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Exploring the word

24 Oct 2021 - Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

After a month of listening to stories about the folks around Jesus getting it terribly wrong, isn’t it a relief to contemplate the story of one who got it right? This is one of the pitfalls of Cycle B, perhaps: Mark is so committed to showing us how blind the generation of Jesus was—and how blind disciples of every age may well continue to be—that the onslaught of foolishness, arrogance, cowardice, and stupidity seems to have no bounds. It is positively a cause for celebration, then, to encounter a fellow like Bartimaeus. Why aren’t there statues in every church for him, like the ubiquitous Jude? If I had a passing knowledge of plaster, I’d sculpt one myself. Once the prototype is out there, I’m sure we could start a trend for this amazing New Testament saint. Bartimaeus is fascinating for many reasons, not just his stellar discipleship performance in a gospel glutted with ignorance and halfhearted attempts. The fact that we know his name alone makes him significant. How many needy souls in the gospel were helped by Jesus out of desperate situations and then vanished back into total anonymity? Let’s look at it another way: How many of the hopeless who came to Jesus were mentioned by name? Sure, there’s Peter’s mother-in-law and Jairus’ daughter (who some people insist on calling Talitha, as in talitha koum). But these two are only identified relationally, so let’s try again. There’s Mary Magdalene, of course, out from whom seven demons were cast. And Zacchaeus, who was cured of social isolation caused by a crippling greed. And Lazarus, relieved of the greatest scourge known to humanity. And at last there’s Bartimaeus, blind and vulnerable at the side of the road until the day he meets Jesus. What’s in a name? We don’t know the names of any of the lepers who came to Jesus, or the paralytics dragged into his presence. We don’t know most of the parents who pleaded for their children’s lives, the Gerasene demoniac, the speechless and the deaf folk, the man with the withered hand and the woman with a hemorrhage, the fellow with dropsy, or the boy with epilepsy. Crowds in search of something bear down upon Jesus on every page of the gospel, never to be heard from again after they get it. For that matter, nor are the relentless Pharisees and scribes who pepper Jesus with questions at every synagogue stop ever named. Those who came to him seeking wisdom, advice, and blessings for their babies have their moment in his presence and disappear. We don’t even know the names of Jesus’ relatives who clamored at the doors for him, apart from his mother. The gospel is inhabited largely by ghosts who flit in and out of the epic story without identities. But we do know Mary, his mother, Nicodemus of the Sanhedrin, Joseph of Arimathea, and the names of the 12 apostles. We know Martha and Mary of Bethany, Susanna and Joanna who supported Jesus from their own funds, Mary, the mother of James and Salome who brought spices to the tomb, Simon of Cyrene who helped carry the cross. Why are these names preserved for us and not so many others? It’s easy to guess. Those whose names remain in the record became disciples of Jesus. If you weren’t a disciple after you met Jesus, then it’s as if the meeting never took place. Bartimaeus the Christian OK, so Bartimaeus means “son of Timaeus,” as in Simon Bar Jonah, or the more simple Barabbas. But we’re still a step up from Jairus’ daughter in that we are dealing with a man in his majority capable of making some decisions for himself. And make them he does. First of all, he’s personally proactive about seeking help from Jesus, crying out the moment he becomes aware that it’s Jesus of Nazareth who’s causing the commotion along the road. And he calls Jesus “Son of David,” which is a messianic title—he is making a claim about Jesus that Jesus didn’t make for himself in public. People heap abuse on him for this, but he doesn’t relent. Jesus is impressed enough to stop—this is in Mark’s gospel, mind you, where Jesus never stops. And Jesus says, “Call him.” He called me; now call him. “Jesus is calling you!” the disciples announce, along with a little advice: “Take courage.” Courage is about all Bartimaeus has, that and a cloak to collect alms. He throws aside the cloak, leaving his begging days behind him even though he’s still quite blind. For a sightless man, he moves fast, springing up and coming to Jesus before you can say men-look-like-trees-walking. Jesus is quite direct with such an astonishing display of faith. It’s been a long ministry, and there haven’t been too many supplicants like this one. “What do you want me to do for you?” he asks simply. Just as directly, Bartimaeus replies, “Master, I want to see.” In the familiar Marcan refrain, we already know his faith has saved him. Jesus adds, “Go your way,” but Bartimaeus is more interested in going his way, the way Jesus is going. He follows Jesus. We don’t have to wonder if he became a disciple—for once, the text is quite clear on this point. And here’s Jesus, just ready to enter Jerusalem and the hour of his Passion. One might say it’s an ill-fated time to become a disciple. But Bartimaeus, who can see quite well for the first time in his life, sees no other choice as attractive as following the one who opened his eyes and set him free. Applying the word Happy endings The prophet Jeremiah promised a happy ending to a people about to see their king blinded and dragged off in chains, their temple desecrated, their capital destroyed, and they themselves forced into exile. We’ll be back, Jeremiah declares before they’re even gone. God will bring us back. And God will not simply deliver those who are strong enough to make the journey, but those who can’t walk, can’t see, and can’t make it unassisted as well. Because our God is the God of all of us, weak and strong, weeping and laughing. This world is our exile, our Babylon, as the Salve Regina says. If we can’t see where we’re going, which was once true of Bartimaeus, we have only to call out for deliverance, and then follow the sound of that voice: Jesus is calling! Answering that call is the only way to make sure our name is on the list. Related scripture links The preserved names: Mark 10:46-52; 15:21; Matt. 10:2-4; Luke 1:26-38; 6:12-16; 8:1-3; 10:38-42; 19:1-10; 23:50-52; 24:10; John 3:1-15; 11:1-44; 19:39-42 Faith and salvation: Mark 5:23, 28, 34, 36; 6:6; 8:29; 9:14-24; 10:52; 11:22-24; 16:15-18 Catechism links Faith: CCC 185-202; 222-227; 548; 1814-1816; 2616; 2666-2668

Authors Alice Camille

bartimaeus blindness discipleship

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Exploring the word

01 May 2022 - Third Sunday of Easter, Cycle C

Some things are clearly once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. You see the lovely stranger who plays your heartstrings like a harp, but he or she is walking away. Speak now or forever hold your peace! Or how about watching a toddler who falters at the edge of a pool and then falls in. Don’t just sit there, do something! The now-or-never opportunities may be small or great. “SALE TODAY ONLY” reads the sign in the department store. If you want those items at those prices, you better not wait. And if you want that last parking spot, you’d better not go around the block again. And if you run out of milk and determine to go out to the market for more tonight, you’ll have it for your cereal in the morning. If you don’t, you won’t. Sometimes the choices we make in life are just that simple. Act now or lose the opportunity. We are used to having these kinds of choices made available to us along the path of our days. We may hedge our bets, crumpling up the invitation to a dinner party by reminding ourselves, “There will be other parties.” But this particular invitation may not come again, especially because we declined the welcome of the host on this occasion. Happily, the invitation to discipleship is not this kind of once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. We can say no to the chance to follow Jesus the first time he asks, and maybe even a time or two more. But each time we meet him along the way, he’ll ask again. And we get another chance to change our minds, not to mention our course, and to fall in step behind him. Yes and no A lot of us are like Peter in our inconsistent response to Jesus’ invitation to follow. That’s one of the reasons we like Peter so much; we find his presence in the line-up of the faithful very comforting, imperfections and all. He gives a hearty “yes” when Jesus first approaches him in Galilee and is the first to call him Messiah and Lord. But Peter is not only head cheerleader for his Rabbi; he is Grumbler-in-Chief when Jesus speaks about suffering and dying, objectives Peter finds unacceptable in his vision of a successful mission. Of course, Peter wavers most poignantly in the hour of Jesus’ Passion, when first he swears he will die for Jesus and then, before the night is over, takes an oath that he never knew the man. Peter is the truest and most eager of the disciples. Because of this, he is also the most disappointing in the moment of his great failure. We who have faltered and failed in our discipleship, offered our halting yeses followed by spectacular no's, feel the burn of Peter’s deep shame when self-interest outweighs his loyalty in the critical hour. How wonderful, then, to realize that Jesus does not deny Peter on the far side of victory! How easily the gospel could have been written another way. The Risen Lord could have encountered Peter and said, “Woe to you, Simon, Son of John! For by your denial of me you are doomed to wither like the fig tree.” And Jesus could have chosen a new spokesperson, and the pope would be sitting on the Chair of James or Andrew today. Old and new The new invitation Jesus issues to Peter is not quite the same as the old, however. At the shore of Galilee years ago, the summons was simple: “Come follow me.” And you either did, or you didn’t. We know the names of the ones who did, of course, and we know nothing about anyone who stayed in his boat and hung onto his nets that day. Back then, in that initial summons, there was no entrance exam, no interview, no presentation of a résumé. You didn’t have to promise a thing. Jesus invited you as you are, who you are, and what you are. In the early days, it was presumed there was plenty of time to teach and mold his followers into the people Jesus required them to be. But at this stage in this encounter, post-Resurrection, time is a dear commodity. Peter’s résumé, we could say, is already well known to Jesus. What Peter is capable of, for better and for worse, is a matter of public record, sad to say. So even after Peter flings himself overboard and swims to shore at the sight of Jesus, after the miraculous catch and a warmly shared breakfast, broken loyalties are not simply resumed as if nothing has happened. Jesus throws what amounts to a final exam, and this time, Peter had better come up with the right answers. The first affirmation of his loyalty doesn’t seem to cause Peter anxiety. Maybe he’s grateful for the opportunity to put into words the love he so recently put into jeopardy. But to be quizzed and instructed three times in more or less identical ways made him acutely distressed. Doesn’t Jesus hear his answers, or does he simply disbelieve them? Can it be that Peter has forgotten the three separate denials, and how he jettisoned those two possible occasions to redeem himself and affirm his identity as a disciple? Scripture does not present Peter as ever making what we might call a good confession of his sin. But he does make what amounts to a confession of faith. And the invitation is issued once more: “Follow me.” This time, Peter can accept with more clarity, because he knows now that the disciple goes where Jesus goes, to his death. Applying the word For the sake of the name We could say the moral of the story is: There’s still time to catch up with Jesus farther down the road if we haven’t done so already. The invitation will come around again. But just as it’s true that we’re not “saved” by Jesus or “lost” to Jesus because of our response in a single encounter, it’s also true to say that no time is as good as the present to say yes to the invitation to discipleship. Because now is the hour we have and we can’t count on the next one. And saying yes gets more complicated with every no we trail behind us, all of which must be accounted for sooner or later. Remember Peter, who once denied the name of Jesus to save himself; he later rejoiced to have been found worthy to suffer for that name. Once we embrace that name for ourselves, we can expect our perspective will change just as dramatically. Related scripture links Peter’s track record: Mark 10:28; 14:29-31, 37; Matt. 14:28-31; 15:15-16; 16:22-23; 18:21; 19:27; 26:33-35, 40; Luke 18:28; 22:31-34; John 13:6-9; 13:36-38; 18:10-11 Catechism links One last fishing trip: CCC 448; 553; 618; 645; 659; 881; 1427-1429

Authors Alice Camille

invitation to discipleship jesus' invitation Peter

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Exploring the word

26 Jun 2022 - Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C

Called by God. The idea used to make us shiver back in parochial school. As children, we imagined that only rare and special people got that call. The divine summons seemed a peculiar cross between an honor and a death sentence: as a result, you either entered the convent or the seminary. Whatever dreams and goals you may have had for your life were henceforth nullified by God’s plans for you. It was not unlike the draft, only you were inducted into the service of the church. Families were often as grieved as they were proud when the call arrived in their midst. What we didn’t understand, of course, is that we all receive a call from God that is a great honor, on the one hand, and life-consuming, on the other. But rather than nullifying our dreams, God’s call is a ratification of the best of them. Baptism doesn’t make us a little bit Christian, after all, nor is our vocation to be the unique creature God calls us to be only a suggestion. Down to the roots of our being, we know when we are living honestly according to the gifts and possibilities God has invested in us. We are equally aware when we are living falsely or drifting aimlessly. The only chance we have for human fulfillment is to be who we were born to become. Far from a death sentence, living God’s call faithfully consumes us and illuminates us like the bush that burns with the presence of God and yet is not destroyed. Answering the call Biblical call stories are fascinating to us because they are so recognizable, despite their outsized dramatic details. We feel kinship with young Elisha, doing his regular chores when the grand prophet Elijah passes by. Without saying a word, the prophet casts his cloak over the young man’s shoulders. “Taking on the mantle” becomes an idiom of our speech ever afterward, but the meaning of this gesture was not lost on Elisha even then. If “clothes make the man,” Elisha was being made a prophet by assuming the vesture of one. As children, didn’t we all play with costumes of superheroes, villains, royalty, or monsters, imagining ourselves in each role? Didn’t we experience the thrill of transformation under each disguise, or locate our inner princess or hidden pirate by taking on these appearances? Some masks lift off easily, allowing us to resume our real selves directly. But Elisha knew instinctively that if he accepted this cloak of the prophet, it would not be a simple thing to cast it off. The role of the prophet would consume him utterly, and no trace of the farming youth would remain. So he asked for the courtesy to take leave of his parents. Elijah’s answer sounds harsh, but we might cut him some slack remembering that he is on the verge of retirement, anxious to hand over his burden to God’s chosen replacement. Elisha casts a regretful look at what he is leaving behind, while Elijah is impatient to move forward. Youth and age do not always see things from the same perspective. Words are not enough A profession of faith, a public vow, and a signed contract are each powerfully binding forces. We give our word with the expectation that our deeds, our hearts, or our resources will not be far behind. But human beings often experience a lag between word and follow-through. It may take the form of mere procrastination, or something more serious like fraud. In any case, saying is not the same as doing. And as we know from the story of the sons who said yes and no in another gospel passage, doing is more vital than saying. After Jesus turns his face toward Jerusalem, he reminds us of Elijah, impatient with anything that would disrupt or delay the resolution he has made. Jesus is going to Jerusalem to be consumed by the mission he bears. When the Samaritans reject his presence for political reasons, the disciples express the desire to linger and to punish. Jesus just presses on. He rebukes the disciples for the spirit of self-righteousness and unforgiveness they carry. The lag between their mission and their attitude is showing. But we also sense that the disciples are in the wrong for not knowing what time it is, cosmically speaking. They’ll be running out of road shortly, and revenge is a time-consuming enterprise. Meanwhile others make their tepid bids toward discipleship. One pledges to follow, and Jesus points out the uncomfortable conditions of that choice. Others provide extenuating circumstances for their inability to follow right this minute—but seem willing enough at a later date. Jesus appears dismissive of anything short of immediate and resolute commitment. There’s no pre-nup, no pre-conditions, no footnotes or asterisks to be applied to discipleship. There’s only now, the present moment, and our decision yes or no. And Jesus is pressing on, so we better make up our minds. Applying the word Called for freedom Saint Paul defines the divine call in an interesting way: not in terms of the source (called by God) but rather the purpose (called for freedom). Freedom is something we hear about a lot, but few people who defend the right to have it actually choose to exercise it. Paul understands freedom in opposition to its alternative: freedom from slavery. Follow the prepositions in Paul and you always wind up somewhere enlightening. Slavery, to Paul, is life lived in fear; which is to say, largely by the rules. Most of us are so afraid of the responsibility of our freedom that we seek laws to tell us what to do and not to do. There is safety in this kind of thing, whereas genuine freedom doesn’t offer security or its consolations. It does, however, make us actors on the stage of salvation history. As Jesus presses forward on this journey, only truly free people can respond. Related scripture links Burning bush: Exod. 3:4-14 Other call stories: Gen. 12:1-9; 15:1-6; 1 Sam. 3:1-18; Ruth 1:16-18; Isa. 6:1-13; Jer.1:4-10; Jon. 1:1-3; Luke 1:26-38; Acts 9:1-9; Gal. 1:11-16 The yes and no sons: Matt. 21:28-32 Catechism links Facing Jerusalem: CCC 557 Human freedom: CCC 1730-1742; 1749

Authors Alice Camille

called by god god's call elisha Elijah discipleship divine call

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Homily stories

26 Jun 2022 - Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C

Years ago, Ed, a friend of mine, proposed to a young woman he’d been dating for several months. The woman was thrilled, and when he was with her, Ed was caught up in the excitement as well. But when he was out on his own or with his friends, he found himself flirting and daydreaming about others. “Hey Ed,” we’d remind him, “remember you’re engaged.” “I’m not engaged until I walk down that aisle!” he’d reply. It would be fair to say that Ed just wasn’t ready for a commitment as serious as marriage. Sure enough, in the predawn hours before his wedding, Ed couldn’t sleep. He called his mother, and they went and talked to the priest; then they called his fiancée, and the wedding was called off—postponed actually. Although my friend loved the young woman he was seeing, he was still drawn to other options. Jesus tells us it is the same with Christian discipleship. We can’t commit to following Jesus until we let go of the hold other people and things have over us. Jesus has to come first, above all else.

Authors Patrice J. Tuohy

christian discipleship Commitment

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Exploring the word

16 Apr 2023 - Solemnity of the Second Sunday of Easter; Divine Mercy Sunday, Cycle A

Why do you believe what you believe? What makes you so sure that your faith isn’t simply wishful thinking? What do you cling to, when people challenge the tenets of religious belief? What makes the gospel more than just a ghost story to you? After all, none of us were there when Jesus passed beyond a locked door and stood before his followers holding out hands marked with wounds. None of us heard his greeting of peace with our own ears, or felt his breath on our faces when he bestowed his Spirit. All of the events recounted by the evangelist are hearsay, handed on to us by a generation of folks who are themselves long gone. There are no videos, no medical reports, no notarized documents of these occurrences. Just a handful of testimonies and a hint that many other things happened that are not written in the book. This is what gives me hope most of all: those other signs that didn’t make it into the record. If all we had was the record itself, it would be the word of the evangelists against the story of human history. And human history tells us that the dead don’t rise. The crucified and suffering ones are not made whole again. There is little peace after the horror of pain and loss. In all the accounts of history, the evidence of a Holy Spirit at work in the world is very spotty at best. In search of other signs “Although you have not seen him, you love him,” the First Letter of Peter says with a note of congratulations. “Even though you do not see him now yet you believe in him.” The rest of the passage is about joy so indescribable it can scarcely be contained. Where does this spirit of rejoicing come from? I suppose some people are natural optimists, and others simply gullible. But beyond that small subset of the perky and the credulous are people like me and, I hope, you. Our faith isn’t about what’s easy or most comforting to believe. Maybe it’s even dragged reluctantly from hearts ruled by skepticism much of the time. Left to our own tastes, some of us would not be joiners, followers, or believers. We might well be on the outside looking in at church, discipleship, and faith—but for one thing: an encounter with the person of Jesus. I’m not talking about the walking-through-walls Jesus of that upper room in Jerusalem. Some saints of the church report miraculous visitations, but most of us are not so favored. But we have recognized Jesus in the places where he promised we’d find him: in the least of our sisters and brothers. Though we may not have peered into literally empty tombs, we have known people once hollowed out by sin and suffering who returned to the land of the living. We have heard the stories of friends and neighbors crucified by the events of their lives who nonetheless walk free into the future, with glorified wounds that encourage us to live in hope. We read about people in war-torn lands who have every right to hate and hurt but choose instead the way of reconciliation, peace, and healing. If some question whether there is a Holy Spirit in the world, we can point to the places where love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are practiced daily. Sharing the signs increases faith Anyone still practicing religious faith after these past centuries of rationalism, scientific hubris, and elitist doubt probably has stories to tell about why he or she chooses to believe. These stories are among the signs not written in John’s book, and it is the responsibility of each new generation to share such signs as a virtual extension of the gospel. Peter tells what he knows to the Gentiles at the home of Cornelius. We tell what we know in the marketplace and the workplace when we cast our vote at city hall and when we use our resources with respect for creation and concern for our sisters and brothers. The early communal life portrayed in Acts provides us with the template for how we should consider our power and our property: as vehicles for loving service. Our shared meal in the eucharistic assembly is itself a sign that we take our communal life as the Body of Christ seriously. We are one in the Spirit and one in the Lord. We cannot walk away from this table as individuals clutching our privileges and possessions too tightly. If we hope to recover the depths of that original faith of the early disciples, our friend Thomas shows us how. His ability to believe in Jesus, shattered at the cross, is reaffirmed and illuminated when he reaches out and touches the wounds of Christ. Now he no longer needs to rely on hearsay reports of the Risen Lord. Nor does he depend on seeing in order to believe. No, when he dares to come in contact with the sacred wounds, to put his hand into that gaping side, what he experiences is enough to dredge up one of the greatest professions of faith in the New Testament: “My Lord and my God!” We don’t have to go far to touch the wounds of our world, and it is there that we may meet our Lord face to face and find the ultimate reason to believe. Applying the word Four steps to discipleship The life of a disciple involves teaching, community, Eucharist, and prayer. So we learn from the early community of Acts, whose faith was nurtured by these four elements. Parishes that provide opportunities for their members that encompass all of these vital components will raise up more disciples and fewer people who define themselves merely in terms of Mass attendance. Genuine disciples will be prepared to take the next step, from being on the receiving end of the community’s benefits to reaching out to the world in its need for healing, consolation, and the testimony of hope. The Easter season is a great time to renew our parish communities as places where the signs of faith not contained in John’s gospel are written down daily. Related scripture links Fruits of the spirit: Gal. 5:22-23 More words on faith: Mark 11:22-24; Matt. 17:19-20; John 14:12-14; Gal. 5:6; 2 Cor. 5:7; Heb. 11:1; James 2:14-18 Other great affirmations of faith: Matt. 16:16; John 11:27; Acts 9:20 Catechism links Four elements of “Acts disciples”: CCC 3; 584; 857; 946-953; 1329; 1342; 2177-2179; 2624 Post-Resurrection disciples: CCC 442; 643-647; 730; 788; 858-859; 1287

Authors Alice Camille

Faith discipleship

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14 Jan 2024 - Second Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

The young boy sleeps in the shrine, curled up in the most sacred spot in Israel, though he can scarcely appreciate it. Dedicated to God in his mother’s womb, Samuel was delivered into the service of religion without ever being asked what he wanted. He doesn’t really know the God whose earthly locus is this golden seat he is meant to be guarding. He’s just a boy. Then God speaks, a voice Samuel has not heard before. God calls Samuel by name. The boy, who hasn’t heard his own mother’s or father’s voice in ages, generally leaps to the command of the priest when he hears his name. So he does that now. The priest rebuffs him. After repeating this pattern three times, however, eventually it dawns on the priest who’s really calling Samuel. He should know. It’s the voice to which he himself is bound to respond. He’s been waiting for that voice all his life. But Eli may never have heard it as clearly and personally as this boy does now. Eli himself was born into priesthood by virtue of his clan. Despite his office, he’s really in the same position as this child, not really expecting the divine voice to speak to him. Andrew, disciple of John the Baptist, is in quite a different situation. He knows his master’s voice very well; he’s been a voluntary student of John’s for some time. Andrew and another disciple stand in proximity to John, demonstrating their good status. When the Baptist says jump, they jump. But on this particular day, as Jesus walks by, the Baptist says something quite extraordinary: “Behold, the Lamb of God.” And so these two dedicated disciples jump—into the discipleship of a new master. After all, they had committed themselves to listen to John, and John has just declared that Jesus is “the One.” Jesus asks these two excellent students what they’re looking for. A new master, they say in effect, when they address Jesus as Teacher. In Jesus’ time students not only studied with their masters, they lived with them. Jesus invites them to come and see for themselves. What Andrew sees is enough for him to recruit his brother at once. That is a fateful recruitment, as it turns out, for his brother is Simon, soon to be Peter. In which story do we discover ourselves: the boy Samuel asleep in God’s presence, or lively Andrew, alert and obedient at the merest suggestion? How high or far might we jump at the sound of the voice that calls us? Do we even recognize that voice when it speaks? Related scripture links Decision: Rom. 10:9 Discipleship: Matt. 8:18-22; 10:37-39; 13:16-17; 16:24-26 Paul receives his call: Acts 9:1-9; Gal. 1:11-24 Other moments of decision: Deut. 30:15-20; Ruth 1:11–18; 1 Kings 3:5-14; Jer. 1:4-8; Matt. 9:9-13 Catechism links Vocation: CCC 1-3; 541-546; 823-828; 836; 1546-47 Discipleship: CCC 531-533; 551-553; 783-786; 1691-1696 Adapted from a previously published Exploring the word.

Authors Alice Camille

discipleship recognizing the voice that calls calling Samuel Andrew decision

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25 Aug 2024 - Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

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. Some of us turn “no” into a lifestyle by being generally cantankerous, or perhaps genuinely motivated to protest popular opinions and values. A few of us do something really radical: We learn to say “yes” clearly and decisively. Choosing the positive purposefully, rather than drifting into it without dissent, is an unusual stance. It is also the ideal attitude for discipleship. When Joshua stands at the banks of the Jordan, after a generation of sojourning, he has a job to do. He wants to make sure the nation doesn’t drift across that river idly or thoughtlessly. Follower-ship is meaningless if it’s mindless. Checking your will at the door of your leader is not what fidelity requires. So he addresses the people plainly, asking them to make a choice. Say yes or say no but speak your intentions out loud. Make sure you know what you’re choosing when you choose to inhabit the land of promise. If you are truly God’s people, then embrace that role comprehensively. But don’t stumble blindly into this identity, because it will not fit and the discomfort will only grow wider. In John 6 the great moment of decision is reached again. Jesus has spoken out loud the challenging message of who he is and what it means to follow him. Many of those who have been drifting along behind him, happy to see him trash the Temple profiteers, intrigued by his bold teaching, or delighted with the free food, are now appalled to consider that discipleship will cost them something very dear. They turn away. They say no. Jesus doesn’t try to talk anyone out of their refusal, or to argue his case further, or to persuade the undecided with extra benefits. Instead he offers an additional challenge to those who remain at his side. It’s not good enough to linger on, to drift forward with him by default. Not refusing him is not the same as choosing him. Jesus wants to know where these hangers-on stand. “Do you want to leave me, too?” The 12 apostles have reached the hour when they must declare themselves, yes or no. Peter answers for the rest, but sooner or later they must answer for themselves. And so, in the long run, do we. Related scripture links Moses lays down the choice: Deut. 30:19-20 Other wives and husbands: Col. 3:12-21 Other moments of decision: Ruth 1:11-18; Jth. 9:1-14; Esther 4:12-16 Catechism links Moment of decision: CCC 1696 Human freedom: CCC 1730-1742 Peter and Jesus: CCC 440; 1336 Adapted from a previously published Exploring the word.

Authors Alice Camille

discipleship saying yes followers choices

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22 Sep 2024 - Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

Jesus’ disciples wanted to succeed. Well, don’t we all? I don’t like to lose at solitaire, much less at the great game of life. There are established measures for success in every avenue we care to stroll. In school you aim for the “A.” In sports you want to score the point. In elections you want more votes than the other candidate. At work you look for a raise. When you enter the contest you covet the trophy. It’s disingenuous to pretend otherwise. False humility says it doesn’t matter if you succeed or not, yet I want this scripture commentary to hit a home run, and if you’re a preacher you want this week’s homily to rouse hearts and generate enthusiasm. Of course we do. If we were indifferent to the results of our efforts, would we be doing this at all? But we’re also not naive enough to mistake superficial approval as the real measure of a job well done. Once or twice in a lifetime the assembly may give the preacher a standing ovation, but that only means they like what they heard or how it was said. It doesn’t mean the gospel has been proclaimed or that anyone has been won to Christ. What it comes down to is that the sin of the disciples in today’s gospel is not ambition. It’s not wrong for them to want some way to measure that they’re acing this discipleship thing. Who wouldn’t want to be the best apostle? Would they have been following Jesus since Galilee only to be the worst? Jesus, who once told a story extolling the virtues of an unjust steward, views ambition for the Kingdom as a good thing, but as usual his friends are going about it backwards. To be first in the Kingdom is worth striving for. But please understand: To be first, you have to get to the back of the line. Cue the child. It’s especially ironic that the last teaching Jesus gives along the way that day is the second prediction of the Passion. He’s talking crucifixion while his friends are measuring themselves for robes of honor. Getting their attention is not going to be easy. So Jesus draws a handy child into his arms and asks them to value this child as they would value him—as they would value God. Well, for heaven’s sake! A child was worth very little in the ancient world; a child was merely the potential of an adult. People didn’t even make the census count in Israel until they were 20—and then only if they were boys. Children were carried off by illness or accident so easily; no point in putting much stock in their existence until they made it to adulthood. Put the last first, Jesus says. That’s an ambition worthy of discipleship. Related scripture links Images of the Kingdom: Matt. 13 The peaceable Kingdom: Isa. 11:6-9 Nonviolent resistance to evil: Luke 6:27-36 Laying down your life: Luke 9:23-26; John 15:12-25 Catechism links Meekness and power: CCC 520; 544; 1825; 2544-2547 Beatitude and paradox: CCC 1716-1717; 1720-1724 Peace and violence: CCC 2302-2306 Adapted from a previously published Exploring the word.

Authors Alice Camille

ambition discipleship competition

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Featured Exploring the Word

27 Oct 2024 - Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

Bartimaeus is that rare recipient of a miracle who immediately becomes a disciple of Jesus. Immediately, of course, is a favorite Marcan word. Things happen at once in this gospel or not at all. The urgency is not simply symptomatic of the breathlessness with which Mark tells his story. He convinces us that discipleship won’t wait. Make your decision and come away at once! Bartimaeus follows Jesus up the road—”on the way” in some translations, the way being a code word for the Christian journey. Mary Magdalene, relieved of seven demons, does the same in Luke’s gospel. But most folks cleansed, cured, restored, and raised up in gospel stories simply return to their families and their routines. We can’t blame them. There’s a life interrupted they’ve been longing for, and it’s a powerful lure. Jesus acknowledges this impulse when he pronounces Bartimaeus healed by his own faith: “Be on your way!” Jesus bids him generously. Bartimaeus determines at once that “his way” is now the way of Jesus. Wherever you go, I shall go, he says with his feet. The story of Bartimaeus is special to pastoral ministers because it’s an off-the-charts success. Here’s a guy who seeks healing, receives his sight, and winds up with more clarity than most people who were never so deprived. He sees well enough to know which way to go, and that’s a lot. This week, as we honor those in pastoral ministry within the church, we cheer those on who offer this opportunity to many in ways that may seem less dramatic but are nonetheless life-transforming. Bartimaeus forever cries out from the side of the road, and pastoral caregivers are the ones who answer that call in Jesus’ name. Pastoral care is an opaque term to those who still think the priest-pastor does everything. Defined as “the self-realizing activity of the church’s shepherding concern” doesn’t inch us much toward clarification. The definition I prefer comes from Richard McBride: Pastoral ministry isn’t only about communicating theological principles but about applying them to concrete and changing circumstances. It’s where the rubber meets the road in the life of the church, where gospel values encounter real-life stories. It’s where you and I meet Bartimaeus at the side of the road and answer his cry. It’s not enough to dive in and catechize the poor fellow. First, we have to ask the prescient question: “In the name of Jesus, what do you want?” That makes the pastoral person distinct from the social worker. It’s what makes the Catholic hospital different from General Hospital, or the Catholic Worker more than a soup kitchen. Pastoral care is what we offer when we respond to the world’s need not from our limited compassion but through the depths of the heart of Christ. Related scripture links Garments and their significance: Mark 2:21; 5:25-30; 6:56; 9:3; 11:7-8; 13:16; 15:20, 24 Salvation by faith: 5:23, 28, 34, 36 Blind man gradually restored: Mark 8:22-26 Failure of the disciples: Mark 9:18-19, 28-29 Disciples cannot see: Mark 10:35-45 Catechism links Faith: CCC 185-202; 222-227; 548; 1814-1816; 2616; 2666-2668 Adapted from a previously published Exploring the word.

Authors Alice Camille

bartimaeus discipleship christian journey pastoral care pastoral ministry

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07 Sep 2025 - Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C

Half measures will never do. That is today's gospel response to the idea of the "good-enough Christian": one who basically colors inside the moral lines and meets the minimum requirements of church membership. Good-enough isn't good enough. Being the Body of Christ makes us sharers in the life of Jesus! And he was never known to do things halfway. That isn’t the popular answer, I know. Joseph Champlin wrote a thoughtful book 20 years ago titled The Marginal Catholic: Challenge, Don't Crush. He cautioned pastoral ministers to go slowly, invite warmly, and back off immensely when it comes to ecclesial rule-enforcement. We choose between representing "the cruel or compassionate church," in Champlin's terms. Certainly we're all in favor of compassion here. Challenging people too far ahead of where they are will surely be a compelling excuse for some to bail off the path of righteousness altogether. But it's perhaps more dangerous to give our assemblies the impression that Christianity has an agreeable comfort zone and it's right where they happen to be sitting. The satisfied Christian courts disaster. The plain truth is: Not being "bad" isn't the goal. Being a disciple of Jesus is the goal, and that's a lot harder. Consider the person constructing a tower with only a vague idea of the bottom line. That tower doesn't get built—but it does garner a few laughs at the would-be builder's expense. Abandoned worksites around the country today bear witness that quite a few people haven't thought through the cost of their ambitions lately. If our intention is to follow Jesus, we have to be thoughtful about the dimensions of this proposition. What does it cost to follow Jesus? Chances are you can see a symbol of that from where you're sitting: the cross. Discipleship is an expensive proposition. It costs everything you have and everything you are. Renounce all your possessions, Jesus says. This is no time to talk tithing; Jesus expects you to render the whole enchilada. Why is the price so high? Because the stakes are just as high. This earthen shelter of ours isn't for keeps. It's a collapsible tent, struck down in a handful of decades. It's a watch in the night, says the psalmist, come and gone. And the life of the body isn't only corruptible in terms of time but also in terms of virtue. We stand to lose everything worth having if we're not willing to pit everything we have as ballast against that inevitable corruption. Jesus isn't asking us to throw our stuff away. He's begging us not to throw our lives away. Take a few moments. Consider your blueprints. What are you building, and what are you willing to spend? Related scripture links Mortal knowing is indistinct: 1 Cor. 13:9-12 Paul the free prisoner: Rom. 1:1; Phil. 1:1; Titus 1:1; Philem. 1 Don’t judge lest you be judged: Rom. 2:1-3; Luke 6:37-38; Matt. 7:1-5 Jesus also makes slaves into friends: John 15:13-15 No just deserts in the Kingdom: Rom. 9:14-16 Catechism links Wisdom: CCC 1831 Jesus’ hard teaching: CCC 1618-1620; 2544 Adapted from a previously published Exploring the word.

Authors Alice Camille

discipleship Half measures

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