Two Types of Freedom (26th Sunday, Year A)

  One of the wonderful innovations of technology in the last few years is the ability to “unsend or edit” emails and text messages. There are lots of reasons why someone might want to do this, and most of us can probably think of moments when we wished we could take something back. I have a bad habit of sending emails too soon, before I include all the recipients or attachments. Of course, I usually remember immediately after pressing “send.” It’s a blessing to be able to change our response, to right a wrong, and correct an answer before it is final. And in a much more important way, the Gospel reminds us that God gives us the ability to change our answer to him so long as there is still breath in our lungs.

The father asks his two sons to go work in his vineyard. One says no, but later changes his mind and goes. The other says yes, but never follows through. And Jesus asks, “Which of the two did his father’s will?” The answer is obvious: the first. In reflecting on this Gospel, it seems there are two kinds of freedom hidden in this simple story.

The first is the freedom to say no. The father gives his sons a choice. He doesn't force them to work in his vineyard. He allows them to say no and respects their free will… even if it is misused. That is also true of our relationship with the Lord. God gives us the freedom to reject him. He does not force our love or obedience.

The freedom to say no is what makes our “yes” meaningful. If we have no ability to say no, then our yes isn't really an act of love. If someone says, “You have to love me,” that's not love. Love requires freedom. This is why St. John tells us that “perfect love drives out fear.” We don't say yes to God because we are terrified of him or simply because we feel obligated. God invites us, and we freely choose to respond. We know we could walk away, but instead we choose to stay.

There is a second freedom in this Gospel which is just as important: the freedom to honor our yes. The second son says yes, but never goes. His example points to something we all struggle with: sometimes we mean what we say, but we don't follow through. Saying yes is easy; living our yes is much harder because our feelings change. Some days I feel like praying, and some days I don't. Some days I feel generous and patient. Other days I prefer to live alone on an island.

St. John of the Cross has a wonderful saying about this. He says, “If you don't feel love, if there is no love, put love there, and then you will find love.” 

In other words, don't wait until you feel loving before you choose to love. Parents understand this. There are plenty of moments when caring for your children doesn't come with warm and fuzzy feelings. You're tired, frustrated, or you've had the same conversation 87 times. And yet you do what needs to be done. You do it because you love your child and have made a commitment. The feelings and affection follow the decision.

That is an important lesson for our relationship with God. We can sometimes think that if we don't feel close to God, our faith must not be real. If prayer feels dry, maybe we aren't praying correctly. But Christian freedom means we don't have to be slaves to our feelings. We can say, “I may not feel like it, but I have chosen this, and I am free enough to do it anyway.” We can pray when we don't feel like praying. We can forgive when we don't feel like forgiving. We can serve when we don't feel like serving. Many times love begins not with a feeling, but with a decision.

God himself loves us this way. He doesn't love us only on the days when we're lovable. He doesn't remain faithful to us only when we have earned it. His love is steadfast, even when our response to him is inconsistent. And that's why the Gospel is good news. Maybe today helps us recognize that we have been saying no to God in some area of our lives. The good news is that we can change our minds. It is never too late, while we are alive, to take back our “no” and say “yes.”

Or maybe we've been more like the second son. We've said all the right things, but our lives haven't always followed our words. We come to Mass, say our prayers, teach our children the faith, perhaps even work in the Church…and yet there are areas where we continue to resist what God asks of us. The Gospel reminds us that God isn't simply looking for a verbal yes. He wants a yes that becomes a lifestyle, manifested in actions.

So perhaps the question for us today isn't simply, “Which son am I?” Because at different times, we are probably both. The better question is: What is God asking me to say yes to today? And is there something that I promised God I would do but have been finding excuses to keep me from actually doing it?

In the end, that is what Christian freedom really is for…not simply the ability to do whatever I want or whatever I feel like doing. It is the freedom to choose what is good, to give ourselves to someone we love, and then to remain faithful to that choice. Sometimes the most loving thing we can say to God is, “I said yes. So I'm going.” Or, I told you no, but now I realize that was wrong. Now I will serve! My ‘no’ can become yes! The Father is still inviting each of us into the vineyard. Each day we are alive, he gives us the freedom to answer. Let us resolve to do his will!

"Are You Envious Because I am Generous" (25th Sunday, Year A)

  There is something about the Gospel today that always sets off a little indignation. I suppose its a little presumptuous that I tend to put myself in the shoes of the workers who labored all day. Perhaps you feel the same way. The workers who toiled from sunup to sundown were angry because those who arrived at the very end received the same wage. Their complaint feels justified. It seems unfair. We can be tempted to look at what someone else has received and think, “Wait a minute. They don't deserve that. I worked harder. I sacrificed more. I've been here longer.” But Jesus is putting his finger on something deeper than simple fairness. He is exposing the danger of envy.

Envy is different from just wanting what someone else has. We might see another person's house, vacation, health, family, talent or success and think, “I wish I had that.” That's jealousy and it can sometimes spur us to work harder or grow into our gifts more completely as we see others maximizing their excellence. Envy goes a step further down a dark road: “I don't necessarily need what they have. I just don't want them to have it.” Somehow another person's blessing becomes offensive to us.

There is an old saying that comparison is the thief of joy. We can have something perfectly good and be grateful for it…until we look at the life or property of someone else. Suddenly our house isn't good enough, our vacation wasn't as exciting, or our life doesn't seem as blessed.

And usually, nothing has actually changed. We still have exactly what we had five minutes ago. What has changed is what we're comparing it to. That's what happens to the workers in today's Gospel. They received exactly what they had agreed to work for. Nothing was taken away from them. But when they saw what the other workers received, suddenly their share wasn't enough.

And there is another problem: we often don't understand the whole picture. We see what somebody else has received, but we don't know everything about their life. We don't know what they've suffered, what they've sacrificed, what burdens they carry, or what God may be doing in their heart. We see one piece of the picture and think we understand the whole thing.

That's where misunderstanding can feed envy. We make assumptions about what someone deserves or why God has allowed something to happen. But Scripture reminds us, “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord.” God's perspective is infinitely greater than ours. Sometimes what looks unfair to us is very different from God's perspective.

The workers in the Gospel couldn't appreciate the master's generosity because they were looking at his gifts through the lens of comparison. They weren't grateful for what they had received; they were offended by the gifts given to others which took nothing away from them. That can happen to us, too. When we don't understand God's ways, we can begin to judge God, judge other people, and resent the blessings he gives them.

   That’s why humility is so important. None of us are the workers who have been laboring since the very beginning. We are all latecomers in some sense. We stand here today benefiting from two thousand years of Christians who have prayed, studied, sacrificed, suffered and witnessed to the Gospel before us. We inherited the Faith. We didn't invent it or build the Church or hand Tradition down from generation to generation. So many people came before us and did that for us.

The same is true of our salvation. None of us can stand before God and say, “Look at everything I've done. You owe me.” God doesn't owe us our existence, our health, our families, our opportunities, our faith, our forgiveness, or the countless blessings we experience every day. Everything is a gift. And compared with what we actually deserve, God has already been extravagantly generous with every one of us.

So when we encounter someone who seems obnoxiously blessed, our first response shouldn't be envy. It should be gratitude. If someone has been given a beautiful family, rejoice with them. If someone has a gift or talent, be grateful for it. If someone succeeds, celebrate their good fortune. If God has given someone a blessing that we don't have, we can simply say, “Lord, thank you for giving that person this gift.” Rejoicing in the blessings of others has a way of magnifying and multiplying our own!

That's not always easy. Envy can sneak into our hearts through resentment when we see others get things we don’t think they deserve. And the more we keep looking sideways at everybody else's life, the harder it becomes to appreciate the life God has actually given us.

So when we catch ourselves thinking, “Why does he have that? Why does she get that? Why is their life so much easier?”, we must stop and turn our attention back toward God: “Lord, thank you for what you have given me. Help me to be grateful for my blessings and genuinely happy for those of others. And help me to trust that you see what I cannot.”

Perhaps that's why the master ends the Gospel with that piercing question: “Are you envious because I am generous?” It's a question worth reflecting on. Can I rejoice when God is generous to someone else? Can I trust that God's generosity toward another person doesn't diminish his generosity toward me?

The answer begins with gratitude. We don't have to keep looking around the vineyard, counting everybody else's wages. We can look at what God has placed in our own hands and simply say, “Lord, thank you.” Thank you for the life you've given me. Thank you for the people you've placed in my life. Thank you for the faith handed on to me. Thank you for your mercy. Thank you for inviting me into your vineyard in the first place.

We are all blessed far beyond what we deserve. As we continue with the Eucharist, it is enough to give thanks for God's countless blessings and rejoice that he is generous beyond our understanding!

The Role of Watchman (23rd Sunday, Year A)

  A couple of weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to take a vacation to Hawaii. I don’t think I was prepared for the breathtaking beauty of the place which made the week really wonderful! One of the things I had wanted to do for a long time was visit the USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor. I remember reading about Pearl Harbor when I was a little boy obsessed with WWII, so to finally stand there…to see the harbor, to imagine battleship row, and stand over the spot where so many young men lost their lives, was incredibly powerful. But what struck me most was learning more about what happened before the attack. There were warning signs. Information had been passed up the line. There were people whose job was to watch, listen, pay attention and communicate what they discovered. And yet, for a variety of reasons, those warnings weren't acted upon. Standing there, it struck me how important the role of a watchman really is.

The job of a watchman is pretty simple: pay attention, recognize danger, and warn others. And today, the Church gives us that same image, but applies it to every one of us. God says to Ezekiel in our first reading, “You, son of man, I have appointed watchman for the house of Israel.” If Ezekiel sees danger coming and fails to warn the people, he bears responsibility. But if he warns them and they refuse to listen, then Ezekiel has done his job. That distinction is important. We are responsible for speaking the truth, but we aren't responsible for how someone responds to it. We can warn, encourage, challenge and love, but we cannot control another person's choices.

That role of watching and warning applies to our families, our marriages, our friendships, our Church and our communities. But we also need watchmen in our own lives. Because sometimes the person who needs to be warned isn't somebody else. It's me.

That's where this Gospel gets uncomfortable. Last week, the Scriptures challenged us to think about our relationship with truth: Are we willing to speak the truth, defend the truth and even suffer for the truth? But there's an even harder question: Am I willing to hear the truth about myself? It's one thing to say, “We need to speak the truth.” It's another thing when somebody says, “Hey, can I tell you something about yourself?” Suddenly, we're not quite as enthusiastic about truth!

I know in my own life there have been plenty of times when I've been much more comfortable giving correction than receiving it. It's easy to see what somebody else needs to change. It's a lot harder to admit that maybe there's something in me that needs to be addressed. And when somebody points that out, our first reaction isn't always humility. Often we go on the attack. Or we start offering excuse after excuse!

Jesus knows we're going to have these moments. He also knows that sometimes love requires us to say difficult things. Notice how he tells us to do it. He doesn't say, “Go tell everybody what this person has done.” He doesn't say, “Tell your spouse, your friend, your co-worker, or put it on social media.” He says, “Go to the person.” “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.”

That's noteworthy because it's often the exact opposite of what we do. We talk to everybody except the person who needs to hear it. We tell anyone who will listen about what that other person did. And Jesus says: No. Start with them. Go to them alone.

Why? Because correction without love becomes criticism, and criticism without relationship becomes condemnation. …Jesus isn't interested in us winning an argument. He's interested in winning a person.

When I correct someone because I want to prove I'm right, that's not Christian correction. When I point out someone's failure so everyone else knows what they did, that's not Christian correction. The Christian watchman must have a different motivation: love. Love changes the way we handle conflict.

Our culture says, “Expose people.” Jesus says, “Restore people.”

Our culture says, “Win at all costs.” Jesus says, “do everything you can to reconcile the wrongdoer.”

Our culture says, “Make sure everybody knows what they did.” Jesus says, “Go to the person alone and try to work it out.”

That's what a Christian watchman does. And sometimes it will be uncomfortable. The person may not appreciate what we have to say. But remember what God tells Ezekiel: our responsibility is to faithfully give the warning. We cannot force somebody to listen.

Today’s readings ask us if we love others enough to speak up when I see them going astray? And do I listen when I am that person in need of correction and warning?

Let us take time to pray about the people and circumstances where we are being called to be watchmen for others. Who might need a difficult but loving word from me? Am I ready to speak to them with Christ-like love? Not harshly. Not arrogantly. Not behind their back. But humbly, privately, prayerfully, and with the genuine hope that they will grow closer to Christ. Am I praying for them at least as much as I am offering advice and correction?

And just as importantly: Who has God placed in my life to watch over me? None of us gets to say, “I have nothing to change.” We're all sinners. We're all works in progress. And we all need people who love us enough to tell us the truth.

May God give us the courage to speak the truth when we need to speak it, and the humility to hear the truth when we need to hear it. And may he give us the wisdom to remember that the goal isn't to win an argument, prove a point, or make somebody feel bad. The goal is to win the person back. To help one another get home. To help one another become saints. And ultimately, to help one another find our way back to Christ.

Divine Inclusion (20th Sunday, Year A)

 

One of the beautiful themes that runs through today's readings is that God's heart is bigger than anyone expected. Again and again we hear that his desire is not to save one nation, one race, or only a select group of people. He wants everyone.

Isaiah speaks about the day when foreigners will be welcomed into God's house and his temple will become "a house of prayer for all peoples." St. Paul marvels that even Israel's rejection of Christ became the occasion for God to extend his mercy to the Gentiles; to people like you and me. What looked like a failure of God’s plan and the ultimate human rejection became an incredible divine victory. This is all wonderful news. We should never get tired of hearing it. God's invitation is for everyone.

But there is something our culture often gets wrong about inclusion. Today, inclusion is often presented as meaning that everyone is welcome and no one should ever be challenged. Everyone belongs and no sacrifice should be expected. Everyone is invited and nothing should ever make us uncomfortable. The Gospel reminds us that God's kingdom doesn't work that way.

Yes, everyone is invited. But no one enters the kingdom without faith, conversion, and perseverance.

Our first impression of this story is that Jesus seems out of character. Here is a poor, Canaanite woman begging for her daughter, and Jesus appears to ignore her. Then he says he was sent first to the lost sheep of Israel. Finally comes the line that makes everyone cringe: "It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs."

What are we supposed to make of this? While it looks like Jesus is pushing her away, he's actually drawing something extraordinary out of her. Remember who this woman is. She isn't one of the Chosen People. She comes from a pagan culture that the Jews avoided at all costs. If anyone seemed to be an outsider, it was her. And yet she becomes one of the greatest examples of faith in the entire Gospel. Jesus isn't closing the door. He's opening it wider. But he is showing us how we walk through it.

Through her interaction with Jesus, the Canaanite woman is showing us three movements of profound prayer that allow us to take advantage of divine inclusion. Notice what the woman does. First, she trusts. She comes to Jesus convinced that he can help. "Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David." She doesn't have all the answers. She doesn't know how he'll respond. But she believes he is her only hope. That's where every prayer begins. Before God changes our circumstances, he asks us to trust him.

Second, she perseveres. Jesus is silent. The disciples want to send her away. She could have concluded that God wasn't listening. She could have walked away discouraged. Instead, she keeps asking. We all know exactly what that feels like. 

We've prayed for a family member or friend who's left the faith. We've prayed for healing. We've prayed for a marriage that's struggling or for freedom from a habit we've battled for years. Sometimes heaven seems awfully quiet. The Canaanite woman reminds us that silence is not rejection. God sometimes tests our faith not because he wants to discourage us but because he wants to deepen it.

Finally…and this may be the hardest lesson of all….she is humble. She doesn't get offended. She doesn't demand her rights. She doesn't tell Jesus how he should run the universe. Instead she says, "Lord, even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from their master's table.” What incredible humility! Humility isn't thinking we're worthless. It's knowing who God is and who we are. It's recognizing that everything we receive from him is a gift, not an entitlement. And that's why Jesus responds with one of the greatest compliments he gives anyone in the Gospels: "O woman, great is your faith!"

Imagine hearing that praise from the Son of God!! Many of the religious leaders who knew the Scriptures inside and out never heard those words. But this foreign woman did. Why?Because inclusion in God's family has never been about ancestry, status, or privilege. It has always been about faith. The invitation is universal but the response is personal.

The Church still proclaims exactly that message today. Every person is invited into friendship with Jesus Christ. Every person is welcomed into his saving love. There is no one beyond his mercy.

But following Christ has never been easy. It requires trust when life doesn't make sense. Ongoing perseverance when our prayers seem unanswered. Humility when God asks us to surrender our own plans and accept his. In other words, inclusion does not mean comfort…it means conversion.

The good news is that the same Lord who challenged the Canaanite woman also healed her daughter. The same Lord who tested her faith rewarded it beyond anything she could have imagined. He will do the same for us.

Perhaps this week, each of us can ask ourselves: Which of these virtues do I need most right now? Do I need greater trust? Greater perseverance? Greater humility?

If we learn those lessons from this remarkable woman, then we, too, will discover what she discovered: that God's mercy is for everyone…but it is received by those who approach him with a believing, persevering, and humble heart.

Keep Your Eye On the Ball! (19th Sunday, Year A)

  Like most kids growing up in America, one of the first sports I learned to play was baseball. Every single coach repeated the same instruction over and over again (and you know what that lesson was!) "Keep your eye on the ball.” It sounds simple, but it's really difficult with everything else going on around you on the field. If you keep your eye on the ball, you can hit it, field it cleanly, and know when to run. But the moment your eyes wander, mistakes happen. That's why baseball players spend countless hours practicing so that focus can become second nature. It is not something you are born with but something that must be trained.

The spiritual life isn't much different. In today's Gospel, Peter begins with incredible focus. The wind is howling, the waves are crashing, and the other apostles are terrified. But Peter's attention is fixed on one thing: Jesus. "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” Jesus responds with an invitation, “Come." And Peter does something no human being has ever done. He steps out of the boat and walks on water. For those few moments, Peter doesn't simply admire Jesus…he becomes like Him. Isn't that what every disciple is called to do?

But then he sinks like a rock. What changes? The storm doesn't suddenly become worse. The waves were already there. Peter sinks because his focus changes. The Gospel says, "When he saw how strong the wind was, he became frightened.” As long as Peter keeps his eyes on Jesus, he can do the impossible. The moment he focuses on the storm, he begins to sink. That is one of the great spiritual lessons in this Gospel.

Our challenge to holiness and peace isn't that we have storms. Every generation has had them. Our problem is that we live in an age where everything competes for our attention. News, social media, emails, text messages, entertainment, endless schedules constantly pull at our sleeve…even when the world around us is quiet, our minds rarely are. None of these things are necessarily sinful. But every one of them competes for the attention that belongs first to Christ.

If we're going to keep our eyes on Jesus, like Peter did, we have to train our attention. The first way we do that is by making room for silence. The first reading gives us Elijah waiting for the Lord. God isn't found in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire. At various times, God has appeared in those things but not now. He comes in the tiny whisper. That is usually how God works. He doesn't force Himself into our lives. He doesn't shout over all the other voices competing for our attention. He whispers.

Which raises an uncomfortable question. If God whispers, and my life is constant noise, is it any mystery why I struggle to hear Him? That's why the Church values silence so much. The quiet before Mass, the silence after the readings, after the homily, after Communion…those moments aren't random. They're opportunities to hear the voice of the Lord. The same is true in the other parts of our lives. If every drive has a podcast, every free moment belongs to our phone, and every evening is filled with background noise, we shouldn't be surprised if God seems distant.

The second way we keep our eyes on Jesus is by becoming intentional about our attention. Attention is one of the great gifts God has given us because whatever receives our attention eventually shapes our heart. The truth is, we can only really focus on one thing at a time. Every "yes" is also a hundred “no's." If I say yes to every commitment, every notification, every request, every opportunity, then I've already decided that Jesus will receive whatever scraps of attention happen to be left over. That's why we need margins in our lives. We need time that isn't scheduled, moments that aren't filled, space where God is allowed to visit us.

Which brings us to the third way of training our focus on Christ, which is, wherever we choose to be, we should be fully there. Another way to say it is, "Be where your feet are.” When you're praying, pray. When you're with your spouse, really listen. When you're with your children or grandchildren, put the phone down. When you're at Mass, be at Mass. One of the greatest gifts we can give another person, and one of the greatest honors we can show God, is our undivided attention.

Finally, don't just fight your distractions. Learn from them. Most of us become frustrated when our minds wander during prayer. But instead of immediately pulling ourselves back, pause for a moment and ask, "Why did my mind go there?” Very often our distractions reveal our hearts. If I keep worrying about work, perhaps I'm carrying anxiety I haven't surrendered to God. If I keep replaying an argument, maybe there's someone I need to forgive. If I keep dreaming about success or recognition, perhaps I've started looking for my identity somewhere other than Christ.

Our distractions often reveal what we love the most, fear the most, or desire the most. Instead of hiding those things from Jesus, hand them to Him. Sometimes the very distraction we resent is the place where Jesus wants to begin His healing.

Baseball players don't keep their eye on the ball because it's easy. They do it because they've trained themselves through thousands of small choices. The spiritual life works exactly the same way. The storms aren't going away. Peter still had wind. Elijah still had the wilderness. We will still have worries, responsibilities, suffering, and uncertainty. The key is whether we look at the storm or look at Jesus.

So maybe that's the question for all of us this week. What am I focused on right now? Is it Jesus? If not, what keeps pulling my eyes away from Him? What competes for my attention? What small change do I need to make so that my eyes remain fixed on Him?

We can have confidence that Christ is already focused on us with laser-like intensity. He is inviting us to come closer. Keep your eyes on him. And be confident, that even if you falter…all you have to do is cry out, ˆ”Lord, Save me” and he will save us from sinking!

The Gift of Understanding (17th Sunday, Year A)

  In today's first reading, God gives Solomon the opportunity of a lifetime; to ask any one thing and he will grant it! No one would have blamed the young king if he asked for power, victory over his enemies, or riches for himself and his kingdom. But Solomon asks for something entirely different. He asks for wisdom. He asks for an understanding heart, so he can know the difference between right and wrong and govern God's people well.

God is pleased with his request. Solomon understood something we can easily forget: if we have wisdom, if we have an understanding heart, then we can recognize what is truly valuable. We can see what is worth pursuing and what is not. We can recognize what is worth giving our lives to and what we should be willing to leave behind.

That is exactly what Jesus is teaching us in today's Gospel through three images of the Kingdom of God. First, Jesus says that the Kingdom of Heaven is like a treasure buried in a field. A man discovers it, and then he goes and sells everything he has so he can buy that field. There is something interesting about this image. We tend to focus on the moment when the man finds the treasure, but Jesus doesn't tell us how long he had been searching. It would likely be awhile; who digs for treasure and finds it on the first try? The man in Jesus' parable keeps searching and never gives up.

That’s an important lesson for us. The Kingdom of God is worth seeking, even when we don't find it immediately. We cannot become discouraged when our prayer feels dry, when our faith is difficult, or when we don't understand what God is doing. We keep digging. We keep praying. We keep searching. We keep asking God for that understanding heart.

When we recognize the treasure God has placed before us, Jesus tells us we must sell everything we have and buy the field. The point is not that we literally sell our possessions. Rather, when we recognize the value of Christ and his Kingdom, nothing else should take first place. We have to be willing to let go of whatever competes with God in our lives.

Notice something else: the man doesn't steal the treasure. He buys the field. He makes the sacrifices necessary to make that treasure his own. The same is true of faith. We cannot steal faith. We cannot live it vicariously through someone else. Our parents can give us a Catholic upbringing. Our families can teach us to pray. Our parish can provide us with the Sacraments. But eventually, each one of us has to make the faith our own.

Then Jesus gives us a second image. He says the Kingdom of Heaven is like a merchant searching for fine pearls. He finds one pearl of great price, and he sells everything he has to obtain it. Once again, we have the image of someone who is searching. This merchant isn't sitting around waiting for something valuable to fall into his lap. He is actively looking for something better. Which begs the question for us: Are we still searching?

It’s easy to settle for something that seems good enough. We can settle for being a "pretty good" Catholic. We can settle for going to Mass, saying a few prayers, and trying not to do anything too terrible. We can settle for a comfortable faith that doesn't ask too much of us. But the merchant isn't looking for something merely good. He is looking for the best. And when he finds the pearl of great price, he recognizes that everything else pales in comparison.

That pearl of great price is Christ himself. There are many good things in this world: family, friendship, a successful career, financial security, good health. But none of them is the pearl of great price. None of them is God. When we truly encounter Christ, when we begin to understand who he is and what he has done for us…we realize that he is worth everything. We give things up because we have found something infinitely better.

Finally, Jesus gives us a third image. He says the Kingdom of Heaven is like a net thrown into the sea that catches fish of every kind. When the net is full, the fishermen pull it ashore and separate the good from the bad. This image reminds us that the Kingdom of God is abundant. The invitation of the Gospel is extended to everyone. God's grace is not scarce. His mercy is not limited. He desires to gather all of us into his Kingdom.

But there is also something we must do. We have to sort. We have to examine our thoughts, our words, our habits, our values, our priorities, and our decisions. We have to ask: Is this leading me toward Christ, or away from him? Is this something truly good, or does it only appear to be good? Does this belong in the Kingdom of God, or is it something I need to throw away?

That kind of discernment takes work. It requires an understanding heart. We cannot simply assume that everything we think, everything we want, or everything our culture tells us is good actually is good. The Christian life is a continual process of searching, recognizing, choosing, and sorting. We search for the treasure. We recognize the pearl. And then we sort through our lives, separating what leads us toward God from what pulls us away from him.

So perhaps the question we should ask ourselves today is the same question raised by Solomon's dream: If we could ask God for ONE thing, what would it be? Maybe, from this day forward, it is simply to beg for an understanding heart!

May God give us the wisdom to keep searching when we become discouraged. May he give us the eyes to recognize Christ when we encounter him. And may he give us the courage to let go of anything that keeps us from him. Once we discover the treasure, once we find the pearl of great price, we should be willing to give up everything else to make sure that Christ is truly ours and that we are truly his.

"An Enemy Has Done This" (16th Sunday, Year A)

  Some of the worst villains, when they know they're going to lose, decide they're going to make sure everyone else suffers with them. Think of the Balrog in The Lord of the Rings. Gandalf has stood tall against him, the bridge collapses beneath the his fiery foe, and just before he disappears into the abyss, the malicious being lashes out with his whip and pulls Gandalf down too. "If I'm going down, you're coming with me.” There's something deeply disturbing about that attitude, but it's also one of the best ways to understand the first parable Jesus tells today.

The servants are puzzled. "Master, didn't you sow good seed in your field? Where did all these weeds come from?" And the master answers, "An enemy has done this.” Christ knows he will win the decisive battle through His Cross and Resurrection. The devil's defeat is certain. But if he can't defeat Jesus, satan do everything he can to make sure that we don't enjoy Christ's victory. He wants to sabotage what God is growing…to discourage us, divide us, distract us, and, if possible, drag us down with him.

To appreciate this parable, it helps to know a detail that Jesus' listeners already understood. There was a weed common in Palestine called bearded darnel. In its early stages, it looked identical to wheat. There was a weed called bearded darnel that looked just like wheat until it matured. By the time the difference became obvious, their roots were so intertwined that pulling one would uproot the other. So the farmer waited until harvest.

With a simple agricultural analogy, Jesus was describing the dynamics of the spiritual world. Sometimes we try to understand human nature simply from the lens of psychology, sociology, or politics. Those things can help, but Jesus reminds us that there is also a spiritual battle taking place. There is an enemy who hates God and hates everything God loves. He cannot build a kingdom of his own, so he spends his energy trying to sabotage God's.

That helps explain something I hear fairly often as a priest as people try to grow their spiritual life. They say, "Father, I thought I'd be further along by now. Why am I still struggling with the same sins after all these years?” This parable gives an answer: because you're under attack. There is an enemy sowing weeds. And in God's wisdom, He allows the wheat and the weeds to grow together for a time. That field is the Church. It's our families. It's our own hearts.

Sometimes we imagine holiness means the struggle disappears. But until heaven, there will always be tension between grace and temptation, wheat and weeds. Realizing that should also make us much more merciful toward other people. The people around us are fighting battles we cannot see. They have weeds tangled up with their wheat just like we do. We all want God to be patient with us, and we ought to extend that same patience to others instead of judging them harshly or assuming the worst in their hearts.

The same is true of the Church herself. Jesus never promised that everyone in the Church would be a saint. In fact, this parable says exactly the opposite. Wheat and weeds will stand side by side until the harvest. As painful as the priest scandals of the last twenty-five years have been, they should not surprise us. They call us to purification and justice. They confirm what Jesus warned us about. The enemy has been trying to sabotage God's field from the beginning.

We might notice what Jesus does not say in the parable. He doesn't tell the servants to despair. He doesn't tell them to abandon the field. He tells them to trust the Divine Gardener and wait until the harvest. In many ways, this parable comforts us. Jesus knew exactly what His Church would look like…hypocrisy and holiness, failures and saints living side by side with sinners. None of that frustrates His plan. The devil is powerful, but he cannot be victorious. The only way he steals the victory is if we gets us so focused on the weeds that we stop cultivating the wheat.

That's why I love the little parables that follow. Jesus says the Kingdom is like a mustard seed…the smallest of seeds that becomes a great shrub. It's like a little yeast mixed into flour until the whole batch is transformed. Grace works that way.

A little holiness accomplishes far more than a great deal of darkness. One saint changes a family. One loving marriage changes generations. One person who forgives changes an entire workplace….. Since Jesus rose from the dead, light has always been stronger than darkness.

So the question I would offer for us to think about this week is this: What am I sowing?

God's grace isn't magic. It builds on our nature and our choices. If I spend ten minutes a day in prayer but then surrender six or seven hours to angry news, social media, unholy images, or mindless entertainment, I shouldn't be surprised if the weeds seem to be multiplying. If I'm feeding resentment, self-pity, jealousy, or outrage every day, I'm creating fertile soil for the enemy. On the other hand, every act of prayer, every confession, every Mass, every moment of forgiveness, every quiet sacrifice is another seed of wheat planted by God. Every small act of holiness is another pinch of yeast helping the Kingdom rise. 

So don't be discouraged by the struggle. Don't be scandalized if the weeds are still there. But stay in the field. Keep choosing the good. Keep cultivating the wheat. Keep trusting the Divine Gardener. One day, the harvest will come. And when that day arrives, we want there to be no doubt which one we are!