Category: Uncategorized

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Gospel: Mark 10:28-31

Peter began to say to Jesus,
‘We have given up everything and followed you.”
Jesus said, “Amen, I say to you,
there is no one who has given up house or brothers or sisters
or mother or father or children or lands
for my sake and for the sake of the Gospel
who will not receive a hundred times more now in this present age:
houses and brothers and sisters
and mothers and children and lands,
with persecutions, and eternal life in the age to come.
But many that are first will be last, and the last will be first.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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Do you remember learning how to ride a bicycle?

I’ve seen pictures of myself peddling my plastic tricycle in our family driveway as a toddler. Then I became a “big boy,” graduating to a real bicycle with training wheels. Eventually, I outgrew those, too, and had to learn how to pedal on my own.

That’s the scary part.

I’m sure many parents have had that heart dropping feeling of watching your child wobble without training wheels. At first, you hold onto the back of their seat as they struggle finding their balance.

Soon enough, children develop a sense of confidence and insist on you letting go as they push and pedal on their own. For some, that command leads to a crash landing. 

For others, newfound freedom.

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That’s what Lent is all about.

Learning how to wobble. Pedal. Push. Balance.

Spiritually speaking, how to grow up.

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Most of the year, we fight with the Lord, trying to wrestle control of our lives, without really wanting God to let go. Think of a child trying to pedal on their own, while finding comfort knowing that Mom or Dad is still holding on.

But during these days of Lent, in a sense, God lets go.

He puts us to the test.

He allows us to pedal on our own, discovering for ourselves what we’re made of; how spiritually mature we are. 

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In today’s Gospel, Jesus is put to the test; tempted. 

At his baptism, God affirmed him, saying from the heavens, “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.” Then the Spirit drives Jesus into the desert, where he must learn how to resist the devil – and, you might say, pedal on his own.

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Generally, when we think of the word “temptation,” we think about it in a negative sense. Temptations are those people and things that are not really good for us, yet we allow them to exercise an unfair amount of control in our lives.

As Mark Twain once said, “The best way to get rid of temptation is to give into it.”

However, in the bible, the word “temptation” has a double meaning; it’s not only used in a negative sense, but also in a positive sense. 

While it does imply the trickery of the devil, or things that lure us away from virtuous living and the Lord, the word “temptation” also implies a divine “test.”

God tests our hearts – not to make us fail; rather, to strengthen us to do his will. In the case of Jesus, the desert is the place where he prepares for ministry.

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During the course of his public ministry, Jesus did many wonderful things for others, but own personal journey was riddled with difficulty. 

He was criticized by the religious authorities, misunderstood by his own family, betrayed by Judas, abandoned by his friends, and eventually left for dead, beaten and bloodied on a cross.

Yes, the devil attacked him. Yes, Jesus was confronted by evil. But through it all, he persevered and did his Father’s will perfectly because of the strength he cultivated during those forty days in the desert.

Humanly speaking, you might say, that’s where Jesus learned how to ride. He wobbled. Pedaled. Pushed his way through those initial temptations.

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As we prepare for yet another Lent, perhaps God is calling us to dive deeper. Not simply to give up chocolate, coffee, or social media for forty days, repressing a particular appetite, but to really examine our conscience, asking questions like:

How important is God in my life? How much control do certain temptations have over me? How rich is my prayer life? How considerate am I of others?

Spiritually, have I learned how to ride my bike? Am I truly free to choose good and reject evil? 

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May God cast out any fear from our hearts, allowing us to wobble our way through Lent. To push. Pedal. Strive. Balance.

To discover that freedom, which allows us to do our Father’s will, to Calvary and beyond.

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Image credits: (1) Christ’s Charge to Peter, Raphael (2) Pexels (3) Open Music Archive, University of Salford Art Collection

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Gospel: Mark 10: 17-27

As Jesus was setting out on a journey, a man ran up,
knelt down before him, and asked him,
“”Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?””
Jesus answered him, “”Why do you call me good?
No one is good but God alone.
You know the commandments: You shall not kill;
you shall not commit adultery;
you shall not steal;
you shall not bear false witness;
you shall not defraud;
honor your father and your mother.””
He replied and said to him,
“”Teacher, all of these I have observed from my youth.””
Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said to him,
“”You are lacking in one thing.
Go, sell what you have, and give to the poor
and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.””
At that statement, his face fell,  
and he went away sad, for he had many possessions.

Jesus looked around and said to his disciples,
“”How hard it is for those who have wealth
to enter the Kingdom of God!””
The disciples were amazed at his words.
So Jesus again said to them in reply,
“”Children, how hard it is to enter the Kingdom of God!
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle.
than for one who is rich to enter the Kingdom of God.”
They were exceedingly astonished and said among themselves,
“Then who can be saved?”
Jesus looked at them and said,
“For men it is impossible, but not for God.
All things are possible for God.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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This is the only time in Mark’s Gospel when Jesus is recorded as loving someone.

Yet that person also walks away from him.

Just a few verses prior, the rich young man runs up to Jesus like a child, eager to hear his wisdom. Now, all of a sudden, he’s gone.

What was it about Christ’s divine love that repelled him?

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“Go, sell what you have,” Jesus says to him. “Give to the poor. Then, come follow me.”

The instructions were clear. The door was open. But the rich young man couldn’t make a leap of faith because he was afraid.

He was afraid that, if he gave up all of his belongings, then he wouldn’t be happy; he’d be sad.

He was afraid that, if he followed Jesus, then the Lord would take everything away from him. He was afraid of missing out on life, of giving the final years of his youth to a person whom he didn’t fully trust.

He was afraid that eternal life might only come after years of suffering; of generous, penniless living.

Perhaps he walked away from Jesus because he hoped there was another way, a different invitation, a road more traveled, allowing him to keep all the pieces of his life undisturbed and the plans for his future intact while also following Jesus.

Does any of this fear sound familiar?

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This fear is a lie.

Consider what happens to the rich young man. He walks away “sad.” Suddenly, a shadow is cast over his estate, even his heart. He had the opportunity to pursue greatness, to receive divine life, but he just couldn’t do it.

Fear is not a fruit of the Holy Spirit. Rather, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, joy, and gentleness are. These are the things we receive when we follow Jesus.

Sometimes that path requires risks, as the rich young man discovered. But like little lambs, you and I should follow the Lord wherever he may go.

It only leads to a fuller life now and in the age to come. 

What might it look like for me to follow Jesus today?

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Image credits: (1) Christ and the Rich Young Man, Heinrich Hofmann (2) FreePik (3) Adobe Stock

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Gospel: Luke 6:39-45

Jesus told his disciples a parable,
“Can a blind person guide a blind person?
Will not both fall into a pit?
No disciple is superior to the teacher;
but when fully trained,
every disciple will be like his teacher.
Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye,
but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?
How can you say to your brother,
‘Brother, let me remove that splinter in your eye,’
when you do not even notice the wooden beam in your own eye?
You hypocrite!  Remove the wooden beam from your eye first;
then you will see clearly
to remove the splinter in your brother’s eye.

“A good tree does not bear rotten fruit,
nor does a rotten tree bear good fruit.
For every tree is known by its own fruit.
For people do not pick figs from thornbushes,
nor do they gather grapes from brambles.
A good person out of the store of goodness in his heart produces good,
but an evil person out of a store of evil produces evil;
for from the fullness of the heart the mouth speaks.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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Four monks took a vow of silence.

One day, while they were walking together down a dusty road, one monk stubbed his toe on a rock and cried out, “OUCH!”

A second monk turned to him and said, “You fool! You just broke your vow of silence!”

A third monk turned to him and said, “Now you’re the fool! You just broke your vow of silence by telling him that he broke his!”

The fourth monk stopped, smiled, and said aloud, “I’m the only one who didn’t.”

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Jesus uses the same type of humor in today’s Gospel by poking fun at our pride. “Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?” he says.

Sight is a curious thing. 

Eyes allow us to appreciate the beauty of God’s creation – the glow of sunrise, the twinkle of the stars at night, the blue of water, the face of our beloved. But it can also be misused to judge and criticize the imperfections of other people without noticing our own.

This is the irony of the eye. 

It cannot see itself. Nor can it look inward. Eyes can only look outward, allowing us to see one of two possibilities: beauty or imperfection. 

What do you see?

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No one is perfect.

“All have sinned and have fallen short of the glory of God,” Saint Paul says. Meaning, sometimes it is right and necessary to correct a friend, a neighbor, or a colleague who has done wrong.

But before criticizing someone else, the Lord commands us to take a hard look within, making sure that we are not guilty of the same offense – or a greater one – lest we be hypocrites.

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The Gospels provide us with great examples of hypocrisy. Consider the woman caught in adultery. She was guilty of one obvious and serious sin.

Meanwhile, her accusers who dragged her outside of someone’s home, laying her at the feet of Jesus, were guilty of at least two sins. 

First, hypocrisy. These brutish men bore stones in their hands, poised to stone this woman to death, while they themselves were sinners.

Secondly, they might’ve been guilty of the very same offense. Remember when Jesus kneels down and begins doodling in the sand. Some say he was writing an account of these men’s sins.

Perhaps some of them also committed adultery with this woman in their hearts, which is why Jesus says, “Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”

One by one, each drops his stone and walks away frustrated.

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It’s a fascinating truth, but we can give a thousand excuses why we made a particular mistake – I was weak; tired; lonely; stressed; frustrated; at wit’s end!

But we can fail to extend that same charity towards others.

When we make a mistake, we focus on the reason why. But when it’s someone else, we dwell on the offense.

This does not mean that we should be silent in the face of sin. But just as you must be gentle when touching the human eye, so be gentle when correcting the faults of another. 

Words wield power.

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Growing up, I was taught if someone insulted me, I was not to resort to hitting them. Instead, I should say, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

We all know that isn’t true.

A hard blow from a stick can make our body ache for days, even weeks. But the body heals. A well targeted insult – or even fraternal correction done improperly – can hurt for years.

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What are some of the splinters we notice in our neighbor’s eye?

And what about the wooden beam in our own?

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Think of those four monks. 

Although they failed to keep their vow of silence perfectly, they remind us, if you can’t say something nice, it’s better not to say anything at all.

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Image credits: (1) Good News Unlimited (2) Parsi Times (3) Domenico Fetti, Parable of the Mote and Beam