Conversion

The names of the twelve apostles are these: first Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother; James the son of Zebedee, and John his brother; Philip and Bartholomew; Thomas and Matthew the tax collector; James the son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus, Simon the Cananaean, and Judas Iscariot, who betrayed him.  (Matthew 10:2-4)

Tomorrow begins the Holy Triduum with the Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper.  Certainly, our focus remains on the Lord and his institution of the Eucharist, the Mass, and Holy Orders.  But let us not forget those twelve men who sat down with Him that night to eat the Passover.  Over the past three years, they had seen the blind given sight, the lame made to walk, even the dead rise again.  Some had seen Jesus transfigured in glory.  All had seen him walk on water.  Most, if not all, from the very first moment they saw Jesus and heard his voice, gave up everything they had known in order to follow Him.  Yet despite all they had seen and experienced as the closest friends of the Christ, they still were not prepared for the horrific events to begin later that night when one of their own would betray their Master.

And, in some respects, that does not surprise us.  For while the Gospels give us more information and about some apostles and much less, if anything, about others, we see how, collectively, they often failed to understand everything Jesus was telling and teaching them.  In this regard, it can be easy for us to view them through a critical lens, wanting to hold them to a somewhat higher standard than ourselves because they walked and talked with our Lord--in the flesh--every day.  But doing so forgets that these were ordinary human beings like you and me.  More importantly, it overlooks that they were sinners in need of a savior, just like us.

In fact, if we look closely, I think we can see ourselves in them--through their very own words.  I choose here Peter, the impetuous "leader" of the apostles (always named first in the Gospels) upon whom Jesus founded His Church and gave the keys of the Kingdom; Thomas, often called "doubting"; and John, the disciple whom Jesus loved" and author of the fourth Gospel.  For the purpose of this exercise, certainly other apostles could be chosen, but the Gospels put more words on the lips of these three (together with more information about them) than most others.

So, as we prepare for the Triduum and the glorious coming of Easter, let us put the words of these three apostles into own mouths and place their actions into our own lives.  Perhaps we are not so very different from them after all:

  • Have you ever cried out, like Peter, "Lord, save me!" as you began to sink in the tumultuous waters of this life, asking Jesus to reach out catch you after you tried walking out toward Him?   (Matthew 14:28-32)
  • Or maybe, during times of stress and confusion in your life, you've said to Jesus "Lord, [I] do not know where you are going; how can [I] know the way?"  (John 14:5-7)
  • Nevertheless, during times of great spiritual consolation, or simply after Jesus is made present on the altar during Mass, you've no doubt cried out like John, "It is the Lord!" (John 21:7)
  • And during those mountaintop moments, I bet, like Peter, you've said "Lord, it is well that we are here," wanting to pitch your tent on that mountain and stay there with Jesus forever.  (Matthew 17:4)  During those times, you confidently declare with Peter, "I will never fall away." (Matthew 26:33)
  • But such highs sometimes seem all too brief, and in darker moments of despair, perhaps related to the death of a loved one, maybe you've said, like Thomas, "let us go also, that we may die with him."  (John 11:16)
  • Or instead of humbly asking for God's will to be done, have you demanded of Jesus, like John (and his brother James), "Teacher, [I] want you to do for [me] whatever [I] ask of you," seeking some type of material comfort, power or prestige?  (Mark 10:35-37)
  • Perhaps, during severe times of doubt and testing, you longed for--if not demanded--physical proof of faith in Christ, saying, like Thomas, "unless I see in his hands the print of the nails, and place my finger in the mark of the nails, and place my hand in his side, I will not believe."  (John 20:25)
  • Or, even worse, in order to avoid the ridicule of others, or just to get along with the world, maybe you've denied Jesus in words or actions, saying multiple times like Peter "I do not know the man!" (Matthew 26:72-74)
  • But, also like Peter, you know of our Lord's unfathomable mercy, and after weeping bitterly over your sins, you've approached the great sacrament of reconciliation, saying with Peter "I am a sinful man, O Lord" (Luke 5:8); wash "not my feet only, but also my hands and my head."  (John 13:9)
  • And then, washed clean by the blood of Christ, you see things anew, and cry out with Thomas "My Lord and my God!" (John 20:28-29)
  • Restored to a state of grace, you've no doubt stood beneath the Cross on Good Friday like John, your arms wrapped around the Blessed Virgin Mary, taking her into the home of your heart, as you hear Jesus exclaim "Behold, your mother!"  (John 19:27)
  • And having seen Christ's love poured out on the Cross, you say Him, like Peter, over and over again, Lord, "you know that I love you."  (John 21:15-17)
  • Finally, when all is said and done, when you've come to that realization that nothing in this world can fill that hole in your heart, you've fallen on your knees and said "Lord, to whom shall we go?  You have the words of eternal life; and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God!"  (John 6:68-69)

Yes, I think there's some Peter, Thomas and John in all of us.  At least I know there is in me.

Saints Peter, Thomas and John, pray for us!

God love you.

We all experience darkness at some point in our lives.  But what comes after that darkness--how we choose to respond to it--usually determines the course of our earthly lives and beyond.  Just as God gives us small foretastes of heaven from time to time in order to remind us that this world is not our true home, so He allows us to suffer desolation when we separate ourselves from him through sin: the darkness of Hell.

I've been reading the book of Exodus as part of my Lenten journey this year.  As is often the case with Sacred Scripture, the typology, symbolism and foreshadowing of Christ and the New Covenant contained within the Exodus story has been truly eye-opening.  Christ as the new Moses, the slavery of the Israelites v. the slavery of sin, and the parting of the Red Sea as a type of Baptism are just a few examples that come to mind.  Yet one short passage in Chapter 10 has spoken to me more than any other so far: the plague of darkness.  Recall that God--working through Moses and Aaron--had sent eight plagues upon Pharaoh and the Egyptians--none of which had yet convinced Pharaoh to release the Israelites from slavery.  Pharaoh's heart remained hardened.  For the ninth plague, "the Lord said to Moses, 'Stretch our your hand toward heaven that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, a darkness to be felt.'"  (Exodus 10:21)  Then "there was a thick darkness in all the land of Egypt three days; they did not see one another, nor did any rise from his place for three days."  (10:22-23)

A darkness to be felt - the words literally jumped off the page at me the first time I read them.  As I prayed and meditated on the passage, it struck me how well these words described all those times in my life when I've been away from God.  I can vividly recall occasions where this "thick darkness" consumed me; a darkness felt in the very depths of the soul.  Even more, this darkness can be so pervasive that it causes us to lose sight of God and prevents us from seeing the needs of others in our life.  It can be so all-consuming that we lose the desire and ability to "rise from [our] place," pick up our cross, and follow Christ once more.

Yet even in the darkness, God never abandons us.  Because His light--the light of Christ--"shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."  (John 1:5) No matter how thick the darkness may be or how deeply it is felt, the Light will always break through if we but open our eyes a little to see it.  The Light may seem distant; the rays may be tiny at first.  But inevitably, at some point, God opens the curtains to the darkened intellect of our minds, calling us to Himself,  reminding us of His love, mercy and forgiveness.

Of course, how we choose to respond to the darkness--and the eventual cracks of Light--remains totally up to us.  Although the plague of darkness initially caused Pharaoh to relent and let the Israelites go, he quickly changed his mind; his heart hardening when he learned that the Lord also demanded that he let the Israelites take their "flocks and herds" with them.  (Exodus 10:24-28)  "Get away from me," he said to Moses (10:28), but really he was saying this to God.  For as miserable as the darkness was, Pharaoh preferred it over the will of God.  "[T]he light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light."  (John 3:19-20)  And so it is with  us sometimes.  Perhaps we've lived in darkness so long that our eyes have become used to it, fooling us into to believing that we can actually see reality.  In that condition, the Light is a shock to the senses, and--like coming out of a darkened theater into the sunlight--we cover our eyes and curse the illumination.  Or, sometimes, as appealing as the Light may be initially, there is something we are unwilling to give up--the "flocks and herds" representing the pet sins in our lives that the Evil One has convinced us we cannot live without.  So we retreat back into the familiarity and false comfort of the darkness.

It does not have to be so.  Jesus tell us: "I am the light o the world; he who follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life."  (John 8:12) As much as we yearn for this light of life--for deliverance from the darkness--Jesus desires to give it to us even more.  And no matter how many times we turn him away, shutting our eyes to the Light and returning to the darkness, he will never stop seeking to shine His Light upon us.  The painting above illustrates this truth as well as anything I've ever seen.  It sits on my desk at work, and sometimes I feel like I could gaze upon it for hours.  Notice how Jesus appears to be in a darkened forest (or perhaps a garden) as he approaches a wooden door, carrying the Light he seeks to give all men.  The door has not been opened for some time, evidenced by the growth of brush and brambles over and about it.  Gently, he knocks on the door.  "Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any one hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him . . ."  (Revelation 3:20) "Open the door or your heart to me," He says, "you have been in darkness long enough.  Don't you realize that I too suffered the darkness when I walked this earth?"  Indeed, though He was without sin, Jesus experienced the agony of the effects it, taking on the sins (past, present and future) of the entire world into his very being--a darkness felt so much that he sweated drops of blood.  (Luke 22:44) We have a Savior who knows what true darkness is; a Savior who conquered that same darkness of sin and death the Cross.

St. Augustine wrote: "[O]nce a man cries out from the depths, he rises because his very cry will not suffer him to be at the bottom for long."  So as we approach the end of Lent and the start of Holy Week, let us cry out to God and allow Him to raise us out of the depths of darkness.  For He intended from the beginning of creation for us all to be "sons of light and sons of day . . . not of the night or of darkness."  (1 Thessalonians 5:5)  And then, on that glorious Easter morning, may we all bathe anew in the Light of His Resurrection.

God love you.

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Readings for Wednesday of the Fourth Week in Advent: Song of Solomon 2:8-14; Psalms 33; Luke 1:39-45

"Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord, the people whom he has chosen as his heritage." Psalms 33:12

Out of all the peoples and nations on earth, God chose Israel through whom he would reveal Himself and begin the arc of salvation history.  Yet, as we read in the Old Testament, time and time again--and despite the wondrous things He had done for them--the Israelites turned their back on God and lost their way. Still, God remained faithful to his promises, always welcoming them back with mercy and compassion, blessing the nation He had chosen.

Our nation is in great need of blessing today.  Like the Israelites of old, this country has turned its back on God and lost its way in so many respects.  Sin, hatred and division seem to rule the day.  But it wasn't so different a little over two thousand years ago.  Despite everything Israel had done wrong over the centuries, God still brought forth his Son not only to redeem Israel, but the entire human race.  That hope and chance for redemption remains today for this nation and every single one of us.  As Advent winds down, pray that God will bless our nation, and that as a whole, we will return to Him, falling down on our knees to worship the King of Kings.

God love you.

 

 

Readings for Tuesday of the Fourth Week in Advent: Isaiah 7:10-14; Psalm 24; Luke 1:26-38

"And the angel departed from her."  Luke 1:38

Today we once again hear the Annunciation as recounted in St. Luke's gospel.  It strikes me how abruptly the story ends.  Mary proclaims her fiat--be it done to me according to your word--and then, almost as soon as he appeared, the angel Gabriel is gone.  He doesn't tell her exactly what's going to happen next, or even when she will conceive.  He doesn't leave Mary with any instructions.  Having just been told the best news ever given to humanity, Mary is left to wonder, "What next?  Now what do I do?"

And so it is with us, when we say "yes" to God, when we agree to pick up our cross and follow Him, we wonder, "What next?  What exactly am I supposed do to now?"  Fortunately, as she always does, Mary provides us the answer.  For we know that no matter what else Mary did after Gabriel's visit, she remained patiently obedient to God.  More specifically, she remained obedient through prayer and the following of God's commandments.  So, as the birth of our Lord gets ever closer, let us imitate Mary's obedience through prayer, love of God, and love of neighbor.  Like He did for Mary, Jesus will take care of everything else.

God love you.

 

Readings for Monday of the Fourth Week in Advent: Judges 13: 2-7, 24-25; Psalm 71; Luke 1:5-25

"And when he came out, he could not speak to them, and they perceived that he had seen a vision in the temple; and he made signs to them and remained mute."  Luke 1:22

In today's Gospel reading, St. Luke introduces us the Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist, and recounts how the angel Gabriel came to him in the temple and pre-announced John's birth. But Zechariah did not believe the angel's words, and therefore was struck mute until John's birth. (Luke 1:18-20)  After he emerged from the temple, all Zechariah could do was make signs to the people to try to explain what he had just seen.

I can relate to Zechariah.  Too often, I feel mute and unable to speak about God to others.  Sometimes I feel like nothing I could say will truly do Him justice or fully explain what it means to be a disciple of Christ.  But like Zechariah, it is those times when our "signs" or actions can speak louder than words.  For often, we can "proclaim [His] wondrous deeds" (Psalm 71:17) through how we treat others more effectively than through forms of evangelization.  Ultimately, charity wins more hearts to Christ than persuasive theological arguments.  So if you find yourself mute these final days of Advent, show others the love of Christ through your signs.

God love you.

 

Readings for Friday of the Third Week in Advent: Isaiah 56:1-2, 6-8; Psalm 67; John 5:33-36

"Keep justice, and do righteousness, for soon my salvation will come, and my deliverance be revealed."  Isaiah 56:1

The closer it gets to Christmas, the more hectic our lives seem to be.  Shopping, parties, kids getting out of school, traveling, making plans for the Christmas day meal, etc.  It's constant go, go, go and do, do, do.  This would seem to conflict with the idea of patiently waiting during Advent--a time to slow down and prayerfully reflect and prepare ourselves for His coming.  Although we certainly should seek that inner disposition of peace during Advent, the words from Isaiah in today's first reading remind us that, in fact, Advent is also an active time of waiting.  A time to "do" something.  Not merely mindless activity or what the world tells us to do, but doing righteousness--those things that lead us into a deeper, more intimate union with God.  Opportunities for righteousness are all around us.  There are nine more "shopping days" until His "salvation comes . . . and [His] deliverance revealed."  Let's turn them into righteousness days.

God love you.

Readings for Tuesday of the Third Week in Advent: Zephaniah 3:1-2, 9-13; Psalm 34; Matthew 21:28-32

"And he answered, 'I will not'; but afterward he repented and went."  Matthew 21:29

"I will not!"  How many times we say that to God throughout our lives.  As C.S. Lewis wrote, ultimately, each person lives his or her life based on one of two mottos, either "Thy will be done," or "my will be done."  Thankfully, as Jesus reminds us in today's Gospel reading, even when we say "my will be done," there is always the opportunity to change our minds, repent, and do the will of the Father.  That is why Jesus taught is to pray "Thy will be done" in the Our Father prayer.  It is a daily decision to pick up our cross and follow Him, and praying "Thy will be done" as often as possible helps give us the grace to say "yes" to Him.  "This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his troubles."  (Psalms 24:6)  Continue to cry out to the Lord for the grace to do His will.  His plans for us are better than anything we could ever imagine.

God love you.

Readings for Monday of the Second Week in Advent: Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 85; Luke 5:17-26

"And when he saw their faith he said, 'Man, your sins are forgiven you.'"  Luke 5:20

In today's Gospel reading, St. Luke tells the familiar account of the men who lowered their paralyzed friend through the roof of a house in order to get to Jesus, in hopes that Jesus would heal him.  Many things can be said about this passage, and indeed much ink has been spilled over it throughout the ages by more learned Christians than me.  But in any event, here are two observations:

  1. What friends this paralyzed man had, and what role models they are of true Christian friendship!  For one who truly loves  a friend--love meaning, as St. Thomas Aquinas would say, to will the good of the other person--will lead that friend to the feet of Jesus, no matter how inconvenient or difficult it may at first seem.  Perhaps you have a friend this Advent who needs to be lowered through the roof in order to experience Christ's healing power.
  2. As St. Luke tells us, Jesus was impressed by the men's faith and their willingness to go to the trouble of lowering their friend through the roof.  But notice that Jesus did not heal him immediately.  Instead, he told the paralyzed man that his sins were forgiven.  Here again, Jesus takes the opportunity to remind us of the horror of sin and the damage it causes to our souls.  Because as broken and in need of healing as the paralyzed man's physical body was, it paled in comparison to the pitiful condition of his soul due to sin.  In reality, each and every one of us is paralyzed due to sin--both original sin and those that we personally commit--although we sometimes don't realize it.  And like the paralyzed man from the Gospel reading, we must be willing to go to any lengths to see Jesus, lay before him, and be healed, even if it means going through the roof.  For every time we seek his mercy, he will say "your sins are forgiven you . . . rise and walk."  (Luke 5:23)

God love you.

 

First Sunday of Advent Readings: Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:37-44

"For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed."  Romans 13:11

Those words from St. Paul in today's first reading hit home particularly hard with me.  In all the years of attending Sunday school at the fundamentalist Protestant church in which I grew up, there really is only one lesson I remember.  I was probably fifteen or sixteen years old, and felt like I had this whole Christianity thing figured out by that point.  I vividly remember the teacher (who was the father of another kid in the class) tell the story of an old man who, throughout the various stages of his life, had put off fully committing himself to Christ.  "Let me finish high school, then I will give my life to Jesus," he said.  A few years later, "let me finish college," then I'm His."  College came and went, but the man kept finding reasons to kick the can down the road as the years passed by.  Marriage, career, raising children - "I'm much too busy to follow Him right now.  Maybe when I retire."  The one thing I don't remember about the story from that Sunday morning long ago was how it ended.  Did the man keep putting off his salvation until it was too late, or did he finally, at some point, pick up his cross and follow Jesus?  Either way, the story made a profound impact.  Little did I know then that the man would be me.  I think there's probably a little of each of us in that story.

In the Gospel reading, Jesus warns his disciples "Watch therefore, for you do not know what day your Lord is coming."  (Matthew 24:42)  Taken as a whole, the readings for the first Sunday in Advent remind us that it is a season not only for anticipating the Incarnation--God becoming man and entering our world, but also Christ's glorious Second Coming at the end of time.  Of course, most of us will no longer be walking the earth whenever that takes place.  But that fact does not lessen the gravity of Jesus's warning.  For none of us are promised tomorrow, and "at an hour you do not expect," each one of us will be standing before the judgment seat of God.

As He does each and every day, God offers us the opportunity to rededicate ourselves and follow Him anew this Advent.  Consider, for a moment, all of the different people who must have come into contact with Mary and Joseph on the (roughly) 90 mile journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem.  If they had known that this ordinary, teenage Jewish girl carried the Savior of the world--the very God that created the heavens and the earth--in her womb, how many would have dropped everything, followed the Holy Family on their journey, and in so doing, prepared themselves for the birth of the King of Kings?  We have that same choice once again today.    So let us "wake from sleep," "put on the armor of light," and prepare ourselves for the birth of our Lord and His return.  And in accompanying Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem, may we go beyond "up to the mountain of the Lord . . . that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths."  (Isaiah 2:3)

God love you.

Father

"Lord, show us the Father, and we shall be satisfied."  (John 14:8)

I've heard it said that, at some level, each of us has a "father wound."  The meaning of that phrase applied individually likely varies from person to person, but the truth of it goes to the unique impact a father--or lack thereof--has on each of our lives.  What we today call "the West" (and for over 1500 years knew as Christendom), undeniably is suffering from a father wound--earthly and heavenly, both coerced and self-inflicted.

Fatherlessness in America has reached epidemic proportions.  The statistics are equal parts shocking and sobering.  A staggering 33% (24.7 million) of children in the U.S. live in a home absent their biological father.  Of children between the ages of 1st and 12th grade, the percentage increases to 39%.  Jesus once told his disciples "what man of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone?  Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent?"  (Matthew 7:9-10)  Sadly, for 1 in every 3 children in this country, the father isn't even around for a child to ask him for such things.

The negative effects the lack of a father has on a child are well documented and equally horrific.  These include vast increases in the risk of poverty, teen pregnancy, behavioral problems, alcohol and drug abuse, high school dropout and incarceration.  Two statistics in particular illustrate the father wound: (1) 63% of youth suicides come from fatherless homes; and (2) 85% of all children that exhibit behavioral disorders come from fatherless homes.  Of course, none of these statistics take into account those fathers that are physically present in the home, yet who are physically or mentally abusive, indifferent, or simply emotionally absent.  To be sure though, there are some fathers who qualify as “physically absent” from the home but who nevertheless are able to find the time and means to still be present in the lives of their children. But, in reality, these “absent but present” fathers are likely a rarity. Being a devoted father, after all, is a full time job, and physical and emotional presence in the home on a daily basis is almost always a necessity.

I share these statistics not to paint a hopeless picture or demean most fathers.  Far from it.  Many of us were and are blessed with wonderful, loving fathers who played active roles in our lives.  I'm also fully aware that numerous individuals overcome the absence of a father to reach lofty heights.  I personally know many such examples.  But neither is my intent to issue a get out of jail free card to those who have suffered from a physically or emotionally absent father. At some point, we all have to take personal responsibility for our lives, our decisions, and our sins.

But what these statistics above show--and what our own experience tells us--is that we each have a deep desire for the love of a father; a love without which things inevitably go wrong.  There is a hole in our hearts that only a father can fill.  Why?  How is it that nothing else can seem to fill the void a lack of the father creates?

The answer, I believe, lies in the apostle Philip's plea to Jesus: "Lord, show us the Father, and we shall be satisfied."  (John 14:8)  We do not know what Philip's relationship was like with his earthly father, but we can hear the longing in his voice for the Father's love.  That love we all seek.  It is that same yearning that caused St. Augustine to cry out "our heart [O Lord] is restless until it rests in You."  Because a father's love here on earth is but a dim reflection of the love of our Heavenly Father--the Creator of every star in the universe who decided to create you and me too.  We want to know Him, to see Him, to feel His love in the same way every child craves his or her father's love and attention.

So when Jesus responds to Philip's question, his answer echoes throughout the ages to each one of us: "He who has seen me has seen the Father."  For that, in a nutshell, was Jesus's mission--to show us the Father's love through his life, death and resurrection.  And only by becoming man, taking on our human flesh, could God fully reveal himself as the loving Father he has been for all eternity.  As Scott Hahn explains in his recent book The Creed:

"Father.  There, in a word, is the Christian revolution.  There is the word that set Christianity apart from any religion that has appeared on earth, before or since the birth of Jesus.  [A] Father whose love, it seems, is so great as to be unimaginable apart from his self-revelation in the Son."

Life is hard when our earthly father has been absent from our lives, but it is even harder when our Heavenly Father is absent.  But whereas it is almost unheard of for a child actively to seek separation from his or her earthly father, more and more adults in the United States have either completely or partially banished God the Father from their lives.  As of 2012, 20% of all adults in the United States described themselves as either atheist, agnostic, or having "no religious affiliation."  The very latest statistics from the Pew Research Center continue to paint a bleak picture, showing that half of Americans who have left Christianity no longer believe in God at all.

Even among those who still self-identify as Christian, over 60% infrequently or rarely attend worship services.  Sadly, among Catholics, it is even worse, with less than 25% attending Mass at least once a week.  So, although there still is a large segment of the population who retain some cultural identity as Christian, in reality, they practically are indistinguishable from non-Christians.  In both groups, God plays as little role in their day to day lives as those absent fathers cited in the statistics above.  If you've read any of my first few posts from this blog, you know I speak from experience.

This heavenly fatherlessness comes with a price.  One need not look long at the state of affairs in the West to see the effects of moral decay: the systematic slaughter of the unborn, the tossing aside of the sick and elderly through the faux compassion of increasingly accepted assisted suicide laws; the denial of reality through the redefinition of marriage and radical gender ideology; a steep decline in the protection of religious liberty; unprecedented moral relativism; the elevation of "science" as the only means by which truth (if there even be such a thing) can be known; and a general apathy, if not hostility, toward anything that makes moral demands on one's life or interferes with the ultimate god of pleasure.  The list could go on and on.  Next time you are sitting in traffic, or in line at the grocery store, or walking through the mall, look around at people's faces.  Overall, you're unlikely to see the joy and hope that comes from knowing God the Father as revealed by his Son, Jesus Christ.

It is long past time for us, as Christians, to take personal responsibility for this; for not showing others that the hole in their heart, which nothing else can fill, is the absence of God the Father.    In short, It is time to restore Christendom; not physically or collectively, but spiritually and personally.  As the late Christian historian Warren Carroll once wrote:

"Christendom . . . grows with that courage and profession, and above all by the silent impetus of prayer and example.  It fades with timidity, indifference, apostasy, and lack of holiness."

And for that, there is no better model than Mary, the Mother of God, whose "soul magnifies the Lord" and whose "spirit rejoices in God my savior."  (Luke 1:46-47)  Like so many earthly mothers who make up in love for the absent earthly father, so Mary points us to her Son so the Father will no longer be absent from our lives.  For unlike her, too often we turn the lens around, magnifying ourselves and not God, while rejoicing in the temporal but not the eternal.  We would do well to listen to the advice of St. Francis of Assisi, who said that "the deeds you do may be the only sermon some people will hear today."  That frame of mind, combined with radical conversion to holiness, is what it will take to show the world the Father.  As always, Venerable Archbishop Fulton Sheen sums it up better than I ever could:

"The Heavenly Father has a Son Who is the fullness of all the perfections of the Father, and yet from all eternity He has decreed that other children should be born to Him and be admitted to the glorious privilege of adoptive sonship in which they can say 'Our Father.'"

May we bring God the Father back into all of our lives.

God love you.