One in Christ.

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Galatians 2: 1-2, 7-14

Brothers and sisters:
After fourteen years I again went up to Jerusalem with Barnabas,
taking Titus along also.
I went up in accord with a revelation,
and I presented to them the Gospel that I preach to the Gentiles–
but privately to those of repute–
so that I might not be running, or have run, in vain.
On the contrary, 
when they saw that I had been entrusted with the Gospel to the uncircumcised,
just as Peter to the circumcised,
for the one who worked in Peter for an apostolate to the circumcised
worked also in me for the Gentiles,
and when they recognized the grace bestowed upon me,
James and Cephas and John,
who were reputed to be pillars,
gave me and Barnabas their right hands in partnership,
that we should go to the Gentiles
and they to the circumcised.
Only, we were to be mindful of the poor,
which is the very thing I was eager to do.

And when Cephas came to Antioch,
I opposed him to his face because he clearly was wrong.
For, until some people came from James,
he used to eat with the Gentiles;
but when they came, he began to draw back and separated himself,
because he was afraid of the circumcised.
And the rest of the Jews acted hypocritically along with him,
with the result that even Barnabas
was carried away by their hypocrisy.
But when I saw that they were not on the right road
in line with the truth of the Gospel,
I said to Cephas in front of all,
“If you, though a Jew,
are living like a Gentile and not like a Jew,
how can you compel the Gentiles to live like Jews?”

The Word of the Lord.

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In the early Church, Christians would not only gather together to celebrate Mass weekly, they would also share a common meal known as the agape. Today, we might call it a potluck.

Everyone brought what they could. The richest Christians brought the choicest foods, such as meat and wine. While the poorest might bring a loaf of bread, if anything. 

For the poor, that potluck was not only an opportunity to gather socially; it might also have been the only solid meal they’d eaten all week. 

Today we could imagine a similar potluck being held by the Missionaries of Charity in Newark. They and their guests would have little to offer – perhaps fruit and crackers. Meanwhile, we could bring anything we wanted – steaks and a bottle of wine.

In theory, it’s a beautiful idea: all of God’s people coming together as one, foreshadowing the divine banquet in heaven. However, Saint Paul identifies two problems in that early Christian practice, which can still surface today.

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In our first reading, Paul accuses Peter, Barnabas, and others of separating themselves from the Gentiles during their potluck. The laws of the Old Testament were still fresh in their minds, leading Peter and the others to exclude the Gentiles.

While everyone gathered in the same place to share a meal, the non-Jewish Christians were forced to eat apart from the others. 

Secondly, the rich would sometimes hide their gifts, creating separate tables for themselves, leaving the poor to eat whatever was left over – you might say, fruit and crackers. Paul was grieved by such a stunning lack of charity!

As he states in his Letter to the Galatians, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Meaning, a church ceases to be Christian if it embraces class or ethnic distinctions. 

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So, what might this mean for us?

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Every Sunday you and I gather around the altar to share a meal. We gather physically as one body. The challenge is to embrace this practice spiritually, seeing everyone as an equal – a “Christ-bearer” – regardless of our race, politics, social, or economic background.

May we strive, each in our own way, to break down those barriers that separate us so that we may be, not only in word but also in spirit, one in Christ Jesus.

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Image credits: (1) Westwood First Presbyterian Church (2) Potluck, Wikipedia (3) Beyond Foreignness

The Source of Much Anxiety.

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Gospel: Luke 10:38-42

Jesus entered a village 
where a woman whose name was Martha welcomed him.
She had a sister named Mary
who sat beside the Lord at his feet listening to him speak. 
Martha, burdened with much serving, came to him and said,
“Lord, do you not care
that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving? 
Tell her to help me.” 
The Lord said to her in reply,
“Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things. 
There is need of only one thing. 
Mary has chosen the better part
and it will not be taken from her.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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I’m glad Martha loses her cool, because her frustration teaches us a lesson in discipleship which we can apply to our daily lives. 

Imagine the scene: Martha is moving around the kitchen for an hour or two, banging pots and pans, cutting vegetables while mumbling beneath her breath. Finally, she storms into the dining room confronting her sister, Mary, who’s listening attentively to Jesus.

Interrupting their conversation, Martha snarls, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving?”

***

Martha just made several mistakes. First, she accuses Jesus of not caring about her burdens. “Lord, do you not care?” 

How often is that also us, accusing God of being aloof from our burdens?

Then Martha blames someone else for her own anxiety. “My sister has left me to do all the serving.” Somehow, it’s Mary’s fault that Martha is so anxious.

Finally, Martha polishes off her cocktail of complaints by telling the Lord how to solve her problem. “Tell her to help me!” Can’t we do the same, telling God how to help us?

***

Jesus rebukes Martha gently, knowing that she is not anxious about making a perfect sauce or maintaining a clean kitchen.

Deep down, Martha is anxious because she lost her focus; that day, she’s motivated more by duty than by love, effectively choking the meaning out of her work.

***

Think about the ordinary tasks we do throughout the day – going to work, toting the kids across town, doing household chores. Do these activities bring us more anxiety than peace?

The answer really depends upon what our motivation is: either duty or love. If it’s the latter, then we should be at peace.

As Saint Paul says, “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.” 

It brings joy to any situation, even hosting a meal. 

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Image credits: (1) Neuroscience News (2) Christ in the House of Martha and Mary, Jan Bruegel the Younger and Peter Paul Rubens (3) self.com

Where Christ remains hidden.

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Gospel: Luke 10: 25-37

There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test Jesus and said,
“Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law?
How do you read it?”
He said in reply,
“You shall love the Lord, your God,
with all your heart,
with all your being,
with all your strength,
and with all your mind,
and your neighbor as yourself.”
He replied to him, “You have answered correctly;
do this and you will live.”

But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, 
“And who is my neighbor?”
Jesus replied, 
“A man fell victim to robbers
as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho.
They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead.
A priest happened to be going down that road,
but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.
Likewise a Levite came to the place,
and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.
But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him
was moved with compassion at the sight.
He approached the victim,
poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them.
Then he lifted him up on his own animal,
took him to an inn, and cared for him.
The next day he took out two silver coins
and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction,
‘Take care of him.
If you spend more than what I have given you,
I shall repay you on my way back.’
Which of these three, in your opinion,
was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?”
He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.”
Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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Mother Teresa was once walking along the streets of Calcutta, when suddenly she passed by a homeless man dying on the street.

He smelled sour. Maggots were nibbling at his flesh.

Naturally, she was repulsed by the sight and smell, so she moved to the other side of the street in order to avoid him and to continue going about her day.

***

Within a matter of seconds, she regretted her instincts as she remembered Christ’s words, “Whatever you do unto the least of my brothers and sisters, you do to me.” 

This man was Jesus in a sour, disfigured disguise.

So, she turned around and knelt next to him. He was so starved that Mother Teresa – a woman barely five feet tall – was able to pick him up and carry him to her home for the dying. 

Upon arriving, that man looked up into her eyes and breathed his last. 

Although he was previously unwanted and left abandoned, this man died in the arms of love.

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Mother Teresa used this story to remind her sisters – and each of us today – that, at times, Jesus comes to us in “distressing disguise,” much like the man robbed, beaten, and left for dead in today’s Gospel.

Perhaps we won’t encounter the Lord in such a radical way today – or ever.

But we will encounter him in a distressed colleague; an elderly neighbor; a person who randomly comes to mind as we go about our day.

Find a way to pick them up, to love and serve them in some way. This is much of our faith in its simplicity: Whatever we do to them, mysteriously, we do to Christ.

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Image credits: (1) Creative Communications (2) Qgiv.com (3) TheCollector