Here’s a dichotomy of readings that invites us to think: Moses presents to the people a law that ostensibly contains the mind of God. Not a thing must be added or subtracted from it. Jesus disparages the legal experts for clinging to the law, down to the last details.

Most of us start making conscious decisions around the age of 2, the year we learn to say “no.” If we can say no, one presumes we’re giving tacit assent to those events we don’t resist. In this way many of us form a lifelong pattern of compliance until we can’t bear the momentum around us, at which time we put our foot down.

A lot of voices compete for our attention these days. Voices of doom tell us that all is lost—inflation has made it difficult for many to make ends meet. And there are voices of blame saying we must point a finger at one sort of politics or another for the present state of society.

A common error in the early phase of the spiritual life is to imagine that religion is predominantly a spiritual matter. Spirituality is therefore approached as a sort of neatening-up-of-the-soul, getting our metaphysical affairs in order.

The brain is a disorderly vehicle for thinking: untidy and easily distracted. It also has the unnerving tendency to act like a sieve whenever we’re trying to remember something important, meanwhile fastening stubbornly on the disturbing incident we’d most like to forget.

Last week we emphasized the reality of spiritual hunger and the necessity to engage the spiritual works of mercy. This weekend’s gospel provides ballast for that idea by reminding us that physical hunger is just as real and has a vital claim on our compassion.

Back in grade school I smelled a rat when it came to the works of mercy. I understood perfectly why feeding the hungry or giving water to the thirsty was a compassionate thing to do. And of course the homeless need shelter, the shivering need clothing, the sick and imprisoned want company, and the dead could use a proper burial.

Among my favorite scenes in biblical history is a screwball comedy moment between Amaziah, priest of Bethel, and Amos. Comedy in Amos? You betcha. Admittedly Amos is not naturally a funny guy, and probably doesn’t have a joke-y bone in his body.

"Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account,” Jesus famously taught in his Sermon on the Mount. And he should know, because Jesus faced precisely this kind of treatment at his debut in Nazareth.

Several years ago, I sat and watched my father die. There’s not much we can do for the people we love in this hour but pray and be present. I recited all the mysteries of the Rosary, all the mysteries of life and love and suffering, during the weeks before his death. But after he was gone, I sat with his body and prayed only the Glorious Mysteries.