Jesus embraces us – Mark 9:30-37; James 3:16-4:3

 Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year B; St. Ann's / Chapel of Mary.

There’s a puzzle that British newspapers like to publish called ‘spot the ball.’  They’ll take a photo of a moment in a soccer match, use computer wizardry to render the ball invisible and invite readers to reconstruct where it must be.  It sometimes takes some thought, but it’s an eminently doable puzzle, because all the action really is revolving around the ball; everyone on the pitch treats it as the most important object in the world and focuses their attention on it.  It’s the same when someone really important, really valued, is walking somewhere.  They’re surrounded, in the center, all conversations and interactions are focused around the great one in their midst.

 

The love of Christ urges us on – Mark 8:27-35

 Twenty-fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B; St. Ann's.

Mr. Rogers used to say that whenever some disaster strikes and we feel scared or dejected or hopeless, the place to look is to look for the people who are helping, and its in them that our hope can be reawakened. Recent extreme weather events, close to home and further away, have provided yet another opportunity to do that. One story that really moved me came out of Tennessee when they were hit by flooding in late August. I read of Jeff Burkhead who went out in his boat to travel round deeply flooded streets to try to rescue people, and I read of Hope Dretska, a nurse who was perfectly safe herself, but flagged Jeff down and asked to come along in his boat to be able to provide care to anyone he rescued, and I read of people they were able to get to safety. Now I don’t know Jeff or Hope, I’ll probably never meet them, but I’m guessing they didn’t go out because they like danger. No, they went out because they had a love for their neighbor that was greater than their perfectly rational fear of danger.

 

Jesus heals our hearing and speaking – Mark 7:31-37.

 23rd Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B; St. Peter's, Provincetown.

I was talking to a friend of mine this week who also teaches college students, and she told me about an exercise she regularly does. She has them read a certain historical set of letters from the period she teaches, and the students just have to do a short write-up of what was remarkable, or different from their culture, in them. One of the topics in these letters is a lively back and forth between the different writers about whether or not it’s OK to go to gladiator games. In previous years, she told me, they would often comment on the fact that there were real gladiator games to go to. This year, though, a surprising number of students commented instead on the fact that the letter-writers could disagree deeply and sharply about something really important and weighty and still be civil to one another, and even remain friends.

Christ’s resurrection ripples raise us up – 1 Cor 15:20-27, Lk 1:39-56 (Assumption)

Solemnity of the Assumption; St. Andrew's, Taunton.

Some things can’t help but spread.  Laughter would be one, hiccups definitely another.  True goodness is the same way, and that’s true in any field: the greatest musician isn’t the diva or divo who tuts about their accompanist’s tempo, but someone who makes everyone around them play better when they pick up their instruments; just as a great athlete doesn’t hog the ball, but raises the play of the whole team.  Virtue’s the same way too: the virtuous person is contagious with goodness and walks around lighting fires of zeal and coating everything with a soothing balm of hope and patience.  And if that’s what virtue does, then that’s what resurrection does too.  Resurrection is the fruit of the greatness of Christ’s love, it’s what happens when a human life was lived so perfectly, so holily, so virtuously that someone dared to love us enough not just to die for us, but loved us so much that not even death, death at our hands, could keep him from being with us.  The fiery furnace of Christ’s love erupts in resurrection.  And it spreads. It spreads to Mary, which is what our feast in particular celebrates today, and it spreads more broadly still; it spreads to us, which is what we celebrate at each and every Mass.

 

God is enough for our “much” – 1 Kings 19:4-8

 Nineteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B; Chapel of Mary (Stonehill College).

Our first reading teaches us that, when things feel too much, sometimes what we need is a nap and a snack, and then everything’s OK. Well, kind of. I’ll get to why Elijah feels the way he does, and what God does about that, soon. But before going there, I want to sit a while with Elijah’s heartfelt, brutally honest prayer. And I don’t want to minimize the kind of pain he’s feeling, because properly attending to his pain will help us attend to our sisters and brothers in pain, and might even help us name and understand better our own.

 

God prays through us – Rom 8:22-27, John 7:37-39 (Pentecost Vigil)

 Pentecost Vigil; Basilica of the Sacred Heart.

I am the proud sponsor of a pipe. Not a pipe you smoke, or a pipe that carries water or oil, but a pipe of a pipe organ. A church I used to be a member of, long before I entered seminary, was installing a new pipe organ and, as part of the fundraising efforts, they offered the opportunity for people to pay to sponsor a pipe. Larger pipes were available for larger donations, and smaller ones for those with less resources. I was a student at the time, so I ended up sponsoring one of the higher-pitched E♭ flute pipes. Now, when I paid my money, there was an attached promise that not only would I get a certificate (which I got), but that when the organ was ready to be played, there would be an evening reception for all pipe-sponsors, at which we would be allowed play our pipe. As far as I know, that happened, but I’d already moved a long distance away, and never got to go.

 

God tends to our fruitfulness – John 15:1-8

 Fifth Sunday of Lent, Year B; Breen Philips Hall.

Last week, we heard from Jesus’ Good Shepherd speech in John. We heard Jesus say that he 100% commits to us, that we are His and He is ours, that He’s willing to suffer for us, to know rejection for us, and lead us on in our pilgrimage. Today, in this image of the vine and the branches, Jesus uses a different image to say a lot of the same things, but there are some different emphases.