Category: Lectio Divina

 “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them. If he comes during the middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves.” (Lk. 12:35-38)

Have your lamps lit. There is such a sense of joy, anticipation, expectation as the servants in this parable wait all night, completely prepared to open the door and light his way into the house, remove his sandals and wash his feet, and then prepare dinner for him, at whatever hour he may arrive.

There is no sense in this parable that the servants are angry that they are inconvenienced by having to serve their master. Or that they’d rather be in bed or entertaining themselves. Their lamps are lit, and they are dressed for action!

Ask yourself: if Jesus were just outside the door nearest you, knocking gently, what would you feel: relief, unease, indifference, or joy? That’s a tough question, because it might reveal to you something very deep about your relationship with God. Let us walk gently into whatever your answer may be.

We read about joy and anticipation in this passage, but we are very complex creatures with threads of thousands of experiences, relationships, and hurts making up the knots that can stand in the way of a deep joy and trust in God. Even though we show up for Church on Sunday, we may still wish we knew how to lean into that joy at knowing the presence of Jesus who is madly in love with us, so much so that he died to rescue us, and he remains with us in the Eucharist.

What has made intimacy with God feel “far away” for you—has it been disappointment, distractions, fear, or something else? Stay gently with whatever comes up.

Sometimes we push through our spiritual lives, not noticing the parts of us that can’t keep up. If you can’t lean into the joy of this passage, if your lamp feels a little dim, lift up the threads of your life that you have become aware of in this reflection. Show them simply to Jesus and ask him to come to you in a way that feels safe. Maybe he puts his hand on your shoulder, instead of coming through the door. Maybe you just have a felt-sense of his kindness and mercy.

Imagine yourself with a lamp lit next time you go to Mass. Say to Jesus in your heart, You are welcome here. Let that concrete image of anticipation create a space where you can be with Jesus.

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Praying with this Passage of Scripture

”Woe to you! For you build the tombs of the prophets whom your ancestors killed. So you are witnesses and approve of the deeds of your ancestors; for they killed them, and you build their tombs. Therefore also the Wisdom of God said, ‘I will send them prophets and apostles, some of whom they will kill and persecute,’ so that this generation may be charged with the blood of all the prophets shed since the foundation of the world….” When he went outside, the scribes and the Pharisees began to be very hostile toward him and to cross-examine him about many things, lying in wait for him, to catch him in something he might say. (Lk. 11:47-54)

Sometimes I have those moments in prayer when Jesus is speaking to me directly about something that is standing between him and me. “Are you ready to see this?” he seems to ask. “What if you let go of what you’re clinging to? It’s okay if it takes you a while to receive this truth. Don’t run from me.”

There are many times when on a human level I deflect this loving request. Or pass off what he is showing me as something not that serious. Or pretend I don’t get what he’s asking.

But we both know I do.

Other times I might feel a shame sweetened by my love for him. I want to be more completely his, but I’m not there yet.

And we both know it.

I see these moments as Jesus just being my Good Shepherd.

In every exchange in the Gospels, Jesus approaches people with the desire for them to know his love and what he desires for them. The “woes” that are listed in Luke 11 could sound very harsh. I hear them as the words of a Lover who is making a desperate attempt to get through to someone he loves when he has tried everything else. I recently read the story of an actor who struggled with drug addiction. After decades of loving and pleading and helping and being with her, her husband finally said something like, “One more time and I’m out of here!” Harsh words. Loving words. Words that expressed the anguish of his heart that was breaking seeing the decisions she was making and what she was doing to herself. It was enough for her to enter rehab and change directions, because she didn’t want to lose a husband who really, deeply cared about her.  

The response of the scribes and Pharisees to Jesus’ words was hostility.

Let our response when Jesus brings some area of our life to our attention be different. Let us sense how strong his love for us is, how great his dreams for our lives. Let us be patient and gentle with ourselves, but earnest in our yes to him.

“Jesus, you see me as I am, but even more, you love me no matter what you see. Let me learn from this moment of truth, of facing what is real in myself. And let me know that it does not define me. Give me courage to face what you show me without running, without pretending. Give me gentleness toward myself, as you are gentle with me. For I am yours, rooted in your love, saved in your mercy. Amen.”

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Praying with this Passage of Scripture

Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.”  (Mt 15:21-28)

Have you ever shouted at Jesus? If you have, it was probably in the secret of your room, quietly in your heart, or in your car with the windows rolled up. More than likely none of us would want to be found running down the road screaming at Jesus, even if we were just trying to get his attention….

The Greek word for “shouting” used in v. 22 and 23 is slightly different, but indicates that the woman was emotionally screaming, continuously wailing, creating a clamorous spectacle of herself. And the disciples were not happy. Let’s get rid of her! She is attracting the wrong type of attention!

Friends of mine found themselves in tears one Sunday after Mass, asking for their pastor’s prayers before a very important immigration meeting. I have been reduced to quiet tears as an expression of my inner wailing, tears that are the beginning, the first steps, the sure indication of faith.

The Canaanite mother cries out: “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” The very fact that she calls Jesus the Son of David indicates her firm hope and faith in him as Messiah. Later, as she kneels before Jesus in conversation with him, she shows a simple, humble trust that even a crumb of Jesus’ mercy would be sufficient to heal her daughter. The “crumb” reminds me of the mustard seed, or the smallest faith that could move a mountain. This woman’s inner strength, rooted in maternal love and faith, overcomes every obstacle and obtains what she needs: her daughter’s healing. “Let it be done for you as you wish.”

Jesus doesn’t refer to her persistent pleas and loud gestures of need when he heals her daughter. He refers only to her faith. He does for her what her faith requests and to the extent that her faith believes that he will do for her what she requests. A succinct, well-known line attributed to St. John of the Cross sums up this truth: “God gives in the measure that we expect of him.”

Sometimes we ask too little.

Teresa of Avila reminds us: “You pay God a compliment by asking great things of him.” There are three other maxims from this great saint that help put this into context: “To reach something great, you must go to great lengths.” To become wholly conformed to God’s love in every situation of our lives will require quite a bit of energy and interior work, some tears, persevering waiting in humble faith, and perhaps some suffering. “In prayer, we are like a child who talks with its father.” And, as we grow in maturity and holiness—just as the Canaanite woman progressed from clamorous wailing to get Jesus’ attention to kneeling before him in utter humility and faith—in the end, “The soul is satisfied with nothing less than God.”

What will you ask God for today?

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Praying with this Passage of Scripture

 “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was thrown into the sea and caught fish of every kind; when it was full, they drew it ashore, sat down, and put the good into baskets but threw out the bad. So it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come out and separate the evil from the righteous and throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” (Mt. 13:47-53)

“So it will be at the end of the age….” But for now, the kingdom of heaven is a net that is cast wide, thrown into the sea, and fish of every kind find themselves caught in it.

At the end of the age there will be a sorting out, a division, a separation, a judgment….

But for now, you and I and all of us are being drawn together into the mystery of the Kingdom, God’s reign breaking into the world.

This passage makes it sound like there’s one net, perhaps one great experience by which all of us find ourselves caught up in God’s great loving gift of salvation.

But how we know that these moments of being captivated by Love Incarnate and Beauty and Goodness and Truth are like personalized and precious pearls. A million ways in which Jesus knocks on a million hearts…. His request for our attention…. The hope that we will return his advances…. The desire that we will cast ourselves into his arms with the relief of discovering that we are cared for by an ever provident God….

Augustine described his own encounter with the Kingdom this way in his Confessions: “You were within me, but I was outside. You called, you shouted, and you broke through my deafness. You flashed, you shone, and you dispelled my blindness. You breathed your fragrance on me; I drew in breath and now I pant for you. I have tasted you, now I hunger and thirst for more. You touched me, and I burned for your peace.” (Book X)

Unlike Augustine, I don’t have one dramatic encounter with God who “broke through my deafness.” Instead, probably like you, I can recount an endless string of small ways in which he has broken into my life: in tragic moments and in grateful ones, while overcome by nature’s beauty and quietly absorbed with God’s glory at Mass, when life seemed boring and sad and when it burst with adventure. Small though they may be, they are continuous, and the more I notice them and am grateful for them, the more he reciprocates with gifts of more presence.

Being taken up in the nets of the Kingdom stretches us, astounds us, changes us.

Take some time today to remember how you have been caught up in the nets of God’s mercy. Perhaps using each of your senses, you can deepen your gratitude for what you have known in God’s presence: what you have seen, what you have heard, what you have tasted, what you have touched. And, like Augustine, give thanks!

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Praying with this Passage of Scripture

While he was still speaking to the crowds, his mother and his brothers appeared outside, wishing to speak with him. [Someone told him, “Your mother and your brothers are standing outside, asking to speak with you.”But he said in reply to the one who told him, “Who is my mother? Who are my brothers?”And stretching out his hand toward his disciples, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother.” (Mt 12:46-50)

This moment in the Gospel, where Jesus is told, “Your mother and your brothers are standing outside, asking to speak to you” (cf. Matthew 12:46-50), serves as a pivotal hinge in the narrative arc.  It stands as an important lesson, an invitation, even a raising of Mary his mother as the exemplar of his followers. It stands between the mounting hostility in chapter 12 and the turn toward veiled teaching in parables in chapter 13.

The earlier part of chapter 12 is overshadowed by encounters with those who question his authority, even saying he is from Beelzebub, and then seek to find a way to get rid of him. As Jesus begins to present the mystery of the Kingdom through parables in chapter 13 he begins by clearly distinguishing between those whose heart is open and ears ready to hear, and those whose heart is closed and who are not ready to listen to him.

The scribes and Pharisees are not merely confused; they are closed. Their accusation that Jesus casts out demons by the prince of demons reveals a heart not only unwilling to believe, but determined not to be unsettled, a closing out of whatever would question them, unsettle them, require them to change mind and heart. It is the refusal to allow light to penetrate darkness. It is a certainty built on self-sufficiency, a defensiveness that refuses the vulnerability required to receive revelation. In chapter 13 in the disciples there is mystery, insight, trust, waiting upon the Lord, obedience, the seeking to change and to listen and to believe.

In between these two there is this lovely reference to Mary. The mother who heard the message of the angel and the will of God. The woman of yes who believed, changed her plans, and gave herself over entirely to what God wanted: Behold I am your handmaid. She is not named here, but she is present as a quiet figure of faith—the woman who responded to God not with defense or self-justification, but with an open heart: “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord.” Her yes was not loud, not showy. It was the kind of yes that echoes through silence. It was the yes of trust in mystery.

She is the mother who didn’t always understand, but kept all things in her heart, pondering them, awaiting the will of God to be shown to her.

She is the mother who followed Jesus, listening to his words. I often imagine her in the evening reflecting upon what she had heard that day from the lips of her Son. In a way, the parables reflect in the disciples Mary’s own journey: the quiet reception of truth, the pondering, the willingness to live with mystery until God makes it clear.

She is the mother who would eventually stand beneath the cross in a cruel ”yes” that made her like her Son who emptied himself out entirely to bring us into his own relationship of sonship of the Father.

Are we willing to listen, ponder, and let God unsettle our carefully constructed certainties?

Teach me, O Lord, the way of a listening heart.
In the moments where I am defensive, soften me.
In situations in which I cling to certainty, gently unsettle me and call me to something more.
Where I am afraid of change, give me courage to trust your plan and your love.
Let my heart be like Mary’s—open, pondering, obedient.
May I be your disciple, and with your mother’s help, do, daily, the will of the Father.

Amen.

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Praying with this Passage of Scripture

“Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me;and whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me. Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me. Whoever welcomes a prophet in the name of a prophet will receive a prophet’s reward; and whoever welcomes a righteous person in the name of a righteous person will receive the reward of the righteous; and whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple—truly I tell you, none of these will lose their reward.” (Mt 10:37-42)

These are the last two paragraphs of the Mission Discourse which takes up all of chapter 10 in the gospel of Matthew. If we look at the whole chapter as one unit, we could hear Jesus saying to us:

I’m sending you out, giving you authority to be in the world an extension of the mission you have seen Me carrying out: proclaiming that the Kingdom of heaven is at hand, healing, curing, raising the dead, driving out demons, teaching, loving, forgiving (v. 1, 7)

BUT…

You will find it no easier than I…. If they have called me Beelzebul, then they will also call you this (v. 25).

REMEMBER THIS…

Everyone who acknowledges Me before others I will acknowledge before My heavenly Father (v. 32).

This is the end, the telos, what it is that we look forward to: a relationship—to stand before the heavenly Father with and in Christ!

SO…

Don’t control things by packing up everything so you can rely on material things for your safety. Don’t move around trying to find the best situation for yourselves according to who will care for you the best. Don’t plan ahead for your defense (v. 9-23).

And then three times Jesus says:

Do not be afraid of them (v. 26, 28, 31). I am inviting you into a relationship. I am a link, in a sense, that brings you into direct relationship with the Father who loves you and cares for you more than the sparrows. Others—mother, father, siblings—may reject you when you enter into a relationship with Me, but my Father will never leave you without his help.

AND YOU TOO ARE A LINK NOW FOR OTHERS…

Be a strong link. Align yourself with Me. Do not grasp onto and preserve your identity, control, security, or self-centered desires pursued on your own terms. Instead, lose your life for My sake (v. 39), surrendering it in trust and obedience, giving up your own agenda to follow Me. Take the risk to love Me and trust Me. Only I can give you eternal life.

When you do this, you become a link for others to come to Me. When they receive you, they receive Me, and when they receive Me, they receive the one who sent Me (v. 40). Even if they just give you a dixie cup filled with cold water, this kindness to you will link them to Me (v. 42).

What does this look like in practice?

Élisabeth Leseur was a French laywoman whose diary and sacrificial love played a pivotal role in transforming her atheist husband, Félix Leseur, into a Catholic—and eventually a priest. Her husband, who aggressively promoted atheism, often mocked his wife and attempted to undermine her faith. She responded not with anger, but with quiet, patient love and prayer. She maintained a secret diary over many years, in which she recorded spiritual reflections and offered prayers for her husband’s conversion—offering her suffering for his soul.

As she suffered from cancer, Elisabeth wrote a final note to Félix predicting his eventual conversion:

“In 1905 I begged Almighty God to send me sufferings with which to pay the price of your soul… The day I die, that price will be paid… Greater love no woman hath than this…”

After her death in 1914, Félix discovered her diary and writings. He was deeply moved by the depth of her faith, love, and self-sacrifice. His heart gradually began to change, and a  pilgrimage to Lourdes, made with the intent of disproving miracles, became the turning point of his spiritual journey. In 1917 he embraced Catholicism, joined the Dominicans, and was ordained a priest six years later.

Élisabeth Leseur’s cause for beatification was opened in 1934. She is a Servant of God.

You too are one of these links—connecting others to Jesus and his Father. Your story will look very different, your choices your own as Jesus leads you, and with you as a link in the world, Jesus is still able to walk about reaching others and bringing them into his relationship with the Father.

You too are commissioned by Jesus. Who is waiting for you to become this link for them?

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Praying with this Passage of Scripture