s end, utterly distressed and distraught. Given this interior state, we are amazed that she still “has recourse to the Lord.” (Est C:12) We are told further that she lays prostrate with her handmaids all day long and prays to God. (cf. Est C:14) She begs the Lord for assistance as she laments being left all alone. (cf. Est C:14) She knows of course that the Lord will not leave her an orphan. (cf. Est C:23) And Yahweh does indeed vindicate Queen Esther’s faith with a victory over Israel’s enemies, resulting in the Feast of Purim which continues to be observed in our own time by pious Jews.

We started our Lenten journey this year as we do every year with an invitation to pray. (cf. Matt 6:6-8) Accompanying the injunctions to fast and to give alms, our prayer this holy season is to strengthen our communion with Christ and fortify us for the scandal of the Cross. When it comes to prayer, we acknowledge that certain interior dispositions are properly salutary. Who doesn’t want to be recollected in advance? Who doesn’t want to be serene in the Lord’s presence? But do these conditions always prevail in our hearts and minds? Most assuredly, they do not.
This week at the liturgy, we have already listened to a few texts pertaining to the prayer of Christ’s disciples. On Tuesday, the gospel revealed Jesus teaching the disciples to pray, going so far as to indicate words that please God. We ought, He said, to address God as “Our Father.” (cf. Matt 6:9) As the Lord forgives us our trespasses, Jesus instructed, so must we forgive those who have trespassed against us. (cf. Matt 6:12) And we cannot overlook the gospel of this mass when Jesus says, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” (Matt 7:7) While we realize that petition is certainly not the only kind of prayer there is, it remains an esteemed part of our patrimony of prayer. Why else would we approach the God of fullness if not to request from Him the good things that He surely wants to give us? (cf. Matt 7:11)

As important as these passages are, by far the most effective teaching that Jesus gives on prayer is the example of His own prayer. On the eve of His passion, while in the Garden of Gethsemane, Saint Luke records how Jesus prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me.” (cf. Lk 22:42) There is no mistaking that this moment is full of emotion for Jesus – heart-wrenching emotion, for sure. And, clearly, Jesus cannot put off a decision on His mission to a more serene time, a less dispassionate moment. Yet, in the turbulence and turmoil of His passion, Jesus still prays, “not my will but yours be done.” (Lk 22:42)

In conflict and upheaval, Jesus’ communion with the Father in the Holy Spirit is not undercut. This is the challenge presented to us: In the conflict and upheaval of our lives, will our communion with the Lord be weakened or severed? Or, will the immediacy of heavily emotional moments find us being faithful unto the madness of the Cross on the model of the Master?

Thursday of the First Week of Lent
Esther C: 12; 14-16; 23-25; Matt 7:7-12
March 1, 2012

The Crucible of Choosing

By Msgr. Robert Batule

[This exquisite homily was written before Lent began, but with Msgr. Batule’s kind permission, we share it with you here.]

Tuesday of the Sixth Week
Jam 1:12-18; Mk 8:14-21
February 14, 2012
Memorial of Saints Cyril and Methodius

The Crucible of Choosing

In a little bit more than a week, Lent will be here for us. It’s a stark season for sure, but one that’s very vivid at the same time. Its vividness is tied to the fact that many of us give things up as a penitential discipline. In most cases, though, the “giving up” is temporary. We return to regular eating patterns, viewing patterns and other such things just as soon as we mark Christ’s victory over sin and death at Easter.

Along with giving things up, there is of course the struggle to do just that. We wage an internal battle, fending off urges and impulses to use what we pledged not to use on Ash Wednesday. How fitting then is the gospel for the First Sunday of Lent we hear no matter the year on the calendar! The Synoptic Gospels – Matthew, Mark and Luke – pretty much convey the same material concerning the temptation of Jesus at the start of His public ministry. This year, being Cycle B, we will listen to Saint Mark’s version. It’s a typically sparse rendering by the evangelist – just three verses in the lectionary and the Bible. (cf. Mk 1: 12-15) And if you take away the fact that the text in question includes Jesus going to Galilee to begin His public ministry (cf. verses 14-15), you’re really only dealing with a two line description of the temptation by Saint Mark. Not long, we would have to concede, but long enough. It’s long enough to incorporate the irreducible basics related to the temptation. We find that Jesus is tempted in the desert, that He is in that locale for forty days and that Satan is the Tempter. (cf. Mk 1:12-13)

The gospel for the First Sunday of Lent gives us specificity and concreteness. It gives us the answers to the questions we would ask if we were analyzing the incident, say, forensically. It satisfies our curiosity involving who, when and where of the case in question. It doesn’t offer us any commentary about the nature of temptation and why temptation is such a powerful force in our lives. The word of God does indeed provide that data for us, but we have to go elsewhere to get it.

Yesterday, we started reading at daily mass from the Letter of Saint James. We will continue to listen to selections from this New Testament book right on up through Tuesday of next week, the day before Ash Wednesday. In today’s first reading, the sacred author treats temptation in the first part of the passage. He gives us what I would regard as the etiology of temptation, and this neatly complements the specificity and concreteness of the evangelist. The etiology gives us the layers behind what is observable. When we peel back the layers, we’re able to get at the nature of temptation, we’re able to appreciate why it is such a potent force in human endeavors.

Saint James writes that desire conceives and brings forth sin. And sin, when it reaches maturity, gives birth to death. (cf. Jam 1:15) There you have it! Disordered desire is at the very foundation of temptation. And that’s just the beginning. It grows and increases until it reaches a mature stage, comments the sacred author. And in its fullness, the temptation eventually metastasizes and results in death for the one who is tempted. I like to refer to this phenomenon as the trajectory of tragedy. To use another image, there’s an arc to temptation. It rises not to glory but falls to misery and heartache.

Jesus is without sin but He is the Master of choosing. No matter what the condition is, He chooses the Father and the Father’s will. (cf. Jn 5:30) That is how He is triumphant in the desert. That is the secret of His success. And it can be ours too if we let it.

This is a period of transition for many of us here at the Seminary of the Immaculate Conception. How do we successfully negotiate this juncture in our lives? Let me suggest for our consideration today someone who might serve as a guide, someone quite adept at following wherever the Lord was leading him. I am referring to Jean Marie Lustiger.

Born in 1926 into a Jewish family in France, Jean Marie at the age of 13 decided to seek Baptism. He was baptized a Catholic in 1940. Eventually discerning a vocation to the priesthood, Jean Marie was ordained in 1954. He later was made a bishop, having served first at Orleans and then transferred from there to be the Archbishop of Paris. In 1983, Pope John Paul II created him a cardinal. With family members killed by the Nazis in concentration camps and having a father who once tried to get his son’s baptism annulled, Jean Marie’s life was filled with surprises and great drama. In a volume titled Choosing God, Chosen By God, Lustiger told the story of his own life in a series of interviews. His keen sense that the Lord had chosen him began with Israel’s election, he confessed. But he believed Christ to be the Messiah, the hope of man’s redemption.

Surrounded by uncertainty and not knowing where we should go next, the Lord calls out to each one of us. We can let go and trust because of the example of the apostles who took up with Jesus, believing as Andrew did, that he had found the Messiah. (cf. Jn 1:41) We choose God because He has first chosen us. His choice of us as servants builds confidence that we can choose the Lord ahead of disordered affection, before uneducated desire. Temptation affords us the opportunity to be firm and resolute in where we are going in life. When we choose the Lord and His Kingdom, it sets us not on the trajectory of tragedy but on the road to Jerusalem. In our own crucible of choosing, we are renewed and emboldened by Jesus’ desire there “not my will but yours be done.” (Lk 22:42)