Do you hear what I hear?

Paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould wrote:
“We are here because one odd group of fishes had a peculiar fin anatomy that could transform into legs for terrestrial creatures; because the earth never froze entirely during an ice age; because a small and tenuous species, arising in Africa a quarter of a million years ago, has managed, so far, to survive by hook and by crook. We may yearn for a 'higher answer'--but none exists." - Stephen J. Gould, interview, Life (December 1988)

I happened to come across this reference tonight after my fourth presentation for our Faith Festivals. In my remarks on the elements of moral decision making, I spoke of our being made in the image of God (for Gould, the "higher answer"). I remarked that there are realities of human existence that image God, chiefly our intelligence, our capacity to reason and our imagination.

Personally, I believe our imagination is the greatest way in which our human lives image the divine. I could sit in a darkened, sound proofed room, blindfolded and with ears plugged, and in that setting imagine a universe which has never existed and which will never come to pass. That my human mind and spirit can imagine what is not, what has never been and what may never be is, in my estimation, the greatest way in which you and I most fully image the creator.

Wasn't it the human imagination which dreamed that it might replicate the sounds of nature's music? Didn't that same imagination learn to stretch the small intestines of sheep across a wooden box for "strings" and to ply it with a bow made of wood strung with horse hair? Was it not the human imagination that toyed with this arrangement until pleasant sounds came forth?

Didn't that same human imagination hear and compose a melody within it's own spirit and come to write that tune in curious markings on a piece of paper?

With such an instrument in the hands of Itzhak Perlman reading and playing John Williams' theme music for Schindler's List, can the human imagination fail to enter into this musical account of the pain and the mercy of the story of humankind at its worst? Can that same imagination fail to be plunged into sorrow and lifted up out of it at the same time?

Yes: fins, legs, and ice may well be part of this story. But "by hook and by crook?" No. Even our capacity to recognize, know and experience beauty is evidence that no random process is at work here. If there is no "higher answer" for all this then, indeed, I may be sitting blindfolded and ear plugged in a darkened sound proof room, imagining a universe that has never been - created.

Homily for September 30

Here's a house rich in love and hospitality where "Lazarus"
is always welcome: Lazarus House in Lawrence, MA

Homily for the 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time – C September 30, 2007
Amos 6:1a, 4-7 1 Timothy 6:11-16 Luke 16:19-31

This past week I was out to dinner one evening
with a friend who is also a pastor.
As often happens, the question came,
“What are you preaching this weekend?”
We had a helpful discussion about the texts we just heard proclaimed
and I came away with some helpful insights.

I’m embarrassed to tell you that it was only later
when writing my homily,
that I realized our conversation took place
over just the kind of repast Amos railed against
and the kind of dinner the rich man regularly had
but from which Lazarus got not so much as a scrap.

How insulated we can become from the realities of poverty
such that we can discuss them over a table set for fine dining
and yet not “be made ill by the collapse of Joseph…”

These scriptures are not easy for us to hear
because the level of our comfort and assurances of it
are so much a part of our lives.

Perhaps if we look at some of the details in the gospel story
we’ll get within striking distance of Jesus’ message for us.

When Jesus says Lazarus was lying at the rich man’s door,
we should picture the gate of a 1st century compound of dwellings
in which the rich man and his family and servants lived.
A kind of scriptural precursor of the “gated community.”

That door was both the portal
through which the rich man had outlet to those in need
and also the door that kept Lazarus from eating
even the rich man’s garbage.

Where are the doors in my life and yours
that give us outlet, access to those in need,
beyond our compounds of plenty,
and how do those same doorways keep the poor at a distance,
keeping us from meeting them, knowing them, serving them?

Our parish has programs specifically designed
to help us get beyond our threshold of comfort
and face to face with those in need:
- on Sunday nights, groups of our young people
go to Boston to serve meals at the rescue mission;
- our summer service trips for our young people
take them even out of state to serve the poor;
- we even bring food to a place called: Lazarus House!

Jesus is calling us in just that direction:
to open the doors that maintain the “chasm”
between us who have so much and those who have so little.

Who is in need just on the threshold of our hearts:
in our families? in our neighborhoods? in our parish?
at school? at work?

Whose needs are kept from our notice
because we are so intensely focused on our own and family’s needs?
Do families not need to serve those in need?

Notice that the rich man, when he dies, refers to Lazarus by name!
A further indictment of this wealthy man.
He was NOT unaware of the man at his door – he knew him by name,
but still neglected his needs.

Who is at our doors?
It might be someone we know by name,
or by a nation’s name, or by a group’s name:
the homeless, the hungry, the third-world…
So many have a claim on my heart
and on my life’s overabundance of material goods and wealth.
Will I bridge the chasm that separates me from them
or risk the chasm for which there is no bridge?

The rich man not only knows Lazarus by name
but even in DEATH,
the wealthy man expects the poor man to serve his needs:
“Father Abraham, send Lazarus to bring me a cool drink!
Send Lazarus to warn my household of this torment!"

The rich man simply expects Lazarus to be his servant.
Entitlement.
Someone is supposed to serve his needs…

Who are the people in my life who serve me?
Do I think of them servants because I might pay them?
Do I forget that they are brothers and sisters?
Do I take them for granted?
Do I expect that others should wait on me?
Do I ever expect that I should wait on others?

These are, indeed, difficult texts
for us to hear,
for me to preach
and for us to wrestle with.
Is there any good news here?

In a curious way the good news is this:
right now, in this place, we are guests of the Lord.
We are the recipients of his generous invitation
for us to join him at his table.

He will not throw us scraps from the table, but rather,
he will offer us the finest food and the choicest drink:
he will offer himself as our nourishment,
we will feast on his life, given for us.

For Christ has crossed the threshold of our humanity
and dwells within us even as he invites us to dwell within him.

May the hospitality and welcome we receive here
open the doors of our hearts
that we might cross the thresholds of our own comfort
to go out, to meet, to invite in and to serve the needs of Christ
who hungers, thirsts and lives in our neighbor,
at our doorstep and around the world.

- Rev. Austin Fleming

About St. Francis - and that wolf...

I spent some time searching out a graphic for the post below announcing St. Francis as the Saint of the Month for October. I found image after image of Francis with birds, rabbits, pups and kittens and as beautiful as these are, it seemed to me that they revealed only one particular aspect of Francis' life. After all, Franciscans don't run pet stores in honor of their founder!

That's why I chose the image of Francis with the wolf of Gubbio, a predator wolf which Francis is said to have tamed and befriended. Now there's a patron saint for me! There are "wolves" who stalk the paths of my mind and heart - and perhaps a wolf's shadow has occasionally darkened your own steps.

Now, there are some wolves that need to done away with - as we saw earlier in the post about the two wolves. But there are other wolves who only need to be tamed. I mean here the wolf of that desire, good in itself but gone feral for lack of attention, affection or from affliction. Such a wolf needs to be named by an honest heart and tamed by God's grace.

I'm reminded here of a prayer I posted at the beginning of September:

Lord Jesus,
take possession of my desires:
tame them, heal them,
shape them, mold them,
use them for your glory.

Take possession of my desires,
the rest of my day,
and my whole way of life.So, this month pray with me that St. Francis will help us name and, with God's grace, tame the wolf within and make of him our friend or, as Francis called him, Brother Wolf...

One more time!

The junior church choir (in rehearsal) at St John's Cathedral, Hong Kong. Most of the children in the choir are 5-6 years old.

The children in the video are indeed "bright and beautiful" - but their rather officious choir master is a dour intrusion towards the end of the song!

This Sunday, September 30 at 4:30 p.m., our Faith Formation program for 2007-2008 offers its fourth opening session with a Faith Festival titled,

All Things Bright and Beautiful!

We'll be looking at the beauty of God's creation and from there discerning how we are called to have the wisdom and will to respect and reverence life in all its shapes and forms.

While the Faith Festival is open to every one in the parish, it's also the "first class" in this semester's faith formation program for our children. In the adult/high school break-out session, Fr. Fleming will be the presenter and he'll be speaking on how to make good moral choices and decisions.

Here are the lyrics to All Things Bright and Beautiful which we'll be singing at the Faith Festival - you can start practicing the song at home!

Refrain:
All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful:
the Lord God made them all.

1. Each little flower that opens,
each little bird that sings,
God made their glowing colors,
and made their tiny wings.

2. The purple-headed mountains,
the river running by,
the sunset and the morning
that brightens up the sky.
The cold wind in the winter,
the pleasant summer sun,
the ripe fruits in the garden:
God made them every one.

3. God gave us eyes to see them,
and lips that we might tell
how great is God Almighty,
who has made all things well.

La Pieta

Photo by Ellen Bullock

There's a great front page story in this week's Concord Journal on the restoration of the Pieta on the green next to the rectory in Monument Square. Click on the link for the story and another picture. The photo above is worth studying. While Miro was working on the statue, he invited me to climb up on the staging platform to view of the sculpture as you see it here. Apart from being at that height, only Mary has this privileged perspective on the Christ in her arms...

For previous posts and other photos, check here and here.

pieta mike

Word for the Week of September 30

The new Word for the Week is taken from Paul's second letter to the Corinthians, 13:11-13. It's the source of a familiar opening greeting at Mass and also offers simple advice for living the Christian life. In times so marked by anger, judgment and bitterness these words might be a good, if difficult, first step towards rejoicing in the peace that only Christ can give us.

Blessing of the Animals

Let's face it: not all pets are as pious and prayerful as the pup in this picture! So that's why, each year, it's customary to bless animals around St. Francis Day. Why St. Francis?

Many of the stories that surround the life of St Francis deal with his love for animals. Perhaps the most famous incident that illustrates the Saint’s humility towards nature is recounted in the 'Fioretti' (The Little Flowers), a collection of legends and folk-lore that sprang up after the saint’s death. It is said that one day while Francis was traveling with some companions they happened upon a place in the road where birds filled the trees on either side. Francis told his companions to “wait for me while I go to preach to my sisters the birds.” The birds surrounded him, drawn by the power of his voice, and not one of them flew away. Francis spoke to them: "My sister birds, you owe much to God, and you must always and in everyplace give praise to Him; for He has given you freedom to wing through the sky and He has clothed you… for the Creator loves you greatly and He blesses you abundantly. Therefore… always seek to praise God."

Another legend from the Fioretti tells us that in the city of Gubbio , where Francis lived for some time, there was a wolf “terrifying and ferocious, who devoured men as well as animals.” Francis had compassion upon the townsfolk, and went up into the hills to find the wolf. Soon fear of the animal had caused all his companions to flee, but the saint pressed on and when he found the wolf he made the sign of the cross and commanded the wolf to come to him and hurt no one...Then Francis led the wolf into the town, and surrounded by startled citizens he made a pact between them and the wolf... In this manner Gubbio was freed from the menace of the predator...

These legends exemplify the Franciscan mode of charity and poverty as well as the saint's love of the natural world. Part of his appreciation of the environment is expressed in his Canticle of the Sun, a poem... which expresses a love and appreciation of Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Mother Earth, Brother Fire and all of God's creations personified in their fundamental forms. In "Canticle of the Creatures," he wrote: "All praise to you, O Lord, for all these brother and sister creatures." - Wikipedia

So, if your...


needs a little holy help, join us for...

THE BLESSING OF THE ANIMALS
Sunday, October 7 at 2:00 p.m., at
The Emerson Umbrella
(Inclement weather: Trinity Episcopal on Elm Street)

Sponsored by:
Trinity Episcopal Church ----- Holy Family Parish
The Emerson Umbrella ----- Animals as Intermediaries
Jane Langton and Ilse Plume: author and illustrator of
St. Francis and the Wolf

Pets of ALL faiths and ALL sizes are welcome!
(Please leash or cage your pet for safety)
&
PWP's* also most welcome!
*People Without a Pet, People Wanting a Pet,
People Waiting for a Pet, People Wishing for a Pet

Late September in New England

It's the season for apple-picking, a treat New Englanders might easily take for granted. Apple picking comes at summer's end and fall's beginning and nature's great winter sleep. The children simply love to pick, collect and take home the apples. We, no longer children, might find shadows of meaning children miss even as the days grow short. Robert Frost, poet laureate of New England, wrote of this time. His words are below and you can listen to the poem read here by Will White.

After Apple Picking

My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree

Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing dear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

- Robert Frost

Mothering God

An earlier post reflected on the work of American bishops in the Anglican Communion at their recent meeting in New Orleans. Todd over at Catholic Sensibility brings to our attention a hymn sung during the course of that meeting. (Todd's blog is an interesting mix of things liturgical - and astronomical - check it out!)

Might be interesting to see what readers here think of these lyrics. If you want to try singing it, you can use the melody of Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow. Not sure you remember that tune? Try listening here to refresh your memory, then come back and sing the hymn. Then let us know what you think...how many times I yearned to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings

Mothering God

Mothering God,
you gave me birth
in the bright morning of this world.
Creator, source of every breath,
you are my rain, my wind, my sun.

Mothering Christ,
you took my form,
offering me your food of light,
grain of life, and grape of love,
your very body for my peace.

Mothering Spirit,
nurt'ring one,
in arms of patience hold me close,
so that in faith I root and grow
until I flower, until I know.

The long dark night of Mother Teresa

Having offered a reflection on Psalm 42 (following post) and longing for God, this might be a good time to share with you excerpts from James Martin's article on Mother Teresa in the September 21 issue of America. I have not yet read the recently published collection of her letters but I am confident that her experience has much to teach us in the barren desert that our culture, times and spiritual lives can sometimes be.

In My Soul: the long dark night of Mother Teresa

Perhaps Catholics should not have been surprised by the revelations in Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light, a new collection of letters by the “saint of the gutters” that show her astonishing battle with spiritual darkness. Reports of her “dark night” had been circulating since 2003, when Brian Kolodiejchuk, a priest member of the Missionaries of Charity and postulator for her cause for canonization, published a series of articles about her struggles...

What is new about Come Be My Light is that it gathers together the bulk of letters, which reveals the full measure of her inner turmoil. For the first time readers will learn that Mother Teresa suffered this relentless aridity for roughly 50 years—with one brief respite—until her death in September 1997. “In my soul I feel just that terrible pain of loss—of God not wanting me—of God not being God—of God not really existing,” she wrote to a confessor.

The posthumous collection is largely an extended cry to God, expressed through candid letters. A recurring syntactical habit—the frequent use of dashes—adds to the breathless urgency of her lamentations. “In my heart there is no faith—no love—no trust—there is so much pain—the pain of longing, of not being wanted—I want God with all the powers of my soul,” she writes in the letter of 1959 quoted above.

The feeling of God’s absence is not uncommon in the lives of the saints or in the lives of average believers. The Spanish mystic St. John of the Cross called it the “dark night“ and posited it as a necessary stage for the ascent to mystical union with God. St. Ignatius of Loyola termed it spiritual desolation in his manual for prayer, The Spiritual Exercises. “One is completely listless, tepid and unhappy,” he wrote, “and feels separated from our Creator and Lord.” During her final illness, St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the French Carmelite nun, experienced a desolation that seemed to reflect doubts over whether or not anything would await her after her death. “If you only knew what darkness I am plunged into!” she once said to the sisters in her convent.

For Mother Teresa, the decades of spiritual darkness, which began not long after she founded the Missionaries of Charity, were all the more acute when she reflected on her earlier relationship with Jesus.

The woman born Gonxha Agnes Bojaxhiu was raised in a devout Catholic family in Skopje, Albania. Her mother, Drana, was a generous woman who used to care for an elderly neighbor who was ravaged by alcoholism and covered with sores. “When you do good,” Drana told her daughter, “do it quietly, as if you were throwing a stone in the sea.”

A Jesuit priest’s talk at her parish stirred within Agnes the desire to do missionary work, and in 1928 at the age of 18 she was overjoyed to be accepted by the Sisters of Loreto in Ireland. Three months after her entrance, Sister Mary Teresa (she took the name to honor Thérèse of Lisieux) was sent on a mission to India to work in a girls school in Calcutta. In 1937 she pronounced her vows of poverty, chastity and obedience and, as was the custom in her order, was given the title Mother. Five years later she made a private vow to Jesus “not to refuse Him anything.”

In 1946 on a train ride en route to a retreat (and some rest) in Darjeeling, she was surprised to undergo a series of intense mystical experiences, which included hearing the voice of Jesus, who asked her to begin working with the poorest of the poor. “Wilt thou refuse?” asked Jesus. These experiences, which she would term her “call within a call,” convinced her to take the difficult step of leaving the Sisters of Loreto to found a new order.

Her later years of darkness were all the more baffling to her in the wake of the unique graces received early in her religious life. Moreover, since clergy and members of religious orders were (and are) regularly counseled to rely on Jesus as their most intimate friend, his subsequent disappearance from Mother Teresa’s inner life was nearly impossible for her to understand.

She also seems to have been slow to recognize that her darkness may have been a kind of answer to her fervent prayers and private vow; in 1951 she wrote of her wish “to drink only from His chalice of pain” (her emphasis). For the reader who knows what awaits her, this is among the most difficult passages to read in Come Be My Light. The subsequent trials recall the comment of another Teresa, of Avila, who said that more tears are shed over answered prayers than unanswered ones.

Ultimately, in 1961 Mother Teresa found some relief from her interior turmoil through the counsel of Joseph Neuner, S.J., who suggested that her dark night might be one way God was inviting her to identify with the abandoned Christ on the cross and with the abandoned poor. He also reminded her that the very longing for God itself came from God. “For the first time in this 11 years,” she wrote the Jesuit theologian, “I have come to love the darkness.” Indeed, one of the many poignant aspects of Come Be My Light is that it makes clear how much someone can suffer without the right spiritual guidance, and how much relief can come with a few words of wise counsel.

Still, while this provided further insight and what one might call intellectual relief, God’s absence continued unabated in her prayer. In 1967 she wrote again to Neuner, “Father I want to tell you how—how my soul longs for God—for him alone, how painful it is to be without Him.”

Mother Teresa understood how odd her situation was: the woman acclaimed as a “living saint” struggled with her faith. Though she sometimes admitted feeling like a “hypocrite,” as she notes in one letter, she decided that a public admission of her struggles would direct focus on herself, rather than on Jesus. Consequently, she suffered her spiritual trials largely alone…

Most believers who read Come Be My Light will at some point ask, “Why would God do this?” Of course one might just as well ask, “Why is there suffering?”

In his Spiritual Exercises, St. Ignatius Loyola suggests three possible explanations for spiritual desolation. First, we may be “tepid, lazy or negligent” in prayer. Clearly this was not the case for Mother Teresa, who was utterly faithful to her daily prayer, to the Mass and to frequent visits to the Blessed Sacrament. Second, it may test “how much we are worth and how far we will extend ourselves in the service and praise of God.” Again, if Mother Teresa, who worked tirelessly until her death, did not “extend herself,” who of us has? Third, it may give us “true recognition” that consolation is “a gift and grace from God our Lord.” In other words, it reminds us who is in control. But after 10 or 20 years of the darkness, Mother Teresa had grasped this, as her letters to her spiritual directors demonstrate.

Any divine “reasons” for her trials remain mysterious. But with hindsight certain fruits of her suffering—besides the heightened ability to identify with the poor—may suggest themselves…

(O)ne might argue that Mother Teresa’s letters, the fruits of her spiritual agony, which she asked to be destroyed, will now help a new group of people. Having ministered to the sick and dying in Calcutta during her lifetime, she will now minister to the doubtful and the doubting as a sort of saint for the skeptics. Could this be a way God will use her sufferings to bring about greater good? Is this the Easter Sunday of Mother Teresa’s long Good Friday? Only God, and now Blessed Teresa of Calcutta, knows the answers…

The unrelieved spiritual aridity of Blessed Teresa of Calcutta makes her earthly accomplishments all the more remarkable. Her letters also offer some lessons to believers. First, they are a reminder that what could be termed radical Christianity is not simply the province of those called saints. Many imagine that since the saints enjoy privileged access to God in prayer, their work is somehow easier, lighter—a mistaken view that excuses the “average believer” from striving for sanctity. Instead, Mother Teresa’s life reminds us that holiness is a goal for all believers, even those given to doubt. Second, her letters remind us that dryness, darkness and doubt are natural parts of the spiritual life, whether ordinary believer or extraordinary saint. Finally, they remind us that fidelity does not depend solely on feelings or emotions…

Blessed Teresa remained heroically faithful to the original call from the very God who seemed to have withdrawn from her. Shortly before her death, one of her sisters noticed her praying alone before an image of Christ and overheard a phrase that could sum up her life. “Jesus,” she prayed, “I have never refused you anything.”

James Martin, S.J., is acting publisher of America and author of My Life With the Saints (Loyola), which will be released in paperback in October.

As the deer longs for running steams...

In one of the comboxes, a reader suggested that I post Psalm 42 for our reflection - and I'm pleased to do so. I'm posting it in two versions. The first is from the New American Bible. The second is a reflection I wrote based on Psalm 42. Some years ago, when I was on retreat, my spiritual director suggested that I pray Psalm 42 "in reverse," as if the Lord were using the psalm to speak to me - and thus the reflection below. (You might want to print this post and fill in your own name at _____)


Psalm 42

As the deer longs for streams of water,
so my soul longs for you, O God.

My being thirsts for God, the living God.
When can I go and see the face of God?

My tears have been my food day and night,
as they ask daily,"Where is your God?"

Those times I recall as I pour out my soul,
When I went in procession with the crowd,
I went with them to the house of God,
Amid loud cries of thanksgiving,
with the multitude keeping festival.

Why are you downcast, my soul;
why do you groan within me?
Wait for God, whom I shall praise again,
my savior and my God.
My soul is downcast within me;
therefore I will remember you
From the land of the Jordan and Hermon,
from the land of Mount Mizar.

Here deep calls to deep in the roar of your torrents.
All your waves and breakers sweep over me.
At dawn may the LORD bestow faithful love
that I may sing praise through the night,
praise to the God of my life.

I say to God, "My rock, why do you forget me?
Why must I go about mourning with the enemy oppressing me?"
It shatters my bones, when my adversaries reproach me.

They say to me daily: "Where is your God?"
Why are you downcast, my soul, why do you groan within me?

Wait for God, whom I shall praise again,
my savior and my God.



Psalm 42: the Lord speaks to me...

Like the deer that yearns for running streams,
so my heart is yearning for you, _____.

My soul is thirsting for you,
when can I enter your heart
and show you my face?
When will you turn your face to me
and enter my heart?

My tears have become my bread
as I ask all the day long,
“Where are you, my friend?”

These things you will remember
as you pour out your soul to me:
how you longed for my presence;
how you loved those I entrusted to your care;
how you came to praise me
in the assembly of my people.

My heart longs for you, _____,
my friend, my beloved:
I long to be with you.
to be at your side.

The waves of my love will sweep over you
but you will not drown
for by day I will send my loving kindness
and by night I will sing you to sleep.

Have you forgotten me?
Why do you go in tears, _____,
oppressed and burdened by your fears?
I will not forget you!

Let my words pierce your heart:
I am here, _____,
I love you.
You are mine and I am yours.

Have you started your homework yet?

You can find this weekend's scriptures here and background info on these texts right here. At the St. Louis U. site, scroll down to September 30 and then read at least "Getting To Know the Word."

The Lord hears the cry of the poor...

September 27 on the church calendar is the memorial of St. Vincent de Paul.

Born in 1580 in Gascony, Vincent was ordained a priest in 1600 and won renown for his work with the poor. The story is told of his capture by pirates and enslavement in Tunis and his subsequent escape. In Rome he came to the attention of Pope Paul V, who sent him on a mission to the French court of Henry IV, where Vincent remained as chaplain to the queen. His activism, and the holiness of his life brought about the revival of French Catholicism. He inspired many of the court to an interest in the poor of Paris and was the founder of organized charity in France. In 1625 he founded an order of secular priests to work in rural areas; it became the Congregation of the Mission, called Vincentians. With these priests, St. Vincent conducted retreats, founded seminaries, and achieved widespread reform among the French clergy. For city work he founded the Sisters of Charity. St. Vincent's influence, through his spirit and through his institutions, is incalculable. He died in 1660 and was canonized in 1737.

You may be familiar with this saint's name through the work of St. Vincent de Paul Societies in many parishes, including Holy Family in Concord. A SVdP Society is composed of parishioners who serve the poor locally. Any city or town, including our own, includes those whose needs are great even if unknown to neighbors. A distinguishing feature of the Society's work is that they visit and establish relationships with those they serve.

Any pastor is grateful for such ministry as am I for the work done by our own SVdP Society. Their work depends on the generosity of others. The poor boxes at the church doors support this work. If you would like to offer your financial support, send a check made out to the St. Vincent de Paul Society to the parish office.

Pray today for our parish SVdP Society and for the people they serve.

St. Vincent de Paul, pray for us!

That they may be one...

The word schism is one you seldom see in headlines. In fact, most talk of schism preceded the printing press and the era of headlines. But today's Boston Globe carries just such a head on its front page - above the fold: Episcopal leaders act to avert schism.

The Episcopal bishops of the United States, attempting to head off a schism over gay rights and biblical interpretation, yesterday promised to "exercise restraint" by not approving more gay bishops and not authorizing a formal ritual for blessing same-sex couples...

The pledge, part of an eight-point statement issued in the final minutes of a six-day meeting in New Orleans, reduces the likelihood that the Episcopal Church will be ousted from the 77 million-member global Anglican Communion, according to many US church officials. Only one of the approximately 160 bishops in attendance could be heard voting against the measure, although several of the most conservative bishops had left the meeting Friday.

"I think it lessens the possibility of schism," said Bishop M. Thomas Shaw of Massachusetts. "I think this is going to meet the needs of the archbishop of Canterbury, and it shows how much we want to be part of the Anglican Communion."

The presiding bishop of the Episcopal Church, Katharine Jefferts Schori, referred to the statement as a clarification of positions already articulated by the US bishops, but said she hopes that "our sacrificial actions and united actions" will help stave off schism...

In the statement, the bishops not only agreed to a moratorium on approving gay bishops and rites of blessing, but also criticized actions by Anglican bishops from the developing world who have agreed to oversee conservative American clergy and congregations...

The bishops also said, "we call for unequivocal and active commitment to the civil rights, safety and dignity of gay and lesbian persons..."

The American bishops issued their statement under extreme pressure from within the Episcopal Church, which dozens of parishes and thousands of individuals have left because they are upset about the church's liberal direction. Pressure has also come from elsewhere in the global Anglican Communion, particularly from the developing world, where several leaders say they are reluctant to continue belonging to the same denominational family as a church that is affirming of same-sex relationships.

(Read Michael Paulson's entire article here.)

The issues threatening schism in the Anglican Communion are several but certainly chief among them are questions of biblical interpretation, especially as related to acceptance of same-sex relationships. My purpose here is not to delve into those hot-button topics but rather to observe in the midst of such controversy the Anglicans' desire to maintain communion internationally in their provinces and dioceses.

(It might be helpful to point out that while communion here includes sharing communion in the Lord's Supper at his table, it has a broader application in reference to the unity and integrity of the Anglican Church and its relationship to the See of Canterbury in the Church of England, and thus the Archbishop of Canterbury in whose person and ministry is found the unique focus of Anglican unity.)

While those on both sides of these intensely debated questions maintain their theologically differing positions, both also recognize that there is a reality to be safeguarded above and beyond the particulars of what divides them and that is their communion as church.

Although the Roman Catholic Church does not find itself on the eve of schism, we should recognize that there are many issues tracing lines of division within Roman Catholicism, especially in the dioceses and parishes of the United States. Again, my purpose here is not to rehearse those issues or divisions but rather to raise the question of communion in Catholicism. (As above, the word communion here is not exclusive of sacramental communion but refers to that broader sense of communion that is ours as we relate to the See of Rome and thus to the Bishop of Rome in whose person and ministry is found the unique focus of our unity.)

As I have written before, there is in American Roman Catholicism a growing self-understanding of congregationalism. I say this not in any to impugn those churches which proudly identify themselves as congregational but rather to point out that communion as understood in Roman Catholicism values unity of the many over the authority of the local congregation.

That the body of Christ be one was the prayer of Jesus at supper on the night before he died: "I pray not only for them, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me. And I have given them the glory you gave me, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may be brought to perfection as one, that the world may know that you sent me, and that you loved them even as you loved me." (John 17:20-23) This is precisely the kind of communion at stake in these theological debates.

It would be a scandal and a shame for the Anglicans' "call for unequivocal and active commitment to the civil rights, safety and dignity of gay and lesbian persons" to be muted or lost in this struggle. And it would be a greater shame if the unity of Christ's body in the Anglican Communion be further splintered over a theological disagreement. My prayer is that the Anglicans find ways to continue to struggle constructively with their disagreements and at the same time maintain or, better, nourish the communion that binds them and which they treasure.

We Roman Catholics, especially the American variety, would do well to watch what happens in the Anglican Church and to work at understanding how deeply they value the communion that is theirs. While the structure of the Roman Catholic makes the threat of schism much less likely than for our Anglican brothers and sisters (their bishops already enjoying far more autonomy that RC bishops), we are in great need of understanding, safeguarding and working for the deepening of communion within our own Church.

An answer to questions about prayers being answered...

Does God answer our prayers?

That's a question I'm frequently asked and the best response I can make is always made in terms of the inquirer's own prayer and circumstances. But I came across the following in the National Catholic Reporter and I think it's worth sharing with you, even if the "answer" here is fairly broad. A monk at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Conyers, GA, Fr. James Behrens, writes a regular short column for NCR. This piece is typical of his wisdom.

Starting Point

By James Stephen Behrens

A week or so ago I was in our retreat house. It was a hot day, and I talked with two women about the weather. “It’s been so dry,” one said. “Father, you must pray for rain. We need rain.” I said, “OK.”

The other woman said that her husband works construction. If it rains, he doesn’t work and they get no money. “No rain,” she said. “Pray for the sun.” I said, “OK.” That got me thinking a bit: If I pray for the rain and the sun to arrive concurrently, does that somehow jam the prayer frequencies between here and Paradise?

There is the woman in the Gospel who pleads with Jesus to cure her son. At first she is turned down, but her persistence wins him over. I do not know what would have happened had she prayed for rain or shine.

Petitions are as varied as the weather. We pray for many things and I do not know if prayer can change the wind or the seas, the climates and the ozone layer. But I do have a sense that persistence pays off, in one way or another. We may not get quite what we asked for but may learn to seek and find the good when the rains come and or when the sun shines. We are called to be faithful when the rains come and when the sun shines.

Jesus prayed for certain things that have yet to arrive, the peace of Jerusalem being one of them. His fidelity to God did not waver when the peace that he prayed for did not come. He learned, in a sense, to wait out the weather and even enter the storms of life. He goes before us, rising from the worst and the best that lie ahead.

Pray as we might for rain or the sun, he comes to us through both. May our prayers empower us to give comfort and shelter to each other in good weather and bad.

National Catholic Reporter, September 21, 2007

Preparing for Sunday Mass

The abbey church of Moissac (Tarn-et-Garonne): Two dogs lick Lazarus' wounds; the rich man dines to the right. On the left sits Abraham with Lazarus in his bosom. (Detail below)


If it's Wednesday, it's time to get serious about my homily for the coming weekend and it's time for you to get serious about preparing to hear the Word this weekend. You can find this weekend's scriptures here and background info on these texts right here. At the St. Louis U. site, scroll down to September 30 and then read at least "Getting To Know the Word."

If you have questions, ideas or homily suggestions regarding this text, please post a comment. Thanks!

Images of Christ - 1

Photo by Kevin Yezbick

That's quite a statute, isn't it?

It stands 62' high and weighs in at about 16,000 pounds. It's a wood and styrofoam sculpture over a steel framework anchored in concrete. (Jesus may be rising here, but he isn't going anywhere!) The structure is covered with a fiberglass mat and a resin exterior. It was constructed in Florida and then cut into sections to be trucked to Solid Rock Church in Monroe, Ohio and reassembled there at the baptismal pool - they seem to do everything Extra Large at this church!

The statue, King of Kings, was designed by Brad Coriel and the artist was James Lynch. Over 8,000 man hours went into development and installation. It is thought to be the largest image of Christ in North America.

Religious art can tell us a lot about the faith of artists and of the people drawn to their work. What does this incredibly larger-than-life image of Christ tell us about James Lynch and the people of Solid Rock Church? Well, these are not fundamentalists who take literally the second commandment's injunction concerning graven images. This borders on being a brazen graven image!

Clearly the person of Christ is a powerful element in the faith life of these Christians. With little regard for scale or moderation, the people of Solid Rock Church invite Christ to burst on their scene in an overwhelming way. That the site for this image is the baptismal pool tells us something about the importance of this rite for Solid Rock believers and for how they expect Christ, in baptism, to overpower those who go down into the waters.

That Christ rises up in proportions dwarfing his own cross is, I find, a curiosity. On the one hand, a cross proportional to Christ's torso here might have threatened the safety of the buildings in its shadow but on the other hand this community's theology would not be one to downplay the role of the cross and Christ's suffering in our salvation. Perhaps here, as in every representation of the Christ, we find a theological compromise between belief and expression of that belief. No one image can capture or sum up the person of Jesus. Something is always missing, left out, "lost in the translation."

What does the religious art in your home tell you about your own faith or the faith of those who placed those objets d'art? What religious art are you drawn to and what does that reveal about your faith? What does the art in our church building speak to us - and of us?

This post is the first in what will be an occasional series on images of Christ.

Marcel Marceau, R.I.P.

Marcel Marceau 1923 -2007

When Marcel Marceau died Saturday at 84, with him died Bip the Clown: the silent, white-faced stage persona of the man internationally recognized as the face of mime. What may also have died, or at least lost its greatest proponent, is the modern flowering of an art form that stretches back through the Italian Renaissance to its roots in ancient Greece.

"He was the living embodiment of a long tradition," said Gideon Lester, acting artistic director of the American Repertory Theatre in Cambridge, where Mr. Marceau last performed in 2004. "And I can't imagine anyone following him."

The rest of Louise Kennedy's report on the death of Marcel Marceau offers more words about the life of an artist whose professional words were rare - actually, only one! (To hear that one word and to see his "walking in the wind," watch this scene from Mel Brooks' Silent Movie.) I wonder if Gideon Lester was aware of the neat pun in his comment, "He was the living embodiment of a long tradition." Marcel Marceau taught us all about body language long before anyone had ever heard that term.

They say he "brought poetry to silence..." Certainly, he told stories without words and painted pictures with only the brush of his own body on the canvas of our imagination. By comparison, our own gestures and movements seem clumsy and inarticulate and perhaps that's why we are drawn into a mime's performance, by our longing to move and speak with equal grace and simplicity.

St. Francis wrote, "Preach the gospel always. If necessary, use words." As clumsy as may be our gestures of care and compassion, they can eloquently embody the long tradition of the Word who speaks still, silently, in our hearts.

"Out, damned spot! Out, I say!"

So, this is the point I've reached in my life.

Getting ready to go out to eat a few nights ago, I put on a fresh shirt and as I buttoned it I noticed an ink stain in the corner of the pocket. It was smaller than the size of a dime - but there it was. And this was a shirt fresh from the cleaners so I knew this stain had staying power and while it might eventually fade some, its shadow would be with me for a while.

I unbuttoned the shirt and took it off and as I did I became aware of how much of that shirt was in perfect shape. There was just that little stain...

After less than a minute's deliberation, I decided that most of the shirt was still worth wearing and although I wished the ink blot could have been in the shirt's armpit, I put it back on. And I went out to eat. And I had a nice meal. And I came home again without ever having given a second thought to that stain.

There was a time when I would have thrown that shirt away on the spot, without a second thought... So, this is the point I have reached in my life: I can wear a shirt with a stained pocket and not worry about it. It's a good thing to have arrived in this place.

In searching for the graphic for this post, I came across a hint from a guy who, when he has a similar stain, just puts a pen in the pocket and waits for folks not to advise him of the stain but to warn him about the problem of a leaky pen. It seems in men's fashion, leaky pens are more acceptable than stained shirt pockets. A leaky pen is a forgivable offense.

But I'm not going to put a pen in the pocket next time I wear that shirt. I might even wear it with the black pants I had on when I slipped in church and slid on my knee across the hardwood floor, "burning" a quarter size sheen into the material. I've been wearing those pants for over a year so I guess advancing to the stained pocket level was inevitable.

Why is it that we think of a small stain on an otherwise fine piece of clothing as a reason not to wear that garment anymore - even as a reason to discard it? Why are we so impatient with such a small imperfection in an otherwise fine shirt or pair of pants, a dress or blouse, a skirt or tie?

Then again, we're sometimes like that with each other, aren't we? The smallest imperfections in others may blind us to the worth of the whole person, our eye constantly drawn to the stain, the fault, the quirk - as if that's all there was to be known.

Now that I'm wearing this shirt and these pants, perhaps I'll find myself less focused on the imperfections of others. I hope so. Perhaps these old clothes will make more of a man of me. Then, in my stained shirt and floor-burned pants, perhaps I'll really be dressed for success.

Homily for September 23

Does your memory of today's gospel help you understand the pictures above?
Homily for the 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time – September 23Scripture Readings

If you find this gospel passage a little confusing,
then that just means you were paying attention!

St. Luke seems to want to squeeze into one place
a variety of sayings about wealth and money
and he attaches them to this parable of Jesus
the story of the shrewd steward.

So we might walk away,
scratching our heads, wondering:
what’s the difference between dishonest wealth and true wealth?
Who is the trustworthy steward and who is not to be trusted?
Are we supposed to hate money or make friends with it?

It’s not surprising
that the words of Jesus in the parable are drenched
in the customs and economy of ancient Mediterranean culture.
Jesus always spoke out of his own times,
but he spoke a word intended for all times.
What, then, are we to make of his words in our times?
You can boil the whole message in this passage down to three words:
Money Isn’t Everything!Yes, these verses are filled with references to
stewardship, wealth, accounting practices, debt and discounts,
financial networking and even some retirement planning.
But even while Jesus counsels us to be honest and even crafty
in dealing with money, he’s calling us to be wise in preparing
- not for that retirement condo - but for that “eternal dwelling,”
the place he has reserved for us in the kingdom.

In reminding us that we can’t serve two masters,
that we can’t serve both God and wealth,
he’s asking us to look at the attention and time we give
to the complexities of financial planning
and to compare that with how we are prepare and plan
for our spiritual health and future.

Another way of getting at that would be to ask,
“If I were to approach my financial responsibilities
the way I approach my spiritual responsibilities,
what kind of shape would my finances be in?”
In which “future” am I most fully, carefully invested?
The future reported in the Wall Street Journal?
Or the future reported only in the balance column of my heart?

And here’s the really hard part:
Jesus says we have to choose between the two!
Only one master – and no option for co-masters.
Not that we need to abandon the one:
this passage green lights good stewardship of our resources.
But Jesus does say we have to make a choice between God and money,
and let one, and only one, be the master of our life.
Which one… whom do I serve?

Making this difficult choice a little easier,
Jesus invites us here, every week, to his table,
to form us in his word and to give us a taste, in the Eucharist,
of that peace that never depends on the market’s variables.

Our greatest wealth is love and love cannot be bought or sold,
it can only be served and shared.

- Rev. Austin Fleming

Word for the week of September 23

Twilight Lines by MoodFlow

The new Word for the Week (see the sidebar) is taken from Psalm 63. While you might pray this at any time of the day, it's a kind of night prayer. It's also the prayer of someone who longs for God, who longs to know God's presence and peace, who longs for a drink from the life-giving springs of God's love: in other words, it's a prayer for all of us...

Free Fall

Free Fall

How dark the seeing.
How fragmentary.
Mostly it consists of learning to free fall.
Learning to trust the constant somersaulting.
Learning to live with spiritual vertigo.
Learning to love the darkness.
Learning to trust the brief glimpses.
Learning that blindness is its own seeing.
Learning that the falling is in itself beautiful.
That at the bottom of the well of my heart,
I free fall into You.


-Wendy Wright

What does going to Sunday Mass mean to you?

Going to Mass by Inger Jirby

A while ago, I posed a question in my letter in the Sunday bulletin: "What does going to Sunday Mass mean to you?" I published excerpts from the responses I received but there was one lengthy response I thought should be printed in its entirety. This is from a young dad in the parish who shares freely his personal circumstances and his prayer life. Keeping in mind that each of us has a unique relationship with God, this man's response is a beautiful and uplifting one. Many of us pray for just the kind of prayer life described here and we might be tempted to be jealous of this dad's experience. Note that his story includes personally difficult elements as well as an answer to his prayer. No one's life is without burdens. I was particularly struck by his writing, "Then again, sometimes nothing happens (in response to my prayer). But the many times when extraordinary things do happen, have given me faith that the nothing is a something as well."

This story calls us to rejoice in the practice of faithful prayer.

If you did not respond to my question in the bulletin perhaps you will want to after reading this...

What a great idea to get such input from your parishioners! Sorry for the delay. I've been working on this email here and there for a good number of days. I so often find myself short on time. Here's what going to Sunday mass means to me:

I've always considered myself to be a spiritual person, but not necessarily a religious person. My spirituality is very personal to me. Yet to be honest, I am a Catholic as much for it being my family tradition as for believing it to be the best or only way to find God.

I started going back to church regularly (after a long absence) when my daughter was baptized back in 2000. It was not easy to get back in the routine at first. But as I so often found when I was a young boy attending church, I began once again enjoying the always thought provoking puzzle of trying to understand the readings from the scriptures as well as the homily. I find that, at least with regards to the readings, there are always new and often deeper meanings waiting to be discovered. I also find that these meanings can very often seem to be tailor-made for me personally on the particular day that some passage of scripture might be read.

In the last few years as my life has become increasingly difficult (due to a troubled marriage and subsequent divorce) I've come to need Sunday mass more and more. I find myself doing everything I can not to miss Sunday mass. The reason for this is that I find it gives me strength as well as comfort both of which I find it very hard to go without. Going to mass often reassures me, despite all of my worries, that I am making the right decisions in my life. It also often makes me try harder in those areas I am not doing well in.

Within the last year, I have even begun praying twice daily in an attempt to prolong those feelings I experience at church and trying to bring them more often and more directly into my daily life. I've always believed in the power of prayer and believe that I have had some clear responses to my requests for help, or simply answers, in the past.

But I have seen some extraordinary things happen in my life in the last year. I have no hesitation in describing at least one of those events as miraculous. Without getting too much into the details, the event involves restarting my career in only 6 weeks after not working for over 5 years due to choosing to devote all of my time to my young daughter. Perhaps, getting a job would not be considered miraculous to many people. But this job that I landed after only two interviews, at a time when my back was really against a wall financially, allowed me not to lose my house, keep my daughter in her excellent school, work 5 minutes from home and school, be available for my daughter whenever she needs me, make as much money as I had made 5 years earlier, allow me to do the exact work I was hoping to do (which I had never really done before), but has also rewarded me ever since in knowing that I am helping people on a daily basis.

After all that has happened, it is difficult to convey how I have come to feel God's presence in my daily life. But I do. I've felt it in church sometimes. But now I feel it so often during the week as well. I would have said a few years ago that going to mass was often like having a dialogue with God. But now I have come to feel that all of life is like having a dialogue with God. When I need something and ask for it, time and time again things happen (mostly little, often subtle things but sometimes big things). Then again, sometimes nothing happens. But the many times when extraordinary things do happen, have given me faith that the nothing is a something as well. It can all be thought of as a response to my question or request - often before I even ask. I know now that I am never alone and I also know that those footprints in the sand behind me are not my own. What better motivation could I have for wanting to set aside some time each Sunday to be closer to Him and to say thanks in some small way for everything He has given me - and I truly mean everything.

All Things Bright and Beautiful!

The junior church choir (in rehearsal) at St John's Cathedral, Hong Kong. Most of the children in the choir are 5-6 years old.

The children in the video are indeed "bright and beautiful" - but their rather officious choir master is a dour intrusion towards the end of the song!

This Sunday, September 23, our Faith Formation program for 2007-2008 begins with a Faith Festival (Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Sunday). The title of our Faith Festival is:

All Things Bright and Beautiful!

We'll be looking at the beauty of God's creation and from there discerning how we are called to have the wisdom and will to respect and reverence life in all its shapes and forms.

While the Faith Festival is open to all in the parish, it's also the "first class" in this semester's faith formation program for children.

Faith Festival times are: Sundays, 4:30-7:00 p.m.; Monday, 6:00 -8:00 p.m.; and Tuesday, 9:30-11:30 a.m. Sunday and Tuesday times include a light supper; Tuesday morning includes coffee, juice and pastries.

Here are the lyrics to All Things Bright and Beautiful which we'll be singing at the Faith Festival - you can start practicing the song at home!

Refrain:
All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful:
the Lord God made them all.

1. Each little flower that opens,
each little bird that sings,
God made their glowing colors,
and made their tiny wings.

2. The purple-headed mountains,
the river running by,
the sunset and the morning
that brightens up the sky.
 The cold wind in the winter,
the pleasant summer sun,
the ripe fruits in the garden:
God made them every one.

3. God gave us eyes to see them,
and lips that we might tell
how great is God Almighty,
who has made all things well.

Let us offer each other a sign of Christ's peace...

This blog's subtitle reads: Commentary on life and ministry in my parish, in the Roman Catholic Church and in the world around us. The world around us is witness to a war in which our own nation is a principal agent.

In doing some background on the post below (Condoleezza Rice and the pope) I came across the website of the Catholic Peace Fellowship. It's an interesting and well-done presentation of Catholic teaching on war and peace with an outreach and ministry to conscientious objectors. Among other items, the site includes a Saint of the Month.

You can link to the CPF and the Saint of the month right from this post. I'm also adding both the links in the sidebar and will remind you at the turn of the month to check out the saint.

No Rice for the Pope

The US Secretary of State at the funeral of Pope John Paul II

UPDATE: Sources at the Vatican have said that it was absolutely not the pope's intention to snub the U.S. Secretary of State. Well... did anyone expect them to say that it HAD been the pope's intention to snub Ms. Rice?

SottoVoce at Clerical Whispers offers the BBC report that Vatican sources have said that Pope Benedict XVI declined an opportunity this summer to meet with US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice.

From the BBC:

Pope Benedict XVI refused a recent request by US Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice to discuss the Middle East and Iraq, Vatican sources say.

The Pope refused a request for an audience during the August holidays.

Senior Vatican sources told the BBC the Pope does not normally receive politicians on his annual holiday at the Castelgandolfo residence near Rome.

But one leading Italian newspaper said it was an evident snub by the Vatican towards the Bush administration.

(Full BBC report here)

God or Mammon?

Photo by Credible Muggins

If it's Thursday, it must be time for me to get serious about my homily and for you to start reading and praying over this week's scriptures! Looking for some commentary to help you understand these texts? Visit this St. Louis University site, scroll down to September 23 and read at least "Getting to Know the Word."

The readings this weekend are both interesting and a bit difficult to understand. There's definitely something there for folks in sales, retail and the stock market. There's a long or short version of the gospel text for me to choose. Which would you choose? What one line in all of this material would you use as the basis for a homily? What do these texts stir within you? How do they touch your life?

Feel free to share your responses in the combox!

This may be of interest to you. Virtually all US parishes read from the New American Bible as the translation of the scriptures used at Sunday and daily Mass. Here, from the NAB is the gospel for this Sunday:

Jesus said to his disciples, “A rich man had a steward who was reported to him for squandering his property. He summoned him and said, ‘What is this I hear about you? Prepare a full account of your stewardship, because you can no longer be my steward.’ The steward said to himself, ‘What shall I do, now that my master is taking the position of steward away from me? I am not strong enough to dig and I am ashamed to beg. I know what I shall do so that, when I am removed from the stewardship, they may welcome me into their homes.’ He called in his master’s debtors one by one. To the first he said, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ He replied, ‘One hundred measures of olive oil.’ He said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note. Sit down and quickly write one for fifty.’ Then to another the steward said, ‘And you, how much do you owe?’ He replied, ‘One hundred kors of wheat.’ The steward said to him, ‘Here is your promissory note; write one for eighty.’

And the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently. “For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light. I tell you, make friends for yourselves with dishonest wealth, so that when it fails, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings. The person who is trustworthy in very small matters is also trustworthy in great ones; and the person who is dishonest in very small matters is also dishonest in great ones. If, therefore, you are not trustworthy with dishonest wealth, who will trust you with true wealth? If you are not trustworthy with what belongs to another,
who will give you what is yours? No servant can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and mammon.”

Here is the same passage from the Jerusalem Bible translation:

Jesus said to his disciples, ‘There was a rich man and he had a steward denounced to him for being wasteful with his property. He called for the man and said, “What is this I hear about you? Draw me up an account of your stewardship because you are not to be my steward any longer.” Then the steward said to himself, “Now that my master is taking the stewardship from me, what am I to do? Dig? I am not strong enough. Go begging? I should be too ashamed. Ah, I know what I will do to make sure that when I am dismissed from office there will be some to welcome me into their homes.” Then he called his master’s debtors one by one. To the first he said, “How much do you owe my master?” “One hundred measures of oil” was the reply. The steward said, “Here, take your bond; sit down straight away and write fifty”. To another he said, “And you, sir, how much do you owe?” “One hundred measures of wheat” was the reply. The steward said, “Here, take your bond and write eighty”.

‘The master praised the dishonest steward for his astuteness. For the children of this world are more astute in dealing with their own kind than are the children of light. ‘And so I tell you this: use money, tainted as it is, to win you friends, and thus make sure that when it fails you, they will welcome you into the tents of eternity. The man who can be trusted in little things can be trusted in great; the man who is dishonest in little things will be dishonest in great. If then you cannot be trusted with money, that tainted thing, who will trust you with genuine riches? And if you cannot be trusted with what is not yours, who will give you what is your very own?
‘No servant can be the slave of two masters: he will either hate the first and love the second, or treat the first with respect and the second with scorn. You cannot be the slave both of God and of money.’

Which do you prefer? For what reasons? Care to share?