January 30, 2005: Bending the Laws of Nature

+The Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time


Last week, we celebrated the feast days of three martyrs; this coming week, there are two more on the calendar. During my meditation time, I have thought a lot about the difficult path these men, women and even children have freely embraced out of love for God and His people.

Of course, Jesus knew well what the personal cost would be to His followers. He knew that the faith that He lived and preached would be far too demanding for most people to accept. Yet Jesus also knew that His little group of disciples would imitate Him so intensely that they would eventually change the world.

About forty years ago, Karl Rahner, the well-known author and theologian, wrote a series of essays in a book called The Christian Commitment. He raised some eyebrows when he claimed that one of Christianity’s major problems is that we have too many Christians! What he meant was that many folks join the church because it’s socially acceptable, not because they’re determined to carry on Jesus’ ministry.

I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. People want to fit in and go along with their peers. Years back, high school and college kids tried to see how many could squeeze into a telephone booth, because everybody was doing it. Then millions of us contorted our hips trying to work a hula hoop. We tried cigarettes… pot… even LSD… because we saw movie stars and rock stars doing it and we wanted to be hip or groovy or cool. Today, every girl wants to dress like Britney Spears or get a tattoo. And like every other craze—short-lived or long-lived, according to Rahner, we sell ourselves on the idea of joining the church so we can belong… so we can fit in.

You may not like to hear that. Nobody wants to think that they’re sheep blindly following the flock. Maybe you are a strong, faithful Catholic really striving hard to carry out Christ’s mission of evangelization. If you are, God bless you!

Then again, maybe you are one of the herd of lukewarm Christians out there that cause the non-Christian world to shake their heads and laugh at us. But take heart. It isn’t a new phenomenon.

The prophet Zephaniah, the first writer we heard today, came to realize, like all the Old Testament prophets, that only a relatively small number of Israelites were ever going to observe the Lord’s law, seek justice and humility, and perhaps, as he puts it, “be sheltered on the day of the Lord’s anger.” That’s why he’s comforted by God’s promise to “leave as a remnant in your midst a people humble and lowly, who shall take refuge in the name of the Lord: the remnant of Israel.” Sad to say, even though this prophet of the 7th century B.C. preached to everyone, very few listened to him and changed their lifestyle.

Then we hear St. Paul addressing the Corinthians. The Christians at Corinth made up a pretty small percentage of the population of that large, bustling Greek city. And they certainly were not elite or influential. Paul reminds them of their tough reality: “Consider your own calling” he writes. “Not many of you were wise by human standards… or powerful… or were of noble birth.” Then he leads them to see the strength of their situation: “God chose the foolish of the world to shame the wise… the weak to shame the strong, the lowly and the despised… Whoever boasts, should boast in the Lord.” It’s interesting; what most of the world sees as terrible liabilities, Paul sees as the Christian community’s most valuable asset. No one can underestimate the power a person wields who chooses to imitate Jesus Christ.

St. Matthew echoes the same idea in the Beatitudes. When we hear this famous list, many of us think about some future time when we will get to experience these blessings. But the original people who heard this Gospel believed the opposite! Jesus’ words made them think about what had already happened. The Beatitudes aren’t pie-in-the-sky promises to lure them into doing the things Jesus taught in the rest of the Sermon on the Mount. Instead, they are blessings that the community had already experienced. In their determination to follow the risen Lord, they had become poor and they mourned. They were meek, and they hungered and thirsted for righteousness. They had become merciful, clean of heart, peacemakers and persecuted for the sake of righteousness. And to their amazement, not only had they survived, but they were experiencing the very blessings that Jesus experienced when He did these same things!

I remember that when I was a kid, I was fascinated that water wouldn’t splash out of a bucket when I twirled it in an arc over my head. It stayed in the upside-down bucket no matter what the law of gravity said. At that point, other laws of nature kicked in which I knew nothing about.

Something analogous happens when you respond to God’s call. The outcome that you might naturally expect should happen, doesn’t happen! Instead, something that you never could have anticipated, takes place. Ronald Reagan said, “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall”… and he did it! Jesus said, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.” And He did! And so on.

God, you see, often operates within the framework of a lot of the laws we’ve grown familiar with—but He also works within other laws we haven’t yet learned about. There are precisely the laws of faith which make the poor blessed and the weak powerful.

Wouldn’t it be great if we, as Christians, could suspend our disbeliefs… shed our lukewarm hearts… and truly step into God’s mysterious and life-giving realm?



Today’s Readings:
Zephaniah 2, 3 and 3, 12–13
Psalm 146
1 Corinthians 1, 26–31
Matthew 5, 1–12

January 23, 2005: Light and Brick

The Third Sunday in Ordinary Time



St. Paul appeals to us today not to be divided: I urge you, brothers and sisters, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you agree in what you say, and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and in the same purpose. After all, we’re all children of God—brothers and sisters in the Lord. Doesn’t that mean that we’re supposed to be with God and with each other—at least when it comes to what we believe and how we live?

Ha! Why then does it seem that life is often one conflict after another? Why are people always opposing each another, always fighting and bitter and angry? Even in our own families with the people we love the most in the whole world! Even in our own churches.

It’s almost as if some of us who hear this plea from St. Paul are asking the Robert De Niro question: “Are you talking to me?”

Jesus tells us to repent of our disunity, our division, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. God doesn’t want this kind of evil in our life. According to the Scriptures, this is the stuff that makes God angry.

So we’re angry—and God’s angry. But God’s anger, His wrath, is very different from man’s.

Human anger typically flares up from something inside ourselves. It’s self-driven. If we don’t watch out, it can escalate into explosions of temper and violence. We get ticked off because we feel we’ve been overlooked, neglected, or cheated. This is the anger of man. It is not, however, the anger of God.

God doesn’t get angry because He doesn’t get His way. He gets angry because disobedience always results in self-destruction. What kind of father sits by and watches his child hurt himself?

The Lord often tries to get our attention with His light. When we’re self-absorbed in our frustration or rage, it’s as though we’re sitting in the dark. But listen to the words of the Gospel: The people who sit in darkness have seen a great light. On those dwelling in a land overshadowed by death, light has arisen.

“Christ the Light” is what we chant at the beautiful Easter Vigil ceremony. Turning to Jesus can dispel the darkness and the hurt.

But if you’re really, really angry, it’s entirely possible that you wouldn’t even see God’s light if He walked right up to you and shined it in your eye.

So then, my friends, God has to resort to more drastic measures to save you from yourself.

About ten years ago, a young and rather successful businessman named Josh was driving down a Chicago neighborhood street. He was driving a sleek, black, 16-cylinder Jaguar XKE that was only two months old.

He watched for kids darting out from between parked cars—as kids are prone to do in the city streets. So Josh slowed down when he saw a pair of legs between two cars. As his car passed the opening where the legs were, a brick sailed out and—boom!—smashed into the Jag’s shiny side door.

Screech! He slammed on the brakes, threw it into reverse, and the tires spun madly as the Jaguar lurched back to the spot where the brick was thrown. Josh jumped out of the car, grabbed the kid and slammed him up against a parked car. He got right in the kid’s face, “What was that all about? Who do you think you are?” Getting angrier by the second, Josh screamed even more as he throttled the kid, “That’s my new Jag! That brick is going to cost you plenty. Why did you throw it?”

“Please . . . please, mister, I’m sorry,” pleaded the kid. “I didn’t know what else to do. I threw the brick because no one else would stop.”

Tears were streaming down the boy’s face and dripping off his chin as he pointed around the parked car. “It’s my brother, mister,” he cried. “He fell out of his wheelchair and I can’t lift him up.” Sobbing, the boy asked the businessman, “Please, would you help me get him back into his wheelchair? He’s too heavy for me. He needs to be sitting in his chair.”

Well… Josh was stunned to the bone. He tried desperately to swallow the lump in his throat. He helped the boy stand the wheelchair back upright, and the two of them lifted his brother back into the chair.

It was a long, long walk back to the sleek, shiny, black 16-cyclinder Jaguar XKE—a long and slow walk. Now, Josh never did fix the side door of that car. It reminded him not to go through life so fast or so cock-sure of everything that someone has to throw a brick at him to get his attention.

It’s kind of funny to picture the Lord with a light in one hand and a brick in the other. But He loves us so much, that He’s prepared to do just about anything to save us from ourselves.

Have a look at how you’re living your life these days. Then repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand. Don’t make Him use the brick.

Amen.



Today’s Readings:
Isaiah 8, 23 – 9, 3
Psalm 27
1 Corinthians 1, 10–17
Matthew 4, 12–23

(School Mass): Friday, January 21, 2005

+ Feast of St. Agnes (Virgin & Martyr)

When I was in high school, my best friend and I went out camping. One day during our trip, we were out fishing when it began to rain. By the time we got back to our tent, it was dark. We had no dry firewood. We had to hunt around in the rain and wet woods until we found some dry wood on the inside of a hollow log. It was no fun getting that fire started. We were soaked to the skin… it was cold… and worst of all, it was dark. Nothing was more welcome than that fire, after we finally got it going. We started to dry out, warm up, and even laugh and joke around again as we cooked our dinner and settled into camp. That wonderful fire made all the difference in the world.

Maybe it’s no surprise that fire is one of the special symbols of the Holy Spirit. You probably remember how on the Feast of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit came down on the apostles in the form of tongues of fire. When you think about how unhappy, cold and miserable your body can be without a fire—just like I discovered during my high school camping trip—then you can know how unhappy the apostles were before the Holy Spirit came to them and started a fire in their hearts. Just the way that a body needs fire, the soul needs fire, too!

As you boys and girls preparing for Confirmation certainly know, the Holy Spirit fills you with all kinds of special gifts to help you live out and defend your faith. The fire of the Holy Spirit strengthens you and gives you great courage to do that.

And if you want proof, all you have to do is look to the example of many of the saints.

Today, along with the whole Church, we celebrate the Feast of St. Agnes. She was a Roman girl who died in the year 304. She was just twelve years old when she suffered martyrdom for her faith. If she were here today, she’d be a girl in 6th or 7th grade. Think about that! When many girls that age get all upset and tearful because someone says something mean to them and hurts their feelings, Agnes was willing to die for Jesus rather than pretend that she wasn’t a Catholic.

A thousand years from now, nobody’s going to know who Hilary Duff or Ashlee Simpson was. No one’s going to care what songs Britney Spears or Gwen Stefani sang. But they’ll still be honoring St. Agnes. She has been well-known, popular, and admired for 1700 years.

What happened to Agnes? Very simply, she loved Jesus so much that she chose only Him for her husband. But since she was so beautiful, lots of young men wanted to marry her. She always would say, “No, Jesus is my only husband.” She even turned down the governor’s son, and he got very angry. He tried to convince her to marry him with fancy gifts and promises. Agnes kept telling him, “I am already promised to the Lord.”

Because he was so mad at her, he turned her in to the authorities and accused her of being a Christian—a crime punishable by death in those days. The governor said that he would forgive her and give many beautiful gifts if she would only deny God… but Agnes refused. Then the governor tried to scare her by having her bound in heavy chains, but even then she would not back down. Agnes suffered other tortures, too, and when she just wouldn’t budge, she was condemned and killed. And of course, she became a martyr and saint for Christ.

St. Agnes shows us how it’s possible to make a heroic decision and stick to it. She was able to do this because she centered her young life on Jesus. She asked the Lord for the strength to be true to her Catholic commitment, and her love for Christ gave her the strength and bravery she needed.

On this special feast day, let us also ask St. Agnes to pray to God for so we can also have a share of courage and love for Jesus. Amen!

January 16, 2005: “You are my servant . . .”

The Second Sunday in Ordinary Time


The prophet Isaiah has a striking conversation with God in our first reading today. After a long and frenzied life as a prophet, the Lord tells Isaiah, “You are my servant.” The Hebrew word for “servant” is ’ebed. Actually, a more precise translation would be that Isaiah was an indentured laborer for God. Once he paid off his debt, he would be released from service—almost like redeeming an item from a pawn shop.

Towards the beginning of the Book of Isaiah—in chapter 6, to be exact—God first called Isaiah to be a prophet. Isaiah had a spectacular vision, in which God’s angel touched his mouth with a burning coal from the fire and said, “Your guilt is taken away, and your sin is forgiven” (Isa. 6, 7). Overwhelmed, Isaiah volunteered to go out on a mission for God and to be His prophet (Isa. 6, 8–13).

How exactly can you pay back God for taking away your guilt and sin? Well, of course, you can’t. And if you can’t repay, the item remains with the pawn broker. So the plain meaning of ’ebed—servant—is really more like a slave.

How does that sound to you—“You are my slave”?

For most of us, that’s a loaded word that conjures up all kinds of terrible images. To enslave someone means to oppress him, to use him in a way that is degrading and opposed to human dignity. People stay enslaved through fear, intimidation and brute force. Slavery, then, would be about the absolute opposite of the merciful love we ought to associate with God.

But God evidently doesn’t have these negative meanings in mind when He calls Isaiah His slave or His servant—and Isaiah certainly doesn’t understand it that way either. Look at the rewards that Isaiah’s servitude has earned him. Isaiah first says, “I am made glorious in the sight of the Lord” (Isa. 49, 5)—in other words, I am honored in God’s eyes. Then he says, “God is now my strength” (Isa. 49, 5). And finally, God promises to make him a “light to the nations” (Isa. 49, 6)—a chosen instrument to bring holiness and blessings and salvation to people everywhere.

What a breathtaking compensation package! Hardly the evils we normally associate with slavery.

Now, here’s something very interesting. That Hebrew word ’ebed that we’ve been talking about: if you were to translate it into Greek, the language of the New Testament, it would be doulos in the masculine form. The feminine is doulé—the very word St. Luke says that Our Blessed Mother Mary spoke when she said, “Behold the handmaid [doulé] of the Lord” (Luke 2:38).

Yes, Mary called herself the slave of God. And just the way Isaiah said, “I am made glorious in the sight of the Lord,” Our Lady said, “All generations will call me blessed” (Lk 2, 48).

Isaiah said, “God is my strength”; Mary said, “The Almighty has done great things for me” (Lk 2, 49).

Isaiah is told he’ll be a “light to the nations”; Mary says that God “has mercy on those who fear him in every generation. . . to Abraham and his children for ever” (Lk 2, 50. 55).

So it seems pretty clear that this slavery or servitude that we hear about is not at all a repulsive or evil thing. In fact, to be a servant of God is a great blessing!

Scripture is filled with references encouraging this kind of holy service—between husbands and wives (Eph. 5, 22–25), children and parents (Col. 3:20–21) . . . and in fact, all people to go out and serve one another: neighbors, the poor, and even your enemies! Those of us who, please God, do it well in this life, might conceivably be recognized as a “Servant of God”—a beautiful designation for some happy souls on the road to sainthood.

One of the glorious titles of the Pope is Servus Servorum Dei—a servant of the servants of God. In other words, the Holy Father willingly enslaves himself to the service of all of humanity.

And of course, the perfect model of voluntary, loving slavery is Jesus Christ, who gave totally of Himself that we—you and I and all mankind—might have eternal life in heaven.

The challenge for us as Catholics is this: how do we translate this idea of being a voluntary servant from a nice, pious thought into a concrete reality? How do I become a slave to my brothers and sisters out of love for God?

There are almost as many ways as there are people! We’re each a unique creation with wonderful gifts. What do you do best? What do you like to do? How can you use your gifts to help others? Can you sing, cook, sew, arrange flowers, teach, fix things? Do you tell good stories or do folks say you’re a sympathetic listener? Use these gifts!

Sometimes you’ll meet a pessimistic person who says, “I don’t really have any special talents.” Hmmm… If you think that’s you, then I’d suggest that your greatest ability is simply your availability. Availability means that you are prepared and ready to serve God when He calls you and inspires you. Don’t assume that God can’t use you because you don’t have great abilities or special talents. He can and He will! God never asks about our ability, only about our availability. That’s why Jesus teaches us that it can be a tremendous act of loving service to give a thirsty man a cold cup of water. Who can’t do that?

If you want a list of ways to serve, dig out your old copy of the Baltimore Catechism and look up the chief corporal and spiritual works of mercy. The corporal works of mercy are (1) to feed the hungry, (2) to give drink to the thirsty, (3) to clothe the naked, (4) to visit the imprisoned, (5) to shelter the homeless, (6) to visit the sick, and (7) to bury the dead.

The spiritual works of mercy are (1) to admonish the sinner, (2) to instruct the ignorant, (3) to counsel the doubtful, (4) to comfort the sorrowful, (5) to bear wrongs patiently, (6) to forgive all injuries, and ( 7) to pray for the living and the dead.

If you concentrated on just one different work of love each month, you’d have more than enough to fill an entire year!

When the Lord appeared to the great prophet, Isaiah, He said, “You are my servant.” Today, the Lord says the very same words to you. Like Isaiah, like Mary—say “Yes, Lord. I am your servant.” Let the meaning of loving service grow in your heart, then go out and serve without counting the cost.

I promise you, God will bless you richly.



Today’s Readings:
Isaiah 49, 3–6
Psalm 40
1 Corinthians 1, 1–3
John 1, 29–34

School Homily: Friday, January 14, 2005 (Jesus Heals)

A boy named Tyler was standing in his backyard looking up at the roof of his house. It was a busy place, because there were several men climbing up and down ladders. They had cut a big square hole in the roof. Tyler’s Dad came up behind him and grinned. He said, “It’s going to be great to have a skylight in the kitchen. It’s really going to brighten it up!”

Tyler smiled back at his Dad as he watched the workmen carefully lifting up a big window. “Wow, this is just like the Gospel story we heard at Mass. It was about the four men who brought their sick friend to Jesus. They cut a hole in the roof and let him down to Jesus.”

Dad nodded. “I know the story,” he said. “There was such a crowd around the house that they couldn’t get the sick man in through the door.”

Tyler looked up at his own roof once again. He said, “Even with power tools it’s a big job to cut a hole in the roof. I’m trying to figure out how those guys in Bible times could climb up a ladder with a heavy stretcher and do all that!”

Tyler’s Dad said, “The roof in the Gospel was probably flatter than ours—and maybe covered with branches and heavy grass instead of wood and tiles. And there may have been outside steps going up to it, because people would climb up there when it got too hot inside.”

Tyler thought about that. “Maybe. Anyway, my friend Danny and I were wishing we could take Eric on a stretcher and carry him to Jesus and let Jesus heal him,” Tyler told his Dad.

“You can do that in prayer, Tyler,” his Dad said gently.

Tyler looked at his father sadly. “We have, Dad, but Eric still has cancer. Doesn’t Jesus heal anymore?”

“Jesus still heals,” his Dad assured him. “Sometimes He does it with doctors; sometimes with a miracle. But sometimes, like with Grandma, he takes the person to heaven. There is no sickness there.

“Keep praying, and visit Eric whenever you can,” Dad told him. “Tell him about the skylight. If I were sick, it would make me feel better just to know I had two friends who would like to put me on a stretcher, carry me up a ladder, and cut a hole in the roof to get me to Jesus.”

* * *

Do you have a friend or relative who’s very sick? Do you feel there’s nothing you can do? Actually, there are several things you can do.

You can pray for that person. Jesus always hears your prayers to help others. You can ask God at this Mass to please take care of that person, or cure him. You can pray a Rosary… or pray an Our Father or some Hail Marys—in fact, think of the spiritual bouquets you promised Fr. Motsett on his anniversary last month; any of those prayers would be excellent for the sick!

You can also visit the person, if he’s able to have a visitor, and pray with him. You don’t have to feel funny or embarrassed. Just say something like, “Would it be OK if we prayed an Our Father together and ask Jesus to make you better?” Most people would really like that.

You can also do little deeds like sending a card, a cheerful note, a little picture you made or a story you wrote—anything to let the sick person know you care and that Jesus does, too.
In our first reading today, we heard: “We have received the Good News just as our ancestors did.” For two thousand years, people have been listening to the story of the friends carrying their friend to the roof and lowering him on a stretcher to be healed by Jesus… and for two thousand years, they have been inspired to pray and do good deeds for their friends who are ill.

And now the Psalm says, “Do not forget the works of the Lord!” That means that now that we have heard this story, it’s our turn to pray and do good deeds for our friends who need healing! We know that Jesus loves them and will help them—if only we ask! Think about who you can bring to Jesus today… and then get to work!

January 9, 2005: Humbled by the Mystery of God

Feast of the Baptism of the Lord



This past week, I’ve really been haunted by an article I read about the big tsunami in The (Champaign, IL) News-Gazette last Sunday. [To read the article, go to: http://www.realcities.com/mld/krwashington/news/columnists/seth_borenstein/10544866.htm]. The thrust of the story was that a cataclysmic event like this underwater earthquake and tidal wave shows us that it’s laughable for man to think he’s really in control of much of anything.

We think we’re so clever! We can build skyscrapers that reach 1700 feet in the air… we can fly through the air in a loaded 747 that weighs 850,000 pounds… we can build dams across mighty rivers and harness vast quantities of hydroelectric power… but it only takes a split second to remind us who’s really boss.

They say that the tsunami pushed up a wall of water 30 feet high moving at 500 miles per hour. Those Christmas trees in the front of church are 10 feet high. Triple that would take you about to the top of the dome of the apse. And 500 miles per hour… well, you can just imagine. That’s pretty overwhelming.

But despite the devastation and so much loss of life and property in Indonesia, Sri Lanka, India, Thailand, Malaysia and the whole region, the reporter said that this was just a pygmy disaster compared to many events measured by geologic time.

Yes, we think we’re standing on solid ground—well anchored—firmly in charge. Ha! We are nothing but the tiniest specs of matter on a puny planet spinning at 1000 miles an hour and orbiting around the sun at 67,000 miles an hour. Aren’t we high and mighty! No wonder Our Lord reminds us with some regularity that humility is what draws us to God.

The newspaper article quoted Kathryn Sullivan, an astronaut and the first woman to walk in space. In view of all this, she asked, “How can we not believe in God?”

In our reading from Acts today, St. Peter says, “I see that God shows no partiality.” (Acts 10, 34). Isn’t that the truth! Christians… Buddhists… Moslems… Hindus… everyone around the Indian Ocean felt the might of Nature.

And how about the chilling and eerie words of Isaiah? “The coastlands will wait for his teaching.” (Isa. 42, 4). And how.

OK. There’s no question that God is mighty… all-mighty! That is indeed humbling… and indeed scary, because who knows when God might decide to become Godzilla?

But wait!

“The heavens were opened and the voice of the Father thundered: This is my beloved Son; listen to Him.” (Matt. 17, 5).

It’s not about power. It’s really about love.

The power that can trigger a tsunami is there—in that little crib fashioned out of a manger—weighing what? Seven… eight pounds? And through our baptism, God says that you and I are Jesus’ brothers and sisters.

But wait again! When we gather together like this to celebrate the Holy Mass, Jesus comes to us in a host that weighs in at a mere fraction of an ounce—just a gram or two. There is the full, whopping force of the universe that God gives us as food to feed our soul. Talk about your power meal!

Christ came to the River Jordan to be baptized by John not because He needed to be, of course… but to show us what to do—“to fulfill all righteousness,” as the Scripture puts it. He’s saying, “Folks: do this so God can open the doors to incredible blessedness. Do this so we can be family. Do this so you can have peace and joy beyond your wildest dreams.”

What’s the big deal about getting dipped in the river—or having a priest pour water from a cute little shell over your head? Obviously nothing… or is it merely an exercise of humility? With our free will, we can say, “Nah… I can take care of myself, thank-you-very-much.”

Or, we can suspend our disbelief, and we can suspend our ignorant pride, and simply say, “OK, Lord. I’ll do it for no other reason than because you ask me to.” And when we make this amazingly simple act of faith—either for ourselves or on behalf of our young children—the full power of the Creator floods and fills our soul… but is lighter than a single barb of a feather.

I think it’s so appropriate that we draw the great feast of Christmas to a close today by celebrating Jesus’ baptism—and remembering our own. This is like our last remaining Christmas present! Let the amazing mystery of God—His power and His splendor and His love—truly fill you with awe. And may it humble you, too—because if you don’t bend down, you can’t duck through the wonderful passageways that lead straight to God.

Amen.




Today’s Readings:
Isaiah 42, 1–7
Psalm 29
Acts of the Apostles 10, 34–38
Matthew 3, 13–17

January 2, 2005: New Year's, 2005

The Epiphany



When I was a college student in New York, one of my friends earned some extra money by driving a taxicab. He always had interesting stories about the colorful characters he drove around, and the odd things that happened in a New York cab.

Once in a while, one of his fares would accidentally leave something behind. He’d sometimes find a briefcase, an umbrella, a hat… one time, someone even left a snake in a cage! Now that’s weird!

I remember one time, my friend told me that he picked up a beautiful girl with a debutante look at the Plaza Hotel, on Fifth Avenue at Central Park—a very swanky neighborhood. Apparently this young woman was in a frantic hurry to make her appointment at a beauty shop. Well, in her haste, she left in the cab a little silk-and-pearl-covered diary. My friend didn’t find the book until the end of his shift. Then he opened up the little perfumed book to see if there was a name and address inside. Out of curiosity, he read through the entries for the previous week:

Monday, 2 p.m., hairdresser; 3 p.m., Van Cleef & Arpels to try on new cocktail ring; 6 p.m., meet Nikki at Russian Tea Room for cocktails. Tuesday, 10 a.m., fitting at dressmaker; 12:30, lunch with Robert, Waldorf Hotel; 3 p.m., golf. Wednesday, 11 a.m., the Biddles are coming to lunch with us; 3 p.m., take Toodles to vet; poor thing acts strange. Thursday, 10 a.m., paid a few bills; 11 a.m., did some shopping; 3 p.m., country club. Friday, 10 a.m. breakfast at the club, 2 p.m., back to dressmaker—I changed the design because I looked frumpy!; 3:30, tennis; 7 p.m., Robert picked me up for the theatre and dinner afterwards at Chez Louis in the Village; Saturday, 12 noon, lunch at Jane’s; 5 p.m., dinner with Robert and his yucky cousin from Wellesley; dumped her and we went to the ballet.

The entries may not be entirely accurate—it was a few years ago!—but that was the gist of this poor girl’s life that week. My college friend and I shared a laugh over how shallow her life seemed to be. We made some remarks like, “It must be nice that Daddy is so rich.”

It’s funny. I hadn’t thought of that for a long time. Now, as I look back, I also realize that the mystery girl with the diary let seven days go by without a single mention of God! Seven days without one date with the Almighty. Seven days with twenty-four hours in each day—and not one hour set apart for the soul. Appointments with the dressmaker, the beauty shop, the stores, the country club… but not one mention of church, or of the confessional, or of going to Holy Communion. In all justice, we might call that a wasted week!

Now look into your own diary. Oh, yes, every one of you is keeping a diary. Maybe you don’t have a bound book with pages and lines and days and hours where you write all your appointments—but every one of you still keeps a diary: a record of every moment and how you spend it. Go over that record for the past week—every day since Christmas. Better still, go over it for the past year. What do you find there? How many appointments have you had with God? How many hours have you spent uselessly, as far as your soul is concerned? Talk to your little record book: Dear Diary, what do you have to tell me about 2004?

I repeat, whether or not you write in a book every day, you are keeping a diary. We are all keeping diaries. The chronicle, the story, the minute-by-minute account of our life is being written in the book of life—God’s diary. What did you write last year? Suppose the journal of 2004 were read out loud. What would we hear about you? Would it be all empty and fluffy days, like the young lady with the silk-and-pearl diary? Would the story of your life in 2004 be the story of empty, worldly, selfish, wasteful hours and days and weeks? Is yours perhaps worse still—a log book of sins and omissions and failures? How many hours have you given to God? Count them up. Do you think God is satisfied?

Answer that question yourself. Look into your diary for 2004. Study it, learn from it, and you’ll be a lot better at keeping your diary for 2005. What are the things you’d like to change? What dates, what days, would you like to erase from 2004? What would you like to scratch out or tear out from the chapter of your life that ended on New Year’s Eve at midnight? What would you like to have written there? Today a new diary is handed to you, fresh and inviting. What are you going to write in it? Let me make some suggestions.

Mark down for 2005—right now—the hour of Sunday Mass, an appointment you will keep faithfully and punctually, not five or ten minutes late, or even later, but on time. Courtesy demands that. Do the same for the Holy Days of Obligation.

Mark down when you will receive the sacrament of confession and especially when you intend to receive Holy Communion. These are all-important dates with God.

With frequent regularity—make it very definite as to day and hour—jot down in your diary for 2005 the time that you will give to reading things that are Catholic: The Catholic Post, The Catechism of the Catholic Church, the Holy Bible, the stories of the saints, the documents of the Pope and the Church… Oh, there are so many possibilities!

Don’t forget in this New Year also to set aside some time to visit the sick. How many minutes did you spend last year calling on friends or relatives who were shut-in, homebound, in the hospital, in one of the nursing homes? Doing that during this New Year will make it a really happy year. At the very least, set aside some time every day to pray for the sick, the dying, and those who have left this world and gone to God.

Finally, in your 2005 diary, set aside the first and last moments of the day, every day, for a thought of God. Thank Him and bless Him for the gift of another day—for another chance to grow in holiness.

I pray that our diary for 2005 won’t be as empty as the one belonging to that young lady who left her prayerless, churchless, Godless day book in the taxi. Instead, may 2005 be filled with daily appointments with God, who today gives you a brand new diary, a brand new year with 365 days, each day having 24 hours, and each hour with its 60 minutes. This very hour, resolve—sanely and sensibly, yet decisively—that 2005 will have plenty of appointments with God.

And that, I assure you, will make it a positively happy New Year. May the blessings of Jesus Christ, God the Father, and God the Holy Spirit be with you always. Amen.




Today’s Readings:
Isaiah 60, 1–6
Psalm 72
Ephesians 3, 2–6
Matthew 2, 1–12