Mark 12:28b-34 | 31^st Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B

Self- Love: The Basis of a Good and Godly Life

For some reason, when I read The Greatest Commandment in Mark this time, it struck me in a new way. I suppose I’ve always thought Jesus’s gist was, “Of course you love yourself—now love others that way.” But what if we don’t love ourselves? Loving ourselves doesn’t mean we think we’re perfect, but it does mean we treat ourselves with kindness and compassion. But if we don’t think of ourselves as people who deserve love, we can’t begin to know how to treat others as God wants us to. Perhaps self-love isn’t selfish. Perhaps it’s the basis of a good and Godly life.

What is the heart of self-love? I think it has to start with our relationship with God.

In authoritarian families, children’s behavior is considered a direct reflection on the parents. Self-image is important and punishment can be swift. Authoritarian parents need their children to behave a certain way for their own egos. But that is not how our Father parents—His self-image is just fine. God doesn’t need us. God wants us—God loves us and wants us to be in full communion with Him because then we will have true contentment.

God’s rules aren’t there so He can look good. He doesn’t need us to make Him look good. He is good. The rules are there to bring us closer to Him, to give us the gift of the “peace that surpasses all understanding” (Phil. 4:7).

In very primitive strokes, the old Covenant required following a set of established rules (over 700 of them!). Disobedience meant punishment that originated with either God or the community. But Jesus ushered in the new Covenant. He knew that its impossible for imperfect people to follow all those rules, and just as importantly, He also wanted to demonstrate that God is Love and Love desires relationship.

When we truly believe that God is on our “side,” we finally understand we are valuable just as we are, warts and all. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to work on our warts, but it does mean that the warts don’t make us less human or less loved. When we are able to let ourselves be fully loved, warts and all, how can we not extend that grace to others?

I think this is the essence of The Great Commandment: to understand that the love of God is total and all-encompassing, that we are loved just as we are, and moreover, He doesn’t demand that we be different. How can we not love a Being who loves us like that? Once we truly grasp the personal and reciprocal nature of God’s love, then we feel compelled to share it, on the same terms, and love others just as they are without demanding change. When we fully comprehend the freedom inherent in God’s love, anything becomes possible for us, for others, and for the world.

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Mark 10:46-52 | 30^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B

A Loaded Question

Every time I read the story of Bartimaeus, I am struck by the fact that Jesus asks the blind man, “What do you want me to do for you?” Unsurprisingly, Bartimaeus answers, “Master, I want to see.” (v. 51). So why does Jesus pose the question? Don’t all blind men want to see?

My dad is very hard of hearing. Not long ago, he got very sensitive hearing aids. But they weren’t the instant fix he’d hoped. They amplified everything, and his brain had to relearn to let background noise recede. Over the years, Daddy had also become used to silence. But we live in a noisy world, all of which was amplified by hearing aids. In short, the hearing aids put him in a sensory overload. My dad discovered he wanted to hear some things—conversation in particular—but not everything.

“What do you want me to do for you?” is actually a loaded question.

Life is complicated. There are no easy answers, and, unfortunately, there’s a bad side to everything. When Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” He wants us to think deeply about the whys behind our desires. A Jew answering this question in the early first century might have answered they wanted the Messiah to lead them to victory. And Jesus did that—He brought about victory over death, though, not over the Romans. Had this person delved deep to articulate why they wanted this victory, they might have realized they really sought personal glory and revenge.

With this question, Jesus asks us to delve deep into our motivations, to discover the reason behind what we ask of Him. Held to the light of day, does that reason reflect Jesus’s mission? Bartimaeus could answer that question with a resounding “yes”—Jesus saw his heart and not only gave Bartimaeus his sight but also bestowed on him the highest of praise, “your faith has saved you” (v. 52). Bartimaeus responded by following Jesus, presumably straight to Jerusalem to witness the crucifixion.

This was the final recorded healing miracle before Jesus gets to Jerusalem. Maybe Bartimaeus was a final metaphor for Jesus’s message: “Ask and you shall receive” (Matthew 7:7), not carte blanche to write a letter to Santa, but a promise. If we have the faith to ask, God will give us what we need. Bartimaeus had the faith.

One last time, Jesus was making it clear that God has given us free will. We choose whether to participate in the plan. Jesus didn’t just wave His healing hands to give Bartimaeus sight. Jesus asked Bartimaeus what he wanted, and Bartimaeus had to respond. Further, this miracle underscores the personal relationship God wants to have with each of us. He wants to be in conversation with each of us. May each of us one day hear, “Your faith has made you well.”

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Mark 10:17-30 | 28^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B

What’s Your Weak Spot? What Would Make Your Face Fall?

To go through the eye of the needle in ancient times was to enter through the narrow openings to the side of the city gates. For a camel, the pack animal of choice, to get through this opening, the owner had to strip it of everything it carried. The animal might make it through, but the extraneous stuff wouldn’t.

In this gospel passage, that’s Jesus’s challenge—we have access to heaven, but we don’t get to take our baggage. Now, I don’t know about you, but I have a lot of baggage. Some of it, I am happy to give up, and some of it, I want to keep. Even some of the stuff I think I’d be happy to leave behind I just don’t seem to release, on a permanent basis anyway. And that’s what Jesus wanted us to think about.

In this story, the rich young man followed all the commandments, but when Jesus challenged him to get rid of his belongings, the young man faltered. We are just like him. There are many things we do a t—maybe we help others, or feed the poor, or volunteer in the community. But there is some thing we hold back. Maybe we don’t want to let go of our belongings or we hold on too tightly to money. But maybe that’s not our weak spot. Maybe our weak spot is holding on to a grudge or something else altogether. Jesus challenges us to discover our weak spot and then face up to it.

Not being willing to face up to his weak spot was this young man’s failing.

When Jesus told him exactly what he was “lacking” (v. 21), the young man’s face fell, which is natural. To be told to give up what it is I hold most dear would make my face fall too. That the young man’s face fell meant Jesus had hit the nail on the head. Where he failed was that he tucked his tail and “went away sad” (v. 22) in apparent defeat.

We don’t see any more of the young man’s story. Maybe he thought about it, realized Jesus was right, and then sold everything he had and gave the money to the poor. Maybe he got home, realized he did have too much stuff, and over the next few decades gave it away. Maybe he realized he had too much, made a pact with himself not to buy anything else, and then gave away the money he would have spent. Or maybe the end of the story is that he did leave completely unchanged.

Jesus wants us to be changed by our relationship with Him, so He wants us to see ourselves as He sees us. Sin isn’t having the weak spot. Sin is being unwilling to see or to try to change it. What do I value more than my relationship with God? That’s the thing that has the power to keep me from getting through the eye of the needle. While we might not be able to ask Jesus in person, we can certainly go to Him in prayer—if we really want to know. We just have to remember that, like the young man, if we ask Him, He will tell us. We have to be ready for His answer. We have to realize that the answer will make our face fall, just like the young man’s. Will we go away sad? Or will we try to see it Jesus’s way?

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Mark 10:2-16 | 27^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B

The Inherent Value in Every Human Relationship

I just dropped our youngest child a couple of days ago, so I am in the throws of empty-nest adjustment. Right now, everything in our house makes me think of our children. The empty bedrooms upstairs they were so excited to get eleven years ago so they no longer had to share. The ancient van in the garage we got so I could tote hoards of kids around and that they both then drove when they got their licenses. The thinly-stocked pantry now that we’re not feeding growing bodies. The empty laundry basket. Even the yard outside reminds me of all of their imaginary play.

But, every now and then, I remind myself that it wasn’t all rosy. There were times I was done with parenthood and would have happily shipped one or the other of them off had that been an option. We always made it through to the other side, and I wouldn’t trade being their mom for anything. But parenthood is hard, and this beginning of the empty-nest reminds me that parenthood is a whole continuum, every bit of which deepens the experience.

Marriage isn’t for the faint of heart either.

There’s the wedding and there’s being married, which are two very different things. In July, I had an accident on one of the electric scooters downtown and was in the ICU for a few days. The more I learned about the accident and the following twenty-four hours, the more I realized what I had put Mark through—such uncertainty about the immediate future. (I’m extremely lucky in that with the exception of some hearing loss, I’m perfectly fine.) But Mark was there for all of it, every minute in the hospital, taking intense care of me once we got home, giving me pep talks when I felt low, and the list goes on. We experienced the whole of marriage during that period.

I think that’s what Jesus was referring to in this gospel passage—that both marriage and parenthood encompass a wide continuum and you can’t have the fullness of either without experiencing it all. I don’t think He was lecturing on the sanctity of marriage or parenthood, although both are deep commitments, but rather I think He wanted us to understand that to live is to experience the good and the bad, and to only be open to the easy or fun is to short yourself of the richness of life.

Jesus lived that truth.

He didn’t use His power to take the easy and potentially spectacular way off the cross. In singling out marriage and children, Jesus gave value to the least of society. He wanted His followers to understand that there is value in everything God created. God created women and children as well as men, and despite societal law, they weren’t just to be cast off when things weren’t easy.

While I’m raw right now as I adjust to an empty house and a different set of priorities, I (mostly) wouldn’t trade it for anything. Jesus wasn’t saying any one way is perfect, but He wanted us to understand that value is inherent to every human being and it is in relationships of all kinds that we are designed to thrive.

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Mark 9:38-43, 45, 47-48 | 26^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B

The Worldly Cycle of Comparisons

After being rebuked by Jesus for arguing who among them was the greatest, the disciples then  tried to rank others. Even if none of them were greater than the other, at least as followers of Jesus, they assumed they were greater than others outside of their group, and they wanted to keep their group exclusive.  When they saw someone “driving out demons in your [Jesus’s] name,” they “tried to prevent him because he does not follow us” (v. 38). But just as before, Jesus stopped them. “Do not prevent him. There is no one who performs a mighty deed in my name who can at the same time speak ill of me” (v. 39). Jesus may be the Son of God, but He has no intention of pulling any kind of rank.

When good is done in this world, Jesus is at the root of it.

Like the disciples, we all try to pull rank at times by thinking we’re “more Christian” or “more faithful” or that we “try harder” than someone else. The truth is, none of us know what is going on inside of others. We can, and as humans often do, make assumptions, but we can’t know. Furthermore, does it matter? If someone is doing good, Jesus is there, whatever we may think of their faith or effort.

Jesus isn’t interested in comparisons. Comparisons give more weight to our perspective than God’s perspective, and when we start comparing, we focus on ourselves and lose sight of the real reason for doing something. Then we only do to be better than someone else. That doesn’t mean we don’t do good, and in that good, Jesus is there, but it does mean that the good we do doesn’t grow our faith.

The beauty of doing good for the right reasons is that it’s a two-way street.

That good benefits the world, while simultaneously it is beneficial for the doer. Done purely as a way to get ahead, doing good still benefits the world, but the doer loses out. Since the focus is on the individual and not on God, the good act doesn’t help them to grow in their relationship to God.

It’s difficult to shed the worldly cycle of comparisons. I’m particularly good at managing to shake free and wallowing in the freedom only to reclaim the agony and start the whole cycle all over again. But maybe that’s the human condition. Maybe we just get glimpses of what life is like outside of our human constraints, and maybe those glimpses have to be enough to propel us forward and keep us going, knowing that ultimately, life in the kingdom is not as humans envision, but so much better.

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Mark 9:30-37 | 25^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B

An Upside-Down Version of Great

Kids don’t always listen. They don’t always do as they’re told. They ask lots of questions and don’t accept much of anything as a given. They want their own way, and they are often sneaky in pursuit of it. They aren’t always kind and their humor is often at someone else’s expense. So why in the world would Jesus say “whoever receives one child such as this…receives me…” (v. 37)?

Reread the diatribe about kids above and substitute the words adulst in place of kids: Adults don’t always listen (even to God). Adults don’t always do as they’re told (even by God). Adults ask lots of questions (even of God). Adults want their own way and are often sneaky in pursuit of it. Adults aren’t always kind and their humor is often at someone else’s expense. Notice that the meaning stays the same.

I think Jesus used the example of a child to represent all of humanity in this gospel passage. When He pulled a child into His embrace, it was to demonstrate that we must accept all people—no matter their age, no matter how sneaky and full of questions— just as they are in order to receive Him.

At that moment, Jesus asked His disciples to do just that. They wanted Him to be a Messiah who would lead the Jews to a grand victory. But that wasn’t His mission. He was still the Messiah—just not the one they had envisioned. He needed them to accept Him as He was—a Messiah destined to suffer and die an ignominious death. Jesus accepts us warts and all, and His request is that we grant Him the same grace, that we accept all of Him, no matter how incongruous what He asks may seem.

Perhaps one of the most incongruous things He asks us to accept that to be first isn’t to win. We want our children to have the best advantages. We want our career paths to lead the highest they can. We want the “est”—prettiest, strongest, smartest, highest, quickest, and so on. But, Jesus cautions that the “est” doesn’t lead to true fulfillment. That’s why He insists we accept people as they are and not as we wish they were. He insists we accept them full of blemishes rather than the air-brushed version we, with the best of intentions, may wish for them.

Sometimes the most difficult air-brushed version to let go of is the one we have of ourselves. Jesus wants us to accept the person God made us to be rather than the worldly mold we try to cram ourselves into. The disciples discovered just this challenge. To admit to Jesus that they had been arguing about who was the “greatest” (v. 34) would allow Jesus the opportunity to “correct” them—show them why they weren’t the greatest. To have this distinction taken away would be a blow to their construct of themselves as people and of how they envisioned the Messiah’s followers.  But only when they could allow themselves to be vulnerable, to be open to God’s dreams and not their own, were they actually able to achieve all they wanted.

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Mark 8:27-35 | 24^th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B

The God Who Cannot Be Manipulated

As I read this gospel passage, I reflected on the similarities poor Peter has with all of us. Initially, Peter got it just right—he knew Jesus was the Messiah! But just a few short verses later, Peter was in Jesus’s doghouse. Understanding Jesus’s identity hadn’t changed Peter on any sort of fundamental level. Peter had his vision, honed by years of expert Jewish authority, of what the Messiah was going to do. But the opinion of Peter and the “experts” was not Jesus’s reality. However, instead of bowing to Jesus, Peter pulled Jesus to the side and tried to manipulate the situation. He explained to Jesus that rather than be a suffering figure, the Messiah was to lead the Jews to a grand victory. And so Peter got a talking to.

Don’t we all act just like Peter? So much of our prayer, and perhaps the whole of our religious, life is a veiled attempt to manipulate God, often out of the best of intentions. But the purpose of prayer is not manipulative; it’s relational. True prayer is not a to-do list for God, but time to get to know Him and for Him to get to know us. The most precious gift of all is time, and time spent in prayer is love, and love is never manipulative. But, as humans, we, just like Peter, don’t think “as God does but as human beings do” (v. 33), and so we work hard to make things come out as we think they should from our limited perspective.

Like Peter, we all get some things about Jesus just right, while at the same time, totally miss out on other equally important dimensions of Him. The problem is, we get that first thing right and then think we totally understand Him. Using our truncated understanding and our own inflated sense of importance, we put a very human definition onto Jesus, who though human, is also fully divine. He can’t fit into the boundaries we put around Him, no matter how hard we try to make the box work. When He doesn’t fit, we blame Him and not our own narrow perspective.

As a human with a human agenda, I don’t know how to change this dynamic. I think Jesus understands and asks us only to be willing to reframe our thinking, to be open to God’s work in our lives even when it doesn’t seem to make sense. This sort of openness is guaranteed to bring about humility. Just when we think we’ve got it figured out, God delivers a zinger. At that point, we can rage against the zinger, try to find our way around the zinger, or we can explore the zinger and see what God might be offering.

Initially, Peter raged against the zinger by “pulling Jesus aside and rebuking Him” (v. 32). Peter wanted to avoid a suffering Messiah at all costs. But, eventually, Peter recognized that his way was not God’s way and not only accepted the zinger, but he became a leader in the same church that delivered the zinger. Peter learned God cannot be manipulated, no matter how good our intentions. May our own prayer life be equally fruitful.

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Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23 | 22^nd Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year B

The Law as a Weapon of Exclusion

Our family thrives on tradition. This past December, my children listed all of the traditions our family has observed during the Advent and Christmas seasons over the years (and there are a lot of them!) and declared we were going to do every one. It was fun—they resurrected practices we hadn’t observed in a while, and we joyfully checked each one off the list. By the time January 6th rolled around, I was so satisfied, we had wallowed in Advent and Christmas, soaked it all in. Some years it feels I have to snatch bits of the holiday as it flies by, but not last year. Last year, the season felt whole, complete, and I was full.

I’ve thought a lot about that season because I would love to carry that sense of satiation with me permanently. I think the season was so edifying was the spirit behind our tradition roll call. Though we definitely worked from our master list, when I remember last Christmas, I don’t recall the re-enactment of individual customs. What I revel in are the emotions, the togetherness the customs created.

I think the heart behind the checklist is exactly what Jesus wanted His listeners to think about in today’s gospel reading.

All traditions break down to that same dichotomy: mere action or actions imbued with a deeper meaning. Mere action is a mere shell: we do something because we’ve always done it. We aren’t changed by our practice, and we don’t feel satiated. That’s what Jesus railed against. He didn’t want religious traditions to be hollow. Spiritual traditions should connect us to God. If they just check a box, they don’t serve their true purpose; they don’t fill us, and they can’t connect us to eternity.

In this section of Mark, Jesus railed not against the tradition itself but against the elder’s focus. God designed the law to focus us on Him, not on the mistakes of others. Jesus pointed out that the breaking of tradition was the primary focus here instead of the meaning. The elders were using the law to exclude. Jesus wants to include, include radically, include beyond our comfort zone. Sometimes that inclusion breaks the rule of tradition, but it doesn’t break the real meaning of it.

Misused, the law can be used to find fault in others. Misused to the extreme, the law becomes a weapon of exclusion, and weapons are used both to protect and to kill. Weaponized words protect the speaker’s pride, and simultaneously kill self-esteem, relationships, love.  Individuals have a responsibility to examine the reason they observe the law. Jesus observes it for love. Why do we observe it?

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