The Stink of Death

Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time–Third Scrutiny

    In my first four years as a priest, I worked very closely with our parish school in East Lansing.  I enjoyed interacting with the kids in the classroom, teaching them from time to time, playing on the playground with them, and rewarding them for paying attention during Mass with smarties, and hopefully they came to connect to Christ more closely through me.
    When the warmer temperatures started coming in May, the fifth grade class in particular became a little gamey, as some kids started to get more body odor, but hadn’t quite realized that they needed to start wearing deodorant yet.  God bless their teachers for having to firmly, yet gently, tell the kids that they needed to bathe or shower every day and needed to wear deodorant.  The effects were noticeable when put into practice.
    In the Gospel today for the third scrutiny, we hear about a stench.  The stench is from a man who had been dead in a tomb for four days, a smell even worse than 5th grade b.o.  While I’ve been around dead bodies in my work with the Michigan State Police, I haven’t had to go into a house that had a dead body discovered after a long time.  So I don’t have a personal experience with that particular odor.  But I know it’s not pleasant.
    When we think about what God wants to do with you, Skyler and Raegan, as your prepare for your baptism next week, some might think about it like throwing deodorant on.  Nothing changes, but you don’t smell it because you mask it with other scents.  In fact, Martin Luther, who separated himself and led to a great division from the Catholic Church, referred to humans and the process of justification as snow-covered dung.  We’re the dung; grace is the snow.  We’re still bad, but God covers us up so that you can only see the pure white of snow.

    But that’s not what God does with Lazarus, and that’s now what God says He will do through the prophet Ezekiel, and that’s not what St. Paul says that God has done for us thanks to the Resurrection of Christ.  Jesus does not spray perfume on Lazarus but leave him dead.  He gives Lazarus new life, calls him out of the tomb, and removes the stench of death from him.  God provides a new reality for Lazarus, not a slight upgrade on his current condition (which was dead).
    And that’s what God will do for you.  The call to follow Christ, especially as an adult, means a call to a new form of life, not just a modified way of your current life.  You stink (not physically)!!  You stink because you are dead in your sins!!  But Christ does not want you to be dead.  Christ wants you to be alive in Him through the working of the Holy Spirit, who, after you are baptized, will dwell within you as God dwelt in the Temple.  You cannot make yourself alive.  And no matter how much perfume you put on a dead body, it still remains dead and will stink.  But God will take away the stink and make you alive in Him so that your can flourish.  
    In this, God fulfills the word He spoke through the Prophet Ezekiel: “I will open our graves and have you rise from them…I will put my spirit within you that you may live…thus you shall know that I am the Lord.  I have promised, and I will do it, says the Lord.”  God will give you new life through Baptism, Confirmation, and the Eucharist so that you can live primarily for Him, even as you live your human life.  
    Yet, our temptation, and this is true for me and all those who are baptized here in the church, is to return to the tomb.  Even though God has freed us from the death that comes from sin, we foolishly seek to return to the tomb and return to the stench.  Sometimes we are like dogs who just had a bath, only to go outside and roll around in our own dung.  We forget just what a great gift we have received from God in our new life, and go back to stinking and death because it’s what we have known.  We’re so overwhelmed with death that we can be like Mary, who sits at home still mourning her brother’s passing, while Martha goes out to Jesus and makes her profession of faith that He is the Resurrection and the Life.  
    But only when we put our faith in Jesus can we see new life given to us.  Only when we realize that we cannot save ourselves can God raise us to new life so that we don’t stink.  In this scrutiny, we ask God one final time before your baptism to put away from you any works of death that will not allow you to receive His new life.  We one more time have these minor exorcisms where the Holy Spirit drives from you anything that does not help you prepare for the new life of Holy Baptism.  
    And in praying for you, we, the church assembled here, also remember that God does not call us to live in the tomb.  God does not want us to stink.  He wants to have us bathe so that we are truly clean, not snow covered dung, and rely on the graces that come from baptism, or receive the cleansing of the second baptism, the Sacrament of Penance (often called confession).
    God is about to do a great work in you, Skyler and Raegan.  He won’t just put deodorant or perfume on you.  He won’t even hit you with an Axe bomb like a middle schooler.  He will wash you clean, not only to smell with the odor of sanctity, but truly to give you new life, to transform you by the power of His grace.  May this last scrutiny help you prepare fully for the new life God will grant you next week, as He calls you out of the tomb, unbinds the bands of sin from your bodies, and makes you both a temple of the Holy Spirit.

No Participation Trophies

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    There was a theory within the past decade that making everyone feel like they’re a winner would be beneficial to society in general.  It led to the proliferation of “participation trophies.”  The drive certainly comes from the lived experience that most people have had that it feels good when you win, and it doesn’t feel good when you lose.  And there can be a general sort of understanding that feel bad is bad, while feeling good is good.  This theory sought to alleviate the pain and suffering that kids (and also adults) feel when they’re not the best at something.
    If that theory were put into the Gospel today, Jesus would have said to Martha, “Martha, you’re anxious and worried about many things.  But your service to me is good.  Still, Mary’s decision to sit at my feet and listen to my teachings is also good.  So you’re both winners, each in your own way.”  But, of course, Jesus doesn’t say that.  Jesus says, “‘Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.’”  Jesus commits the unforgivable sin in modern culture: He discriminates.  He chooses one over the other.  How very un-woke of Him!
    We can chuckle about taking the participation trophy theory to its logical conclusion, but we should struggle a bit with the Gospel.  Jesus is choosing winners and losers, better and worse.  Not every gets a pat on the back or an ‘atta boy.  Martha follows the customary rules of hospitality: make sure the guest is comfortable and has everything he needs.  But the Divine Guest doesn’t chastise Martha’s sister Mary, like she wants.  He actually applauds her for ignoring her hospitable duties and choosing to listen to the Lord instead.
    St. Thomas Aquinas, following Pope St. Gregory the Great, sees in Martha and Mary a metaphor for the active life (as seen in Martha) and the contemplative life (as seen in Mary).  And, following the Gospel we heard today, St. Thomas affirms that the contemplative life is a higher life inasmuch as it reflects the heavenly life better (he actually lists nine reasons for why the contemplative life is better than the active life, but they mostly boil down to the same reason).  In heaven, we will simply contemplate God.  And the contemplative life puts aside the worries of the present age.  Most contemplatives take vows of poverty (so that they are not anxious about money), chastity (so they they are not preoccupied with sex), and obedience ( so that they do not focus on their own will).  This life also reflects the life that Jesus lived most closely, as Jesus had no real money of His own (Judas kept the funds for the apostolic band), never married, and always did the will of His Father.  
    So, in this system, we’re the losers.  And yes, I include myself.  Because while I promised celibacy in imitation of the Lord, and while I promised obedience to my bishop and his successors, I do have my own bank account.  And I make a lot of decisions on my own.  Diocesan priests are not part of the contemplative life, though hopefully they do contemplate.  
    But the active life is still good.  And St. Thomas notes this as well.  To take care of physical needs is part and parcel of the active life, and is a means of serving God.  Imagine that contemplatives had no one to support their heavenly life by working for food, shelter, and clothing.  Yes, our Lord fasted a lot, but He did have to eat because He was human.  Just because the contemplative life is a higher form of life, does not mean that the active life is sinful.  Each has its place in the life of the Church, and neither should be jealous of the other, which is the trap into which Martha falls in the Gospel, and the main reason for our Lord’s chastisement of her.

    Of course, St. Thomas, as a good Dominican, would note that the Order of Preachers, the Dominicans, combine both the active and contemplative life, so it’s really the best of both worlds.  And, really, every person, even those in active life like husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, are called to contemplation, not just the cloistered religious.  Contemplation looks different for those who are more active in the world, but we all need time where we set aside the cares and concerns of daily life to focus on our relationship with God.  That might be 10 minutes of silent prayer after the kids have finally fallen asleep.  That might mean waking up 10 minutes earlier to read Scripture  or a daily devotional writing (meditation) and then reflect on what God is saying you to in silence (contemplation).  Sometimes it might mean sending the kids to grandma and grandpa’s house for a weekend so that you can attend a retreat.  But all are called to take time to focus most directly on God, rather than all the cares of daily life that so often scream for attention.
    When it comes to life, there are higher and lower forms of life when looking at the objective facts of what life most mimics Jesus’ life and the life of heaven.  But God calls each of us subjectively to holiness, and for many of us the way we can become saints is through the active life.  The key is that we strive to follow God’s will for how He wants us to be saints, and that, even in active life, we regularly set aside time to put the cares of the world aside and focus on loving God and waiting in silence to hear His voice.  If we do that; if we contemplate as best as we can, then we will win the trophy of eternal life and not just participate in the competition, but storm heaven by our heroic response to God’s love and grace that He showers upon all His children. 

Waiting in the Tomb

Fifth Sunday of Lent
    The summer after my first year in college seminary, I worked at St. Thomas Aquinas in East Lansing as a custodian.  And on a sunny, hot day on 2 July, I was working with my supervisor–a gruff older man named Grady–on trimming the bushes around the school.  Some of the work wasn’t bad; we were using gas-powered hedge trimmers.  But some of the bushes were big, taller than any of us, and we needed to trim the top.  Grady was convinced that the best way to trim the tops was to put me in the bucket of a tractor, and lift me up so I could reach the branches.  I hated the idea, but didn’t want to say no to my supervisor. 
    So I started to get in the bucket, my mind racing with the hundreds of ways that this could end with a lost limb or fatality.  But, before the bucket could be raised, the secretary radioed for me to come to the office.  Somehow, I knew something wasn’t right, so while my first few steps were at a regular pace, I quickly sped up and ended up running to the office.  It was there that the secretary told me that my sister, Amanda, had been in a bad car accident, and I needed to get to Sparrow Hospital in Lansing quickly so that I could ride in the ambulance down to Ann Arbor with my other family members as my sister was air-lifted to U of M Hospital.  Fr. Dave, the pastor, drove me to the hospital in Lansing, where my sister ended up having surgery, rather than going to U of M. 
    I knew something was wrong, so I ran, and I’m willing to bet that Fr. Dave drove faster than the posted speed limit to get me to the hospital.  And yet, when Jesus gets word that his friend, Lazarus, is ill, St. John says, “[Jesus] remained for two days in the place where he was.”  What was Jesus doing? 
    Jesus knew exactly what He was doing, and what He was going to do.  We heard Jesus say, “‘Our friend Lazarus is asleep, but I am going to awaken him.’”  This may seem cold, Jesus waiting for Lazarus to die, and then raise Him from the dead.  But it was part of the Father’s plan, for the good of Lazarus, for the good of Martha and Mary, for the good of the apostles and disciples, and even for Jesus’ good. 
    It didn’t seem that way for Martha.  She said to Jesus, “‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’”  But, even in the midst of her grief and confusion, Martha trusts in Jesus, and the power of God to do anything, even raise someone from the dead.  Mary, too, when she comes to see Jesus, repeats the refrain of Martha, “‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’”  Mary, who had sat at the feet of Jesus to hear Him, while Martha worried about being hospitable, is now wondering what Jesus was doing, and why Lazarus had to die. 
    But Jesus is not callused to the death, either.  When Jesus came to the tomb, He cries.  This is the shortest verse in the entire New Testament: “And Jesus wept.”    Faced with the loss of His friend, Jesus cries.  He even took on our sorrow in the face of the death of a friend.  As Jesus goes to raise Lazarus, the crowd does not believe.  Even Martha says, “‘Lord, by now there will be a stench; he has been dead for four days.’” 
    And then, after this long, drawn-out episode of Lazarus getting ill, Jesus waiting, Jesus greeting Martha, and then Mary, and then going to the tomb, it all changes.   “‘Lazarus, come out!’” Jesus says loudly.  And Lazarus does.  And the Jews began to believe in Jesus.
    We’re in week two of no public Masses.  Now we have a Stay At Home order from Governor Whitmer.  School is still out.  We’re trying to prevent deaths from COVID-19 by our social distancing, but it almost feels like the world is dead.  It seems like there has been no life.  Many people aren’t even leaving their houses, or doing so very sparingly.  With so many people staying inside their homes, by now, there will be a stench! 
    And yet, the Lord is doing something.  Somehow, according to the will of the Father, this is for our good.  It seems like Jesus is waiting too long.  Things are dire!  We need a cure now!  We need this to end now!  But He’s still waiting.  So what is on the other side of this pandemic?  We don’t know, other than it’s new life.  And somehow, God will be glorified, and others will have the opportunity to believe in Jesus. 
    I know we want to rush this, and get this over as soon as possible.  Believe me, as much as I am grateful to Tommy for Facebook live broadcasting me to you, I’d rather have you here!  I’d rather celebrate the holiest week of the year with you.  But, for now, we wait in the tomb with Lazarus.  For now, we wait for the Lord to act.  And while we wait, we reaffirm our trust, that when the Lord Jesus does act, it will mean new life for each of us.  So let us wait with joyful hope to hear those words of our Lord: Come out!  And we will be unbound, and able to live in the freedom of the resurrection. 

New Life

Fifth Sunday of Lent–Year C and Scrutinies

Most of the times when we have the yearly readings and the scrutiny readings (which 2 out of three years means they are different), I prepare two different homilies.  Usually each set of readings has its own focus and takes me down two different roads as I think about what the Lord wants me to say.  But this week the two Gospel passages–the woman caught in adultery and the raising of Lazarus from the dead–tied in together and seem to both emphasize the same point.

If I think about the raising of Lazarus (you can go home and read John 11 if you want a refresher), it is an amazing passage in itself.  Probably all of us have experienced the death of a loved one, and if it was a close family member or friend, we know the pain and sorrow that Martha and Mary were feeling.  We understand and maybe even have said with Martha, “‘Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.’”  We can then also imagine how moving it would have been to actually have seen Lazarus risen from the dead.  Imagine your loved one, who had been dead for four days, being returned to life.  Maybe it would be a little creepy, but the joy would have been inexpressible.  

And then I think about the woman caught in adultery from John 8.  That woman was raised from the dead by Jesus, but in a pre-emptive way.  His challenge to the scribes and Pharisees keeps them and the mob that had formed from stoning her to death.  Jesus’ words have been repeated (whether appropriately applied or not) throughout the ages: “‘Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.’”  Jesus saves her life, and encourages her to go and sin no more.

But both Lazarus and the woman caught in adultery would later die.  Lazarus’ earthly life came to an end…again, at some point.  By pious legend Lazarus either became the first bishop of a city in Cyprus, or Provence in France.  We have no idea what happened to the woman caught in adultery.  But they both died.  We usually think of the raising of Lazarus as Jesus’ biggest miracle.  And certainly it was a biggie, and proved His divinity.  Jesus showed that He, as God, had power over life and death.  But we might say that, in one sense, his miracle with the woman caught in adultery was bigger.  When Jesus raised Lazarus, Jesus gave Him back earthly life.  When Jesus forgave the sins of the woman, He offered her eternal life.

Forgiving sins raises people from death.  In my ministry as a confessor, I have been privileged, though I am a sinner and in need of God’s mercy, to be the instrument of God’s mercy to people, some of whom have been away from God’s grace for longer than I’ve been alive.  To hear the confession of people who have been alienated from God by their choices, and to reconcile them to God and bring them back into His family, is a humbling and truly awesome gift, one of the greatest that a priest receives.  To act in Jesus’ Name, with His power, when someone tells me, often with tears in their eyes, that they have been away from the Church for 10, 20, 30, 40, or even 50 years; that they have killed the infant in their womb; that they have committed adultery, allows me to see the great power of Christ which raises their dead soul to life, and recreates them.  

I can often see the guilt and hurt, or hear it in their words.  These are people who are as good as dead, and yet are looking for new life.  The world has not shown them kindness.  They have been drug out into the streets, ready to be killed by the stones of judgment of others.  Sometimes they even expect judgment or condemnation in the Sacrament of Penance.  But what they hear are the words of Jesus: “‘Has no one condemned you?  […]Neither do I condemn you.  Go, and from now on do not sin any more.’”  Once inside that confessional, the only one who could truly condemn that person because He truly knows what the person has done and why and to what extent he or she is truly culpable, does not condemn, but forgives.

Forgiveness is a way that Jesus gives new life.  Not just an extension of earthly life.  But a new life that can last forever in heaven.  It is given in Christ’s Name with His authority in the Sacrament of Penance.  But each one of us has the power to raise someone from death by forgiving them.  If we truly forgive someone who has wronged us, especially if they have wronged us in a powerful way, we give that person new life, and raise their souls from death.  It is not easy.  It doesn’t mean we forget the pain and hurt that person caused us.  But it means we no longer hold it against him or her, and grant them the opportunity of a new life without the chains of sin dragging that person down to death.  Today, and every day, you have the opportunity to raise someone from the death of sin to the new life of forgiveness.  Can you say with Jesus, “‘Has no one condemned you?  […] Neither do I condemn you.  Go, and from now on do not sin any more.’”

A Master better than Lord & Lady Grantham

Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

           

This past Monday was a sad day for me.  I was watching on DVR the latest episode of one of my favorite shows, “Downton Abbey.”  As I was watching it I was engrossed in the story.  But eventually I thought, ‘This episode seems longer.’  And as I looked at my watch, I noticed that the episode was already past its usual 57-minute airtime.  But then I found out why it was a longer episode: it was the season finale!  My joy quickly turned to sorrow as I realized I wouldn’t be able to watch new episodes for many months.

            I don’t know why I like Downton.  Maybe it’s the general American fascination with British royalty and nobility.  Maybe it’s just the charm of a British accent.  But I do enjoy it!  And while Downton surely paints a rather rosy picture of life in the early twentieth century, I can’t help but think that I would have been happy even just being a footman in a noble’s house, with all the order, the discipline, and the pomp and circumstance (probably not a surprise to anyone here).

            St. Paul says in our second reading that, “one should regard us…as servants of Christ.”  Now, St. Paul is not saying that we have to set out the silverware just right, or wear the right livery for a British noble family.  But he uses this term servant because, whether in first century Palestine or in the twentieth century England, the servant was always intent on fulfilling the master’s will and being about the master’s business.  Psalm 123 reveals what our approach is to be with Jesus: “Yes, like the eyes of servants/ on the hand of their masters, / Like the eyes of a maid/ on the hand of her mistress, / So our eyes are on the Lord our God, / till we are shown favor.” 

            That is the admonition that Jesus gives us in today’s Gospel: “‘seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things [food, drink, clothing] will be given you beside.’”  Christ tells us to work intently on finding the Kingdom of God and then living out the life of the Kingdom, which he had just outlined in chapter 5 of Matthew’s Gospel through the Sermon on the Mount.  Seeking the Kingdom of God means living the beatitudes, and living according to the new law of grace.  The new law of grace is to be salt and light, not to be angry, not to lust in our hearts, not to divorce and remarry (unless the marriage is unlawful), not to swear, not to seek vengeance, and to love our enemies.  As Jesus says, the new law of grace means being perfect “‘just as your heavenly Father is perfect.’”

            And when we are seeking to live that way, we know that our heavenly Father will take care of us.  Even if a mother could forget her child, God promises through the prophet Isaiah in our first reading, God will never forget us.  God will take care of His servants, even better than Lord and Lady Grantham at Downton Abbey. 

            Of course, the gut check for us is whether we are like a servant, intent on keeping our eyes on the Master and doing His will.  The Prayer over the Offerings today speaks of how the bread and wine are “signs of our desire to serve you with devotion.”  Are they really signs of our intention to serve Jesus?  Where do we spend our time?  How do we spend our time?  What consumes us?  If it’s not seeking the Kingdom of God in all we do, and that certainly includes our daily life, or work, or relaxation, our study, then we are not truly living like a servant.  And then we start to worry and become anxious, because if we have to be in charge of taking care of ourselves, there’s a lot to worry about.  When we have to be the Master, we worry a lot, because we try to go beyond our station.  We are not the Master, and when the servants try to be the Master, it always gets botched in some way.  But, when we are the servants, and content with being the servants, there is a peace and relaxation knowing and trusting that the Master will take care of us.

But as servants of Christ, it’s not just about doing the will of the Master (though that is very important).  It’s also about being with the Master.  As Psalm 62, our responsorial psalm, says, “Only in God be at rest, my soul.”  As servants of the Master who are also sons and daughters in the Son of God, we should also be intent on simply being with the Master, and letting our hearts relax in His presence.  There’s nothing wrong with being like Martha, serving the Lord and doing things for Him.  But Mary has the better part.  Just being with the Lord is also a treasure, and one that we should seek.  So many of us are busy with doing things for the Lord.  How much time do we take just to be with the Lord?

As much as I love “Downton Abbey,” it’s not real.  I’m sure the idyllic picture it paints does not accurately reflect the entire truth in what it was to be a servant in a noble house in the early twentieth century.  But the Kingdom of God is real.  And God’s care for us is real.  And any idyllic picture that we can paint is only a shadow of the peace and joy that awaits those who choose to be servants of our Divine Master.

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

          While I was a sophomore in college seminary, we had a retreat at St. Meinrad Archabbey in southern Indiana.  When I arrived I had no idea who St. Meinrad was.  But it just so happened that while we were there his feast was celebrated on January 21, and we heard about his life of holiness.  St. Meinrad is often called the Martyr of Hospitality, because he welcomed the two men, in true Benedictine style, who would later that evening become his killers.

            Today’s first reading and Gospel focus on hospitality.  And certainly hospitality is a very important issue today, especially when we start talking about the policy of the United States concerning immigration.  Bishop Boyea’s article in the most recent edition of FAITH magazine outlines some of the principles for us as Catholics as we approach the issue of immigration.

            But, as with so many other areas of our lives, the way we treat others stems from the way that we treat God.  In the first reading, it is not so much that Abraham offers hospitality to three strangers.  If they were simply strangers Abraham would not have bowed to the ground, an act of homage.  Abraham recognizes in these three strangers messengers of God, and gives them the same welcome that he would give God.  He gives them water for bathing, shade for rest, and food to refresh themselves.  He chooses the finest grains and the finest of his cattle to give to these three guests.

            Many of the saints who have written about this passage, especially the early Church Fathers who lived in the first centuries after the death and resurrection of Christ, noticed that it was not one, but three guests that met Abraham, a clear foreshadowing of the Trinity, that our God is three Divine Persons.  And yet, Abraham addresses them as simply one: he only says, “Sir.”  So the unity of the Godhead is also affirmed.  What we find in this account from Scriptures, when read in the light of Christ, is the One God in Three Divine Persons visiting the Father of our Faith: Abraham.  In fact, arguably the most famous depiction of the Trinity, the Icon of the Blessed Trinity by Rublev, a Russian monk, is based upon the three guests visiting Abraham.

            And in our Gospel, we see how the Lord welcomes hospitality from Mary.  But this time, the hospitality is not doing all the work of preparation, as much as it is just being in the presence of the Lord.  And the Lord affirms that if we cling close to Him, no one can take us away.  Martha will not take Mary away from Jesus in order to cook and serve because the Lord desires us to be with Him and simply sit in His presence.

            The challenge for us is how hospitable we are to God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Because the Lord comes to visit us each day.  He comes to the house of our life, He comes to the home of our very bodies to live in us.  And how do we welcome Him?  Do we spend time with Him, or make excuses to ignore Him?  Think about the times in your day when you already know the work you are doing, and can easily also pay attention to something, or someone, else.  Do we automatically turn to our radios or iPods, or do we also turn to the Lord, welcoming Him into our minds as we silently converse with Him by our thoughts.

            Or how much time do we set aside for the Lord to pray, which means talking and listening, to Him?  As seminarians and priests we are greatly encouraged to spend one hour with the Lord besides all the other times of prayer that the Church requires of us.  This is often called the Holy Hour.  While you may not be able to spend a whole hour with Jesus in a Church, do we at least take time when we wake up and go to bed to speak to the Lord and listen to the Lord to see what His will is as we go throughout our day?  Even if we can’t spend an hour with Jesus, do we at least make up for the lack of quantity with greatness of quality?

            And at this Mass do we prepare our homes to receive such a guest as Jesus into our very bodies?  When we receive the Eucharist we are receiving the very same Jesus who spent time with Martha and Mary, and whose coming was foreshadowed in the three guests who visited Abraham.  How have we prepared ourselves to receive Him?  Do we arrive at Church a little early to pray and give them Lord some silent time to listen to Him?  Do we regularly go to confession to cleanse our souls from the sins that make our souls dirty just like dust makes a house dirty?  Do we abstain from all food and drink except water and medicine, and what is genuinely required for our health, in order that our bodies and souls might truly hunger for the Bread of Life and the Chalice of Salvation?

            Abraham was blessed with a child of the promise, a child who would make Abraham the Father of Many Nations because of his hospitality.  Mary was rewarded with not being pulled away from Christ by her sister Martha because of her hospitality.  God wants to pour upon us a flood of graces if we would just welcome Him into our homes, just like He favored Abraham and Mary.  May we welcome so great a guest as the Lord of the Universe into our homes, who desires to be one with us, and spend time with us, and love us more and more each day.