16th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Genesis 18:1-10a; Colossians 1:24-28; Luke 10:38-42

Video

As I suspect was the case with many of you,
I was transfixed last week by the first images
coming from the James Webb Space Telescope.
They were not only beautiful,
but they made visible 
the immense size of the cosmos,
in which vast galaxies appear as tiny spots of light,
as well as its immense age,
capturing light that originated from stars
thirteen billion years ago,
at the very dawn of the universe.

That vastness-made-visible awakened in me 
feelings like those expressed by the 17th-century
scientist and philosopher, Blaise Pascal:
“When I consider the short duration of my life, 
swallowed up in an eternity before and after, 
the little space I fill engulfed in the infinite immensity 
of spaces whereof I know nothing, 
and which know nothing of me, I am terrified. 
The eternal silence of these infinite spaces frightens me.”

And yet, at the same time, 
these very same images elicited in me 
a sense of wonder and gratitude,
and the thought that 
what is important about human beings
is not our physical place in the universe,
but the fact that we, 
fragile creatures that live
on a small rocky formation 
in an obscure corner of the cosmos,
sustained and protected 
by a thin layer of gas clinging to its surface,
limited in time and space,
can look up into those silent, infinite spaces
and bring into ourselves
the vastness and beauty of the universe 
through the miracle of thought and understanding.
Pascal went on to say:
“By space the universe encompasses 
and swallows me as an atom… 
by thought I comprehend the world. 
Man is but a reed, 
the most feeble thing in nature; 
but he is a thinking reed.”
Our discovery of the scope of the cosmos
should increase our sense of awe and wonder 
at the power of God’s creative activity
and at the immense privilege of being 
witnesses to that activity,
the glory of knowing even a small slice
of what God is doing in creation.

This sense of awe mixed with terror, 
this sense of a mystery beating in the heart of things
and holding our universe in existence,
is something we as Christians share with all people,
even those who do not call this mystery
by the name “God.”
Who knows? 
Perhaps this sense of awe and mystery
is shared by other intelligent beings—
other “thinking reeds”— 
living on other rocky formations
in other obscure corners of the cosmos.

But, St. Paul reminds us today,
our Christian faith tells us
that there is an even greater mystery 
at work in our world,
for the infinite creative force
that holds the universe in existence
has come to dwell among us in the flesh,
a fragile reed among other fragile reeds,
so that we might know the fullness 
of the riches of his glory 
and live eternally in the light of that glory.
Paul makes it his life’s work to reveal to all people
“the mystery hidden from ages 
and from generations past”
but now made known to God’s holy ones:
the mystery of the infinite power of God
present among us in Jesus Christ crucified.

In our Gospel today we see
Mary of Bethany sitting at the feet of Jesus,
heedless of her sister’s complaints,
because she sees the mystery
that Martha is too busy to recognize:
that the creative force that forged the cosmos
and adorned it with such beauty
is present in the flesh,
as a human being,
in their home,
on a fragile rocky formation
in an obscure corner of the cosmos.
Mary sits at the feet of Jesus 
because she knows that in his presence
she is in the presence of divine glory,
a glory surpassing the beauty
of the stars and galaxies and nebulae
that so captivated us this past week.
She has found the one thing necessary;
she has chosen the better part
and it will not be taken from her,
for it will lead her into eternity.

Pascal saw in the vastness of the cosmos
cause for both wonder and terror.
But he also saw within himself
an even more vast emptiness.
He wrote, “There is a God-shaped void 
in the heart of each person 
that cannot be satisfied 
by any created thing 
but only by God the Creator, 
made know through Jesus Christ.”
The vastness of creation—
the unimaginable scope of space and time—
is mirrored within us by an equally vast yearning,
and knowing this vastness without knowing Jesus Christ
can lead us to despair,
for what hope can we fragile reeds have
amidst such immensity
if all we know is our own fragility?
But in Jesus Christ God has come among us
with a human face and a human heart
to fill the empty space within our own hearts,
to reveal to us the mystery of eternal love
here on this tiny rocky formation 
in this obscure corner of the cosmos.
Pascal writes that because Christ shares 
our human condition,
“Jesus is the God whom 
we can approach without pride 
and before whom 
we can humble ourselves without despair.”

Paul tells us that Christ in us is the hope for glory,
a glory surpassing anything 
that we poor thinking reeds can conceive.
As we ponder the beauty 

and terror of the cosmos,

let us ponder as well 

the hope of glory revealed in Christ,
and let us pray that God would give us that hope,
that God would fill us with that glory,
and that God would have mercy on us all.

 

14th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Isaiah 66:10-14c; Galatians 6:14-18; Luke 10:1-12, 17-20 

Video

In our first reading, the prophet Isaiah 
offers an interlocking set of images:
the image of the human mother who feeds her child 
from the substance of her own body;
the image of God as a mother
who seeks to comfort and console us
in our need and in our fear;
and the image of the city of Jerusalem as a mother
whose nurture and whose care extend to all her children.
Each of these images is worthy of our attention.

First, we have the image 
of the human mother and her child.
We have heard a lot, in recent days, 
about the relationship of mother and child,
a relationship that is, as a matter of biological fact,
unique in its intimacy and in its complexity,
in its intricate intertwining of two lives,
particularly during the months of pregnancy,
but continuing in the years that follow. 
If those on opposite sides of the question
of the legality of abortion agree on nothing else
(and it sometimes seems that they agree on very little),
all acknowledge the uniqueness of that relationship
and its life-changing power.
Indeed, it is precisely this uniqueness and power
that makes the issue so volatile, and so important,
and why the Church teaches the need 
to protect and foster that relationship
in ways that honor both mother and child.

Second, we have the image of God as a mother, 
which might be initially startling,
accustomed as we are to praying to God as Father.
Isaiah suggests, however, 
that in the unique and complex intimacy
of the relationship of mother and child
we see an image of God’s intimacy with us,
an image of the God who brings us 
to birth in the order of nature
and rebirth in the order of grace.
Indeed, some saints have suggested 
that we see in the pains of Jesus on the cross
the labor pains of God incarnate
bringing forth that new creation
of which Paul speaks in our second reading.
Julian of Norwich, writing in the 14th-century, 
says, “our true Mother, Jesus, who is all-love, 
gives us birth into joy and endless living.” 
As Isaiah and Julian suggest,
the image of God as mother
surely has an important place among
the many metaphors that we use
to speak of the mystery of God’s love,
and should shape our understanding
of the dignity of human motherhood.

Finally, we have the image 
of the city of Jerusalem as a mother,
who shares her abundance with all her children.
Isaiah shows us God not simply promising
that the city will prosper,
but that her prosperity will be 
spread abroad among her children, 
reaching far and wide 
so that all will receive her motherly care.
This vision is at the heart 
of the social teachings of the Church:
the political community exists to ensure
that the goods that God 
has lavished upon the world
are shared in justly by all people, 
most especially the weak and the vulnerable.
We might have legitimate disagreements 
on the precise balance 
between public policy and private initiative
in this distribution of goods,
but for us as Catholics 
whatever way we strike that balance
must respect the Church’s teaching that,
as St. John Paul II put it back in 1981,
“the right to private property is subordinated…to the fact 
that goods are meant for everyone” (Lab. Ex. §14).
Or, as St. Ambrose put it in the 4th century,
somewhat less technically and with a bit more bite,
“The earth belongs to everyone, 
not to the rich” (De Nabute c. 12 n. 53).
Saints John Paul and Ambrose teach us 
that our vision for our own city, state, and nation,
no less than Isaiah’s vision for the holy city Jerusalem,
should be of a community in which all are given
what they need, not simply to survive, but to flourish,
and that our politics must be rooted not in self-interest,
no matter how enlightened,
but in concern for the least of these our brothers and sisters.

In recent days many people have said
that with the overturning of Roe versus Wade
the time has come for the pro-life community 
to step up and advocate
for an economic and social order 
that will address the inequalities 
that have often led women
to seek abortion as a solution 
to an unexpected or undesired pregnancy.

This seems largely correct,
though I would add that this is something 
that some have been doing all along.
But more needs to be done,

and more of us need to do it,

and this must be a matter of concern for our nation
and not simply for us as private individuals.
Saint John Paul wrote,
“it is not enough to remove unjust laws…
[T]here need to be set in place 
social and political initiatives 
capable of guaranteeing conditions 
of true freedom of choice 
in matters of parenthood” (Ev. Vitae §90).

Our Catholic faith calls us to embrace fully 
what John Paul called “the Gospel of Life,”
which focuses our concern on life 
at its most vulnerable stages—
its beginning and its ending—
but also addresses questions 
of economic justice, war, the death penalty,
the dignity of migrants, and the environment.
All of these are elements 

of what John Paul called “a culture of life,”
a culture that embraces its children 
as a mother embraces her own,
feeding and nurturing them,
a culture that we are called to labor for,
by word and example,
as we make our journey to God’s kingdom.
We must answer this call, 
going forth gently, like lambs among wolves,
armed with nothing but the love of God.

The task lies before us.
The harvest is abundant.
Let the laborers not be few.
May God, who cares for us 
as a mother cares for her child, 
prosper the work of our hands,
and may God who is merciful
have mercy on us all.