Author: Christine Jordan

Dear Friends,

Our Lord’s voice has power, his voice has healing and so the people were drawn to his voice, and they listened.  As we heard in the Gospel, “They hastened there on foot from all the towns and arrived at that place.”  And when our Lord saw them, his heart was moved with pity for them for they were like sheep without a shepherd, and he began to teach them, and they listened.

Cardinal Dolan of New York once related a story from a time when he was part of a study group on tour in the Holy Land.  One day while hiking, the group encountered two shepherds enjoying conversation and a smoke.  And while these two shepherds had been talking their two grazing flocks had become completely mixed.  Through their guide, the group asked how the hundreds of sheep would sort themselves out and follow the correct shepherd.  Eager to impress these tourists, and hoping for a big trip, the two shepherds stood at a distance from one another, yelled something incomprehensible, and began walking in opposite directions.  Immediately, the sheep fell in line behind the proper shepherd.  And then the two shepherds began to show off, they exchanged clothing and once again stood apart and shouted.  So familiar were the shepherds’ voices to the sheep that these cute (but not so bright) animals ignoring the disguised outward appearance again followed their own shepherd.  They knew the voice even in disguise, and they listened, and they followed.

Do we know our Shepherd’s voice?  He’s still speaking to us.  How do we hear Him?  Can we hear Him in the noise of the world?  Or are there conversations, books, shows, movies, songs, images, blogs, or videos that drown out the voice of our Divine Shepherd.  Our Shepherd can speak to us anytime or anywhere but to hear him best we need silence.  The prophet Elijah never heard our Lord in all the noises of the world.  He didn’t hear Him in the wind, or the earthquake, or in the fire, it was only in the silence that Elijah was able to hear our Lord’s still small voice.  So, we need silence and, in that silence, we need contemplation.  I believe that all Catholics are called to be contemplatives, this is not something just for the nun in the convent or the monk in the monastery, contemplation is for everyone. 

So, what is contemplative prayer? TheCatechism tells us that, “Contemplation is a gaze of faith, fixed on Jesus” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2715).  Contemplation is the prayer of the heart.  Contemplative prayer may focus on a word or a saying or one may simply be in the presence of God.   It is the prayer of the listening heart.  The goal of contemplative prayer is to enter into the presence of God where there are no words, concepts or images.  It is the prayer of being in love.

How then do we actually do contemplative prayer? , here are some suggestions that may help you.

In Church before the Blessed Sacrament – sit or kneel.  Gaze into the Tabernacle or look into the Monstrance.  Be still.   Ask Mary to help you to pray.  Pray to the Holy Spirit.  Then peacefully repeat a word or a phrase:  saying Jesus; or Jesus, I love you; or Jesus I trust in you; or Father; or Father, into your hands I commend my spirit, etc.  Don’t continue to repeat the word or the words over and over again.  Only use the word or the phrase when your mind begins to wander.  Focus your gaze on the Eucharist.  Be open to whatever Jesus is asking of you.  Listen.

At home – sit or kneel.  Close your eyes.  Again, be still. Ask Mary to help you to pray.  Pray to the Holy Spirit.  As before, repeat a word or a phrase, rooted in the scripture, the creed, a prayer or an aspect of our Christian faith.  Do not repeat the word or words over and over again.  Remember to use the word only when your mind begins to wander.  Focus your gaze on the loving presence of God.   If you begin to feel embraced by God, be still and be silent.  Just allow the Holy Spirit to pray within you.  Listen.  Do this for 10, 15, or 20 minutes a day. 

A Contemplative Catholic is not made in a day, it takes practice.  To be a truly deep contemplative Catholic is the work of a lifetime.  It requires solitude, silence, sacrifice, and study.  It requires the obedience of faith, even when it’s difficult.  But it’s something we can all do. St. Teresa of Avila once said that contemplation is nothing else than a close sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with Him who we know loves us.   

I end with a story.  It’s about St. Peter Julian Eymard.  His feast day is August 2^nd, and his life is one that revolved around the Blessed Sacrament.  He would often say, “Without the Blessed Sacrament I should have been lost.”  St. Peter Julian was born in France in 1811.  When he was 5 years old, he wandered away from home.  His family searched for hours.  They looked everywhere.  Finally, after many hours, they found him in the church.  Somehow, he had dragged a stepladder to the front of the tabernacle.  And there he sat on the top with his ear pressed to the door of the tabernacle.  When they saw this, they asked, “What are you doing?”  And he simply answered, “I’m listening to our Lord.” 

May we be as intent on listening to our Lord. Our Lord’s voice has power His voice has healing, may we be that good sheep who knows the voice of his shepherd. 

Let us be great Saints,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

Jean Gabriel Dufresse was a French Catholic missionary Bishop and Martyr in China.  He was born in 1750, when he was 24, he was ordained after which he entered the Paris Foreign Mission Society, in 1775 he was sent to China.  He worked for 10 years with some success, founding small churches, teaching, baptizing, and celebrating Mass.  In 1785 he was deported by the Chinese government.  He snuck back into the country 4 years later to continue his work. In 1800 he was named Bishop of Szechwan.  This was a time of peace and freedom for the Missionaries.  In 1811, however, it was decreed that all foreign religious leaders were to be condemned to death.  If any foreign-born missionary was captured, he/she would be killed.  Unafraid Dufresse continued his work, although he had to keep moving, sleeping in a different place every night.  In 1815 he was captured and sentenced to death by beheading.     However, the place of his capture was a great distance from the site of his martyrdom in Beijing.  And so that meant a several days march to his place of execution.  He was marched along chained and prodded and watched over by Chinese soldiers.  One of those soldiers watched him very closely, he noted everything.  And one thing he noticed was that even though Dufresse was an older man he had a certain sense of strength and grace.  Even though he was harshly treated he didn’t respond in the same way, he didn’t respond in the same harshness and nastiness of his captors.  Instead, he was patient, gentle but not weak; there was even a certain sense of joy about him.  And he was prayerful, above all he was prayerful, even as they marched along, he prayed. 

This intrigued the soldier, “What’s the reason for your joy?” he asked, “Don’t you know you’re going to die?” during the many days of that forced march, that very observant soldier was learning about our Lord and the Catholic faith.  And just before the Bishop was executed the young man asked to be baptized.  And at his baptism he took the name Augustine.  Augustine would go on to be the first native-born Chinese priest and he too would be martyred.  Today we know him as St. Augustine Zhao Rong.  We celebrated his feast day on Friday. 

Each of us is called to be like St. Jean Gabriel Dufresse, a prophet, to speak of God to those around us, doing it in our own God-given way.  Not exactly like St. Jean Gabriel Dufresse but in your own God-given

way. Because of your baptism you are called to be a prophet.  And it doesn’t matter that you are not a professional theologian, you are called to be a prophet. 

In our 1^st reading we heard of Amos, an 8^th century BC Jew.  He was a farmer and a tree trimmer, an ordinary man without religious training yet God called him to be a prophet, to speak up about the things of God.  If you are baptized you are prophets, called to speak publicly about God and God’s word for the sake and salvation of others.  What does this look like?  What does it look like to be a prophet?                                             

  1.  Speak naturally the language of our Catholic faith.  Speak of Jesus, his mother Mary, the Saints, what happened at Mass, or what happened during your prayer.  Say “God Bless you if someone sneezes.”  Cross yourself in public.  Don’t hide your faith, fearful it might offend.  A simple acknowledgment of faith can have a powerful impact.  Bishop Dufresse, even though under arrest was not afraid to show his faith.  And it made an impression.

What does it look like to be a prophet?

2.  Always be ready to give a reason for the hope that’s in you.  When someone asks about the faith are you ready to give an answer?  Why are you so joyful, why are you so hopeful?  If not prepared to answer this question, study our faith, prepare yourself, you’re a prophet, be ready.  Bishop Dufresse told the future St. Augustine Zhao Rong that death was not the end, but the beginning of something wonderful.   And it made an impression.

What does it look like to be a prophet?

3.   Be ready to share the hard truths, challenge with charity.  How strongly do we speak out against injustice, injustice against the powerless and the unborn especially?  Bishop Dufresse challenged his captors with his faith, and he did it with great charity, not backing down, not giving in to anger.  Not giving into the same anger, they so easily expressed.  And it made an impression.

What does it look like to be a prophet?

4.  Prepare to be unpopular.  Prophets are often rejected.  I want to be liked by people; does that need of mine keep me silent when I should speak up?  Bishop Dufresse was not afraid to be unpopular; he was willing to be martyred.  And it made an impression. 

What does it look like to be a prophet?

5.  Prophets are people of prayer.  A prophet in prayer feels God’s joy, he feels God’s passion, he feels God’s love and he shares that and speaks of that experience.    Deep attention to God in prayer is what a prophet does.  If we never pray, we will never be a prophet.  Bishop Dufresse prayed, even when imprisoned and it was hard to pray, he prayed anyway.  And someone noticed and it made an impression.

To be a prophet; speak the language of our faith, give the reason for your joy, speak the hard truths with love, be prepared to be unpopular, and always pray.  Each of us is called to be like St. Jean Gabriel Dufresse, a prophet, to speak of God to those around us, doing it in our own God-given way.  Because of your baptism you are called to be a prophet.  And it doesn’t matter that you are not a professional theologian, you are called to be a prophet. 

Pax et Bonum,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

In our second reading we heard that God’s power is made perfect in weakness.  St. Paul even boasts of his weakness so that God’s power is all the more perfect and apparent.  I have a story about a man who was very weak, but in that weakness God’s power and glory shined.  His name is Matthew Talbot.

Matthew Talbot was an Irishman born in Dublin in 1856.  His parents were very poor, and he was the second of twelve children.  Most everyone in his family was an alcoholic.  At the age of twelve, as was the custom, Matthew left school and began working to help support his family.  His first job was in a store that sold wine.  It wasn’t long before he was sampling the wine in the backroom.  At age sixteen he got a job with the Port and Dock Board where he worked among the whiskey stores.  While still a teenager Matthew Talbot was a confirmed alcoholic. 

When drunk he became very hot tempered, he got into fights, and swore heavily.  He spent most if not all his paychecks at the bars and pubs of Dublin.   And if he didn’t have enough money, he would buy drinks on credit or sell his possession, selling anything that might get enough money to buy just even one drink.  And if desperate enough he would even steal.  His mother begged him to stop drinking but he refused.   

After drinking for sixteen years Matthew finally lost his own self-respect.  One day when he was totally broke, he loitered on a street corner waiting for his friends who were leaving work.  It was payday and he was hoping that one of them would buy him a drink.  None of them did.  No one offered him a drink.  Feeling rejected he went home and publicly resolved to his mother, “I’m going to take the pledge, and I’m not going to drink anymore.”   His mother smiled and told him, “Go, in God’s name, but don’t take the pledge unless you’re going to keep it.”   As Matthew was leaving the house she called out, “May God give you strength to keep it. May God give you grace to keep it.”

After leaving the house Matthew went straight to Church and confession and took the pledge not to drink for three months.  The next day he went to Mass and received Holy Communion, something he hadn’t done in years.  From that moment on in 1884 when he was 28 years old, Matthew became a new man.  After he had successfully fulfilled his pledge for three months, he made a lifelong pledge never to drink again. 

And he never did. But it wasn’t easy he told his sister, “Never look down on a man, who cannot give up the drink, it’s easier to get out of hell.”  But with the grace of God, he maintained his sobriety for the next forty years of his life.  He found strength in prayer, Mass every day before work, the Eucharist, Confession and devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary.  He studied his faith and read the great spiritual masters.  And he got a new job away from the whiskey.   With this new job in a lumber yard he paid all of his debts and became very generous with the poor, keeping almost nothing of his paycheck.  The converted Matthew never swore, was good humored and friendly to everyone. 

At the age of 69 as Matthew was walking to Church he collapsed and died.  In his coat they found a note that read, “Three things I cannot escape:  the eye of God, the voice of conscience, the stroke of death.  In company, guard your tongue.  In your family, guard your temper.  When alone guard your thoughts.”  After his death Matthew was recognized as one possessing heroic virtue, something with God’s grace that he has grown into. At this time Matthew Talbot has been declared venerable by the Church.  He’s on his way to canonization.  In Matthew Talbot’s weakness God’s power and glory shined.

In our second reading from St. Paul, we heard that God’s power is made perfect in weakness.  St. Paul even boasts of his weakness so that God’s power is all the more perfect and apparent.  As we know St Paul was not perfect, no saint is perfect.  They are human beings, just like us, and they faced problems, hardship, suffering, and temptation, just like us.  It was their very challenges their thorns, their crosses, and their failings that God used to make them into saints.  That’s what St Paul is telling us in today’s Second Reading.  He says that although God has given him extraordinary mystical experiences, God has also given him a “thorn in his flesh.”  Paul prayed repeatedly for God to remove this thorn, but God refused, in order “to keep him from being too elated.”  To keep him humble.

Our 2^nd Reading throughout the centuries has raised two questions for theologians.   First question, what was St. Paul’s thorn?  Bible scholars have a few theories. It may have been:   A physical ailment of some sort; headaches, fevers, or a problem with his eyes. Or a particular temptation, like lust or greed. Or the discouragement he constantly felt from being rejected by his Jewish people. Or it may also have been his fiery temperament, which always seemed to get him into trouble. Whatever it was, it was a continual source of pain and irritation to St Paul.  It did not go away.

Second question: why didn’t God take this thorn away? St Paul tells us that it continually reminded him of his human weakness, inspiring him to depend more fully on God’s grace.  To trust.  He was weak, he needed God’s grace. Our thorns, whatever they may be, are not signs of God’s anger or displeasure, but signs that he is teaching us, as he taught St Paul, true wisdom, the wisdom of humility and trust in God.  God permits thorns for a reason.   His wisdom and power can turn even crucifixions into resurrections.

We experience interior peace and freedom that our Lord wants for us when we learn to accept our limitations, the thorns that God permits in our lives.  This was not an easy thing for St Paul.  It was only after many years of suffering and working for Christ’s Kingdom that he was able to write this beautiful sentence:  “Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong.”

As we know accepting limitations and the thorns that God permits are not easy for us either. It is possible, however, if we truly become men and women of prayer.  Prayer connects us to the source of all wisdom and strength, prayer connects us to God himself.  In the midst of his pain, St Paul turned to prayer: “Three times I begged the Lord about this…” he writes in today’s Second Reading.  And through his prayer God spoke to his heart, telling him: “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.”  Prayer keeps our faith healthy, and only a healthy faith makes visible the hidden wisdom of God.

In today’s Gospel, St Mark tells us that Jesus “was not able to work any mighty deed” in Nazareth, “because of their lack of faith.  If we make prayer a high priority, if we are like Venerable Matthew Talbot making prayer, Mass, the Eucharist, confession and devotion to the BVM, if we make all these a priority we will never lack in faith, and God will be able to work many mighty deeds in our lives, even in the midst of our thorns.  Each of us is weak in some way; we have a thorn, a cross, a temptation and it’s there in that weakness where we will meet our Lord.  It’s in that weakness where He will grace us and make us a saint. 

May our Lord never be amazed by our lack of faith. 

Peace and all good,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

Daniel Maria Piras is a Franciscan living in Italy.  And he once had an experience very similar to the hemorrhagic woman of today’s Gospel.  Daniel, in 1983, was born into a very dysfunctional family.  There were financial issues and a lot of anger and abuse between his mom and dad.  He said that when he was in Middle School to, “Dull the pain I was carrying in my heart,” he turned to alcohol and drugs.  By the time he was 16 he was hopelessly addicted.  He couldn’t stop.  For the next 7 years he said, “I could not escape that bondage.”  “I was weak, it was a vicious cycle.” 

Daniel tried methadone to help ease the addiction but it just didn’t seem to work.  It was during this time of addiction that Daniel’s mom has a conversion experience.  She came back to the Catholic Faith.  And family life started to improve.  Her decision to love again; made a difference in every single family member’s life.  Through her example Daniel began to call on Jesus for help.  When Daniel was 23 his mom invited him to a “Renewal in the Spirit” conference.  The theme of that conference was based on Psalm 107, God’s power to heal, specifically this line from the Psalm, “He brought them out of darkness and gloom and broke their bonds asunder.”  The Franciscan priest leading the conference made a strong impression on Daniel and so after one of the talks Daniel went to the priest to ask him for a blessing. 

Daniel got his blessing, and the priest told him, “Ask Jesus to intervene.”  By the time Daniel got back to his seat a period of prayer before the exposed Blessed Sacrament had begun.  Daniel said that at that moment he has a great desire to go and touch Jesus, to go and touch the Eucharist.  And so, he did.  No one stopped him as he approached the altar.  He looked around but no one came to tell him to go back to his seat.  So, there in front of the altar he knelt and then he reached up and touched the monstrance.  He then went quickly back to his seat.  No one said anything to him.  He got away with it!

As Daniel was making his way back to his seat a passage from the prophet Daniel was being read, this is what he heard, “He is the living God, enduring forever; His kingdom shall never be destroyed, and his dominion shall be to the end.  He delivers and rescues, He works signs and wonders in Heaven and on Earth!”  And there sitting in his pew Daniel began to experience something, something physical, he got really hot, and he began to sweat profusely, and his whole body shook as he sobbed and cried.  Daniel’s mom seeing this said to him, “I think God has healed you.”  The next morning there were no more withdrawal symptoms as there had been every morning for the past year.  No need for methadone.  He was healed.  Two years later Daniel entered the Friars Minor, a branch of the Franciscans.  So even though our Lord has ascended He still heals when we reach out to touch Him. 

In the Gospel today Jesus says, “Do not be afraid, only have faith.”  He says these same words to us today, “Do not be afraid, only have faith.”  God gains entrance into our hearts through faith.   He knows that life in this fallen world can be a pilgrimage through fears, but with our Lord we can conquer them all. 

He is telling us:

· Do not be afraid of what other people will think of you: follow the way I teach you.

· Do not be afraid of failure: following God’s will is the only path to everlasting success;

Do not be afraid of changing your personal plans in order to follow God more closely: his plans are even better…

· If fear, confusion, or lack of trust in Christ still has too much power over us, it is because our faith is still immature.  We need to make it grow; and we can make it grow, simply by exercising it.  And the easiest way to exercise it is by developing more our life of prayer.

· Spending time alone with God each day (has to be every day), speaking to him, listening to him by reading and reflecting on the sacred scriptures, and then talking with him in the quiet of our hearts throughout the day’s activities.

Every time we pray sincerely, especially in front of the Eucharist, we exercise our faith, and exercising it makes it grow, like a muscle.

And the more our faith grows, the weaker our fears become.

After being touched by the hemorrhagic woman Jesus feels his power leave.  There is an older translation of this Gospel passage that uses the word “virtue” instead of power so that it reads like this instead, “Jesus, aware at once that virtue had gone out from him, turned around in the crowd and asked, ‘who has touched my clothes?’”  With great faith in touching our Lord, the hemorrhagic woman was healed and filled with virtue.  Some will say that when we sit in prayer before the Eucharist, we are like the hemorrhagic woman draining our Lord of power and virtue.  And He can never be depleted.  To sit before the Eucharist in prayer we fill our soul with His power, with his virtue, we strengthen our faith, and we find healing. 

 Pope Benedict once said, “Prayer is a reality: God listens to us and, when we pray, God enters into our lives, he becomes present among us, works among us. Praying is a very important thing that can change the world, because it makes the power of God present.”

Let us be great Saints,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

St. Philip Neri lived in Rome during the 16^th century.  He was a great counteractive to the Protestant reformation.  He was known as the Apostle of Rome.  He brought many people back to the Church and back to holiness.  Many of the influential people of the time were formed in holiness by him.   Now the Masses that St. Philip celebrated were always crowded, the people were there to hear what he had to say, to receive his blessings and of course, most important of all, to receive the Holy Eucharist. 

Now there was a time when St. Philip Neri was greatly distracted at these Masses, there was a gentleman who upset him greatly towards the end of Mass.  And it happened for several weeks in a row.  The man would leave the Church immediately after receiving Holy Communion.  He’d receive and then just walk out the door and onto the street.  No time for reflection, no time for prayer, nothing, just back to regular life.  As if nothing important had happened. 

So, after a few weeks of this St. Philip finally met with the man to tell him to stay in Church, to spend some time in prayer, after receiving Holy Communion.  Telling him, something very important has happened.  You have received the Lord into your very being.  You have received the Lord into your body and soul.  We must respect and honor that great and beautiful moment with prayer, and with thanksgiving, and with praise, and sometimes with petition.  This is not a moment to be taken lightly.  The man smiled and totally agreed, shaking his head yes and saying OK father, will do.  I’ll stay.

And so, the next week comes and again the man leaves immediately after Communion, walking straight out the door.  St. Philip comes up with a plan.  The next week as the man leaves, he is joined by three altar boys.  They were prepared and waiting for him.  One boy follows ringing a small bell. The other two flank him, each carrying a candle.  It was a mini-Eucharistic procession.  The man got the point, he was a walking tabernacle, and he never left early again. 

Tomorrow, June 24^th, we remember the birthday of St. John the Baptist, the greatest of all prophets.  Jesus said of him that there is no man born of woman greater than John the Baptist.  He stands as a marker between the Old and New Testaments.  He represents all the prophets of the Old Testament who along with him point to the New Era of Jesus Christ.   Now there are two statements concerning John the Baptist that I want to focus on.  First, as he was once referring to Jesus he said, “He must increase, and I must decrease.”  It’s about Him; it’s about Jesus it’s not about me. This is our statement too, as Christians we say, “He must increase, and I must decrease.”  Jesus must increase within me; my ego must decrease.  That time of prayer and thanksgiving after Communion is the most important time of the week.  Our Lord is physically present within us.  We become those walking tabernacles.  In those moments of grace, in those moments of praise and thanksgiving after Communion we desire (or should desire) that His presence and influence become greater and greater in our lives.  That we become those fruitful branches connected to his Divine Vine.     That when people look at us they see only Him.  They see only Jesus!  “He must increase I must decrease.” 

Second, John is the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.  He came to make straight the way of the Lord, and to preach the forgiveness of sins.    John is the voice, but Jesus is the Word, capital W word.  The Word made flesh.  John made Jesus known with his voice.  Now we too have a voice, we too can be a voice crying out in the wilderness.  And it does sometimes seem like a wilderness out there, devoid of anything sacred or holy.     If we choose, Jesus can be our Word, capital W word, spoken to the wilderness all around us.   

My prayer for us today, that nourished by the Eucharist, nourished by the Word made Flesh, that we are made ever more fruitful, that our voices loudly proclaim Jesus the Word.  Our voice will last only for a time, but Jesus the Word is eternal.  

Let us become great Saints,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

“To what shall we compare the kingdom of God?  It is like a mustard seed, the smallest of all the seeds on the earth.  But once it is sown, it springs up and becomes the largest of plants.”  When Jesus was conceived within the womb of the Virgin Mary, he was microscopic.  Just like us at our conception he was tiny, he was no more than the size of a mustard seed.  But now today His Mystical Body extends the world over, His Mystical Body extends even beyond space and time into eternity.  With our baptism we became a part of something magnificent and holy; we became a member of the Mystical Body of Jesus, something magnificent and holy.  Do we always recognize the greatness of the divine flowering of the mustard seed within us and in the people around us?  Do we always recognize Jesus within us and the people around us?

I have a story about a rich young man by the name of Alexis.  He lived in Rome during the fourth or fifth century and he lived at a time when it had just become legal to be a Catholic.  People could finally practice the Christian faith out in the open.   Both of Alexis’ parents were devout Catholics and his father was a senator.  Alexis’ parents taught him the faith and taught him to be especially charitable to the poor.  When Alexis was a teenager, he decided that he wanted to give up everything, give up his wealth and give up his place of privilege in Roman society.  He wanted to live a life of poverty and prayer, and he wanted to do this all for God, but his parents had other plans for him.  They had arranged for him to marry a rich young woman.  And because it was their will for him, he went along with it.  He really listened to his parents.  Yet on his wedding day when he saw his bride for the first time, he had second thoughts, this woman was smart, loving, and beautiful, and she would be a great wife, but even so, he asked for her permission to leave her for God.  She gave him permission.   So, he left.

He made his way to Syria, where he lived the life of a beggar.  Any money he received he first shared with the many poor people around him using only what was left over for himself.  When he wasn’t begging he was praying in the various churches of the city.  After living this way for several years people began to recognize him for his extraordinary holiness.  People would come to him for advice and to ask for his prayers.  They called him the living saint.  And this made Alexis very uncomfortable.  So after seventeen years in Syria he made his way back to Rome and to his parents’ house.  He came as a beggar to his own house where he’d grown up.  His parents didn’t recognize him and so he started living under the stairs leading up to their front door.  His parents allowed him to live there not knowing who he really was.  And there he stayed spending his time begging for food, praying in the churches of Rome, and teaching the homeless about God.  With his parents never realizing who he was, even though they passed him and looked at him every day as they went to and from their house. 

One morning, after 17 years of living under the stairs, the servants found him dead.  But before burying him they went through his few possessions, even going through the pockets of the jacket he was wearing.  And in one of his pockets, they found a note.  The note explained to them who he was and how he had lived this life of penance and prayer from the day his wedding was supposed to take place until then, a total of thirty-four years.  Writing that he did it all for the love of God.  Praying and sacrificing for the people of God.

When Alexis’ mother came to look and to hold the dead body of her son she cried out, “My son, my Alexis, I have known you too late! You were there all the time and I never really saw you.” She was heartbroken.  She had seen her son every day for seventeen years, yet she didn’t really see him.  She had heard her son every day for seventeen years, yet she didn’t really hear him.  She had invited her son into her home, yet she didn’t really invite him in.   He got only as far as the space beneath the stairs.  It was a superficial relationship.  Alexis’ parents looked at their son every day for 17 years without ever really seeing him.  And then it was too late.

Do we always recognize the greatness of the divine mustard seed within us and in the people around us?  Do we always recognize Jesus within us and in the people around us?  Pope St. John Paul II was very good at this recognition of the divine within.  They say that when you talked with him you had his total attention and concentration.  In his papers St. John Paul wrote about this, he would say that each one of us is unrepeatable and incomparably unique.  Even within the unbaptized there is a soul that is unrepeatable and incomparably unique, and he paid attention.  He recognized the divine within, a soul made in the image and likeness of God, a soul with a whole lifetime of joys and sorrows, a soul with a whole lifetime of successes and failures, a soul made for communion with God.  St. John Paul paid attention. 

I give you homework this week; practice paying attention to those around you; the clerk behind the counter, the man at the street corner, your spouse, your children.   Recognize the greatness of the divine flowering of the mustard seed, recognize Jesus within, and recognize the greatness of the immortal soul within.

“To what shall we compare the kingdom of God?  It is like a mustard seed, the smallest of all the seeds on the earth.  But once it is sown, it springs up and becomes the largest of plants and puts forth large branches, so that the birds of the sky can dwell in its shade.” 

Maybe you’re the one meant to provide shade to one seeking the Kingdom of God.  May we pray for the grace to pay attention.

Pax et Bonum,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley

Dear Friends,

In this letter my goal is to try and tie together the words “Amen” and “Laetare” with the story of Nicodemus.  Amen is a little word with a big meaning.  It’s a word we say at the end of every prayer and it’s a word that we say ten times during the Mass.  Unfortunately, because it’s a word that is so frequently expressed, we may sometimes say it without thinking about it.  

In today’s Gospel we hear of Nicodemus.  And Nicodemus was a Pharisee who at this point in his life only visits Jesus at night.  He goes back and forth between faith and doubt, between trust and mistrust, and between courage and fear.  Now Nicodemus has a little bit of faith in Jesus, but it was at best a beginning and an immature belief.  That’s why he only shows up under the cover of darkness.  He doesn’t want anyone to see him with Jesus.  He had respect for what Jesus did, for His solid teaching and impressive miracles, but Nicodemus had a very limited understanding of just who Jesus was.  He believed that God was with Jesus, but he did not yet believe that Jesus was God.  Nicodemus’ faith in Jesus was wishy-washy.  Nicodemus couldn’t give a clear and firm Amen to Jesus.    The most he could manage was “maybe.”

Only to the degree that I trust someone am I able to entrust myself to that person.  Nicodemus’ faith hadn’t yet matured to that point of total trust, so very cautiously he came to Jesus under cover of night.  The darkness of Nicodemus was not only a protection against being detected, it was also a state of mind, a condition of his soul, and a sign of his immature faith.  Now looking at scripture we see other models of faith.  And during this season of lent as we make our way to Good Friday we first look to the good thief on the cross who made a faith-filled request of Jesus.  He asked, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”  This is faith, this is trust, this is truly an Amen.   And as we continue to look at Good Friday the greatest amen of all is that of crucified Jesus Himself.  Deserted by his disciples, rejected by the very people He tried to help, condemned to die, and moments away from death, still He trusted.  Even then He could say, “Father into your hands, I commend my Spirit.  I entrust my very self to you.”  The greatest amen. 

This little word “Amen” means certainly, truly, surely.  It means I agree, I accept, I affirm, I believe.  It is a word of total conviction and commitment.  It is a word of trust, a trust that enables me to give myself to the Divine.  We can see why “Amen” is the language of prayer and faith.  It says we trust, we have confidence, and we accept as true.  Later, in the Gospel of John we read that Nicodemus was able to give the great Amen.  He later supported Jesus before the chief priests and Pharisees, he helped bury Jesus, and according to tradition he was a martyr for the faith.  With his life he gave the great Amen. 

Today is Laetare Sunday and Laetare is a word that means rejoice.  And we use the color of rose to symbolize this rejoicing.  Rose-colored vestments, and rose-colored flowers are like the pale color of the horizon when the dark night just begins to brighten just as the sun begins to rise.  Rose is the color of sunrise, it’s the color of the promise of sunlight.  Just think of that pinkish hue we see in the sky as the sun begins to come up.  Spiritually speaking it’s the promise of the coming Easter, and the promise of the eternal Easter at the end of time.  And to speak of another color, the color rose eventually gives rise to the golden color of the sun, symbolizing the eternal goldness of basking in the light of our Lord. 

Nicodemus once lived in darkness, his amen was very weak.  With grace he moved to the Laetare dawn of his salvation, his amen became strong and committed, and now in Heaven, basking in the golden light of our Lord his amen is perfected. 

We are all familiar with Michelangelo’s iconic painting of God creating Adam.  It’s on the top of the Sistine Chapel.  God’s finger is reaching out to Adam’s finger, Heaven is reaching out to earth.  And in that space between the two fingers that’s where we find the Mass, Heaven reaching out to earth.  This is the place of Laetare rejoicing and it’s the place of the great Amen of certainly, truly, surely, and of I agree, I accept, I affirm, I bleieve.  It’s where we live in the Rose-colored sunrise of salvation looking toward to the golden light of the eternal Easter of Heaven.  This should fill us with hopeful joy. 

Pax et Bonum,

Fr. Christopher J. Ankley