28th Sunday Ordinary Time

3 Kgs 5:14-17

Ps 98 1-4

2 Tm 2:8-13

Lk 17:11-19

The first reading and the Gospel both turn on the disease leprosy as it was understood in the Ancient Near East.  It is critical to remember that when it is mentioned in any biblical readings leprosy does not mean the chronic disfiguring infectious disease known today as Hansen’s disease.  While Hansen’s may have been in the population during Jesus’ time, it did not exist during more ancient times, such as that in which the first reading is set some six centuries before Jesus' birth. In addition, the descriptions of leprosy in the Old Testament, are inconsistent with Hansen’s disease as described in Harrison’s Textbook of Internal Medicine, the standard textbook of medicine in the U.S. Walls, clothing, and other inanimate objects could also be considered leprous if they had a certain appearance.

Leprosy comes from the Greek root LEPI that means scales of a fish. Thus,  psoriasis, with its characteristic scaling lesion, would have been called leprosy, along with many other diseases that are not related and are not infectious. Infectious is the key word. The fear of leprosy was the fear of contagion, the fear of transmission of disease. That contagion, several millennia before antibiotics and so on, was a threat to the ongoing life of the community. Much of the fear was related to a different understanding of illness then compared with our understanding today.

We understand living and disease as part of an unbroken line. That line is interrupted only by death.  One may be ill but one is still living until the moment of death.   In the Ancient Near East disease was understood as a “mild form of death”  or “a living death.” The break, the radical interruption, was not between life and death but between health and illness.  Lepers were thought to be losing life’s vital force from their bodies.  Lepers were seen as the living dead, as already inhabiting sheol.  

Adding to the stigma was that, like other illnesses in the Ancient Near East, leprosy was understood as punishment for sin.  It was visible evidence that the afflicted was a sinner.  The lepers who approached Jesus were suffering from social exclusion. They asked Jesus for compassion and healing.  In his compassion for their suffering, for their isolation from society, and their alienation from themselves, Jesus healed them of the visible cause of their suffering.  He removed the "leprosy" that visibly marked them as sinners.  Jesus returned them to society and gave them back to themselves.

Jesus did the same for us.  He continues to do the same for us.  Jesus took upon himself the burden of our sin.  By his obedience to the will of the Father, he freed us from sin and death.  In the sacrament of confession he offers us the opportunity to be made clean again and again, as often as we may need to be cleansed of the internal marks of leprosy.  And thus He returns us to the right relationship with God and with ourselves. The readings and the Gospel also highlight the interdependence of gift and thanksgiving.

The story of Naaman in the first reading began with verse fourteen, in which he descended into the water of the Jordan seven times and emerged healed of his lesions.  We didn't hear the important verses that come immediately before this. In those verses, Naaman was told by the Elisha's messenger, not the Prophet Elisha himself, to bathe in the water of the Jordan seven times.  Then we read, "But Naaman was angered and walked away.  He said, 'I thought he would surely come out to me and would stand and invoke the Lord his God by name and would wave his hand toward the spot and cure the affected part.'"  Naaman continued to rage until a servant asked, "if the prophet told you to do something difficult, would you not do it?" The servant then pointed out that the prophet had suggested something easy.  Logic triumphed over fury. Naaman's gratitude was total, immediate, and sincere.

The gospel adds a twist.  Only one of the ten lepers Jesus healed returned to express his gratitude.  Only one gave thanks when he realized that he had been healed.  The response of the other nine lepers is an important point. It highlights the unfortunate disconnection between faith, gift, and thanksgiving that characterizes most people at least some of the time.  The ten lepers obviously had faith in Jesus.  Otherwise, they would not have set out to present themselves to the priests.  But only one, a Samaritan, a foreigner, returned to give thanks. 

Faith cannot exist, it cannot grow, without thanksgiving.  Faith needs to be nurtured with prayer, the Eucharist, and meditation upon scripture.  Prayer is not just for petition in times of trouble.  Prayer is thanksgiving. It is conversation between us and God that expresses our gratitude for what God has done, for what He is doing, and for what He will do for us, even if we don't understand it at the moment.  The psalm explains it all.  First, the psalmist instructs us in the way of faith when he sings:

"All the ends of the earth have seen

the salvation by our God."

And then he tells us how to express our gratitude:

"Sing joyfully to the Lord, all you lands,

Break into song; sing praise."

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Went to Maribor last Sunday for a concert that included several pieces sung by Father Damjan Ristič. Damjan possesses a rich baritone voice that he used beautifully.  The other performers on the program were a French horn quartet.  They played beautifully.  I never realized a French horn could play such low notes.  

This morning I wandered down to the market place and the Franciscan Church around 7:30 AM.  It was fascinating to watch the market coming to life.  I can't imagine setting up and taking down my wares every single day.  

A French horn on a chair before the concert

There was a reception afterwards.  Students were setting out the glasses and food well before the concert began.

Reflections in the river.  

Ljubljana Castle dominates the view from many areas of the city.  

A detail of stucco, a lamp, and red flowers.

A tour boat on the river.  This was from Friday midday rather than early Saturday AM.

Chairs locked up for overnight.  The outdoor cafes were very active as staff set out tables and chairs.

A coffee shop overlooking the river.

Salty snacks including pizza.

A merchant working in the colonnade carrying good to his area.

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Hab 1:2-3, 2:2-4

Ps 95: 1-2, 6-7, 8-9

2 Tim 1:6-8, 13-14

Lk  17:5-10

“How long O Lord? 

I cry for help

but you do not listen!”

Book of Habakkuk begins with a startling statement. 

“I cry for help . . .

but you do not listen.” 

Habakkuk is unique among the prophets because he openly questions the wisdom of God.  The major theme of Habakkuk is trying to move from perplexity, confusion and doubt toward faith and absolute trust in God.  It is only at the end of the third and final chapter of this short book, that Habakkuk expresses his ultimate faith in God, even if he, like us, does not yet fully understand. In the last verses, sometimes called the Psalm of Habakkuk, we hear him reflecting on the  loss of everything as he writes: 

“For though the fig tree blossom not

nor fruit be on the vines,

though the yield of the olive fail

and the terraces produce no nourishment, . . .

Yet will I rejoice in the Lord

and exult in my saving God.

God, my Lord, is my strength;

he makes my feet swift as those of hinds

and enables me to go upon the heights.” 

In this magnificent ending to a book that opened with a hostile challenge we learn of the faith that redeems and sustains. 

The Gospel begins with the famous statement relating faith to the mustard seed.  When I was in high school many of the girls wore a necklace with a small clear globe and a tiny yellow mustard seed suspended in the middle.  One had to look very closely to make out the seed as it was only one or two millimeters—about 1/25th of an inch—in size.  That tiny seed grows into a bush that, while technically not a tree, is large enough for the birds to perch in as though it were a tree.  It is a metaphor for faith.

Faith is freely given. Faith sustains us through the ups and down of life.  It augments the joys and diminishes the sorrows. Faith brings us eternal life. But we must care for it and nurture it.  Many of Jesus’ parables turn on the question of faith, how it is nurtured and increased.  How we live our faith in the present is a question we must face  regularly.  Just as it takes a long time for the mustard seed to grow into a large bush, so it is with faith.  As we live it, cultivate it, and attend to it through prayer, reflection, meditation on scripture, and participation in the Eucharist, faith matures.  It becomes stronger.  More resilient.  More able to sustain us in good times and in bad. Faith permits us and sometimes compels us, to ask the question which began the first reading from Habakkuk: 

“How long O Lord?”

Faith allows us to pray with one single screamed word:  “WHY?”  And faith allows us  to endure the startling silence that may be the only reply to that angry why?.  Sometimes it is the example of others whose faith is stronger than ours that helps us cultivate our own. 

Six years ago, on Friday September 17, 2010 I was wandering through the Jesuit cemetery in Weston, MA. My fingers moved slowly over the rosary.  Nothing made sense.  I had just viewed the body of Jesuit Father Ignatius Ikunza, a very close friend, who died of a rapidly lethal form of cancer, three days after his 39th birthday. The grave, partially covered with a weathered piece of plywood, was ready.  His body would come down the hill from the funeral Mass around noon. 

After Mass the East African Provincial addressed the congregation.  When he was done Ikunza’s mother rose and positioned herself between the altar and her son’s coffin.  She took the microphone from Father Provincial and began to speak.  She spoke about the meaning of her son’s life and the meaning of his death as a seamless whole.  She spoke eloquently about her faith in the resurrection, the certainty of eternal life, and the joy that eased some of her grief,  the joy that he was now with God.  When she finished the congregation packing the large chapel rose and applauded.  We rose because of the example of faith she had just given us.  Because she had taken us through the entire Book of Habakkuk from anger and sorrow to faith, in nine minutes.

As we waited at the grave, another Jesuit nudged me and said, “I hope all of those high powered theologians were listening to Ikunza’s mom.  She is proof that we don’t need them.”  Had he been there Ikunza would have laughed as hard as I did.  Like her son’s, her faith was not something she put on only in times of crisis. It was not something she tapped only during the bad times. She did not look to God only when she needed Him.   She had nurtured the mustard seed of faith that was planted in her over the years.  She shared it with her son, nurtured it, and it grew in him.  With her mighty faith she shielded us mourners from some of the harshness of despair and hopelessness.  Ikunza’s mom should not be unique. It is possible for all of us that, through faith, no matter what happens, the angry question:

“How long O Lord?” 

can be replaced with:

“God my Lord is my strength,

He enables me to go upon the heights.”

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I've been in Ljubljana a week.  Jet lag is beginning to abate though sleep is still a bit of a problem.  Alas, sleep is frequently a problem without the necessity of crossing time zones.  

From Monday to Wednesday of this week I was in Trieste, Italy, about ninety minutes by car from here, with eighteen students who are going to live at our residential college, Magis, in Maribor (their classes begin on Monday).  It was a chance for the students, some of whom lived there last year and some of whom didn't, to come to know each other, do some of the necessary paperwork, and relax.  They all seemed to enjoy themselves.  I had a chance to get to know some of them, particularly the medical students, over the course of the days.  On our last day there Peter and I abandoned the kids at lunch and were guests of the Jesuit community for a very pleasant lunch.  

Trieste is an interesting city.  I didn't get to spend as much time doing photography as I wished because of the jet lag and because Trieste is built on the side of either a mountain or a cliff.  I can't figure out which.  It featured some of the most narrow, steepest, and serpentine roads that I've seen in a long time.  San Francisco is relatively flat in comparison.  I couldn't imagine living there daily and parking in very small spaces.  Can't quite figure how some of the drivers were going to get their cars out of the parking place in the morning.  After lunch on the last day Peter planned to go to the Adriatic Coast for an hour or so.  That is when the camera got a workout.

Miramare (Look at the Sea) Castle was built by the Emperor Franz Ferdinand in the 19th century.  It sits on thirty-two acres looking directly out at the Adriatic.  I had only an hour with the camera.  The trip out of Trieste to the highway was a nightmare.  Whatever GPS Peter used apparently took us the short way rather than the sane one.  The road was very steep, very narrow with cars and houses, and featured two hairpin turns.  We couldn't make one of them in the van without continuing up, turning around, and then following the road.  Alas, I had to get out of the car to help guide Peter as he backed up into a small space hollowed out of the hill.  It suggested that others had to do the same thing.  As he was backing up I realized he couldn't see me so I scrambled up a dirt mound but fell while doing so.  I only noticed when we were well into the trip that my glasses had apparently fallen out of the pocket.  First time in fifty years of wearing glasses that I lost or broke them.  At the moment I am making do with prescription sunglasses and a pair of reading glasses.  But, given the astigmatism that complicates old man eyes, things could be better than just readers.   My optometrist in D.C. agreed to send me the prescription so I can get a pair made here.  Perhaps by next week.  

The students at the van when everyone met up at a highway gas station.

There was a soccer game with some Italian guys.  Took many photos of this.  A lot different than landscapes or still life work.

The Miramare Castle.  Great lines and relative simplicity combined with majesty.

Looking from one of the patios.  A beer, a lounge chair and an umbrella would have been nice.

Looking toward the port of Trieste

Looking over the ocean from one of the paths leading to the castle.  This is an intentionally underexposed shot that gives the illusion of moonlight on the water when, in fact, the sun was blazing.

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD

26th Sunday in Ordinary Time . . . . in Ljubljana

Am 6:1a, 4-7

Ps 146

1 Tm 6:11-16

Lk 16:19-31

The warning in the first reading from Amos is harsh.  The description of the people is contemporary.

“Woe to the complacent of Zion . . .

Lying upon beds of ivory

they eat lamb taken from the flock

they anoint themselves with the best oils . . .

Perhaps today Amos would write,

“Woe to the self-obsessed

slouched in front of their computers.

They eat fast food taken from a bag,

wear too much perfume and inject Botox.” 

The Book of Amos repeatedly stresses social and political ills in general terms.  Thus, it can be read in the context of our own time. There are social and political ills in every country. These are caused by, and contribute to, a variety of personal ills.  There are social and political sins that contribute to our human propensity to sin.  It seems that individual sin drives social sin, and social sin allows individuals more creative opportunities for individual sin. How much of our current economic situation grew out of, and is maintained by, the sin of greed, both corporate and individual greed?

“Therefore now they shall go into exile

and their wanton revelry

shall be done away with.”

Amos’ warning is a stark contrast to Paul’s letter.  Given the context of Amos’ message and the Gospel it is a pity that the second reading didn’t begin with verse ten rather than verse eleven.  Verse ten is the well-known. “For the love of money is the root of all evils; it is through their craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced their hearts with many pangs.”   THEN we hear Paul’s charge to Timothy in the proper context,  “BUT as for you . . . .pursue righteousness, devotion, faith, love, patience, and gentleness.”

It is fascinating that the line  "For the love of money is the root of all evils," is generally misquoted as "money is the root of all evil."  They do not mean the same thing.  Money itself is not necessarily the root of all evil.  Money is a necessity. Emotional attachment to money, to obtaining ever more and more, loving, adoring, or worshipping it is the root of all evil.

This evil may be on a corporate level.  Currently in the U.S. the immaculately coifed and fabulously dressed Heather Bresch, the daughter of a U.S. senator, whose compensation last year was over $8,700,000, is defending herself for increasing the price of the Epi Pen for anaphylactic shock from $100 to $600 for two. The cost of the epinephrine, the active drug, is mere pennies per dose. The rest is delivery system, advertising, costs, and of course, her obscene salary.  On the individual level, one reads far too many stories about the church secretary or the treasurer of the fire company, who diverts many thousands of dollars to his or her personal use. The love of and desire for more money, drives all of them into sin.

The parable sometimes referred to as Dives and Lazarus is unique to Luke's Gospel.  The names are important though only one of them appears in the Gospel narrative.  Lazarus, is derived from the Hebrew El azar which means “God has helped.”  Obviously the name is no accident.  We heard, “When the poor man died he was carried away by angels to the bosom of Abraham.”  God had indeed helped him.  Tradition gave the rich man his name.  Dives is a Latin adjective for rich.  Thus Dives and Lazarus, The Rich Man and the One God has helped.  The first part of the parable describes a reversal of fortune. Upon his death Lazarus, the beggar, was carried to Abraham’s bosom. Upon his death, Dives, the man who had it all, was tormented in the netherworld.  The second half of the parable is a conversation between the rich man and Abraham.  It is instructive. 

Dives is not portrayed as a particularly bad man. He is not wicked or malevolent. True, he dressed well. He ate a rich diet and lived in comfortable surroundings. He was a man who enjoyed the rewards of his hard work. The rich man was not necessarily evil.  He was blind. He was oblivious.  He was oblivious to the suffering around him.  He didn’t notice it.  Lazarus, like the poor in our streets today, was merely a part of the landscape. He was passed by, stepped over, or avoided by crossing the street. Dives, the wealthy man, bore him no ill-will. He was not hostile. He didn't notice.  Lazarus was there but invisible.

Dives is not without merit.  He accepted that Lazarus could not cross the chasm to ease his thirst. He didn't protest.  He didn't whine.  He didn't argue.  He didn't plead.  But he wanted to prevent his equally oblivious and blind brothers from suffering the same fate. It couldn't be done. If his brothers wouldn't listen to Moses and the prophets, they would not be persuaded even if someone rose from the dead. Just like Dives and his brothers we have Moses and the Prophets. Unlike this rich man and his brothers we also have Jesus. Jesus who suffered, died and rose from the dead to save us from sin.

Why do we not listen to him either? 

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Arrived in Ljubljana two days ago after an overnight flight from Boston to Munich.  Smooth and pleasant flight.  The big surprise was being able to watch the Patriots-Oilers game live. Nice win!  For Patriots fans.  After three hours in Munich spent drinking coffee I hopped Adria Airways for the 35 minute flight to Ljubljana.  Thirty minutes later I was in my room, same one as in the winter.  

The jet lag is slowly receding.  On Friday I thought I'd been hit by an 18-wheeler.  Today it feels like a smaller truck.  The weather is glorious.  It feels just like September in Boston though the nights are a bit colder.  The city is bustling during the day with tourists everywhere.  Sidewalk cafes that I thought were small and quaint are quite large.  Only a fraction of the tables were outdoors during the winter.  

I will be here until July or so.  The homily above was given at the English language Mass this AM.  I will take it over next week or so while one of the men is on an extended time in England.  

Ljubljana Castle from the Triple Bridge.  Looks different with green rather than snow or bare trees surrounding it.

The river about a block from the community.  Followed it along assuming it would take me to the center of the city.  Alas, I was heading in the wrong direction.  However, it was a nice walk anyway.

The Church of St. Peter.  I can see this from my room.  It appears to be farther away than it actually is.   

LJ is a fantastic city for night shots.  The arches are behind the Cathedral of St. Nicholas looking toward the market place.

The main plaza in front of the Franciscan Church (pink building to the left).  Many people milling about and passing through. 

An art gallery near the funiculaire to the castle.

Can't not do black and white.  Of course this not technically black and white but the effect is close.  The lamp is not 'blown out.'  Rather it appears to be a molded piece of plastic that is fully illuminated.  Pity that whoever was drinking the beer didn't finish it. 

Bicyclist was listening to a jazz group performing in front of the Franciscan Church.  The group was very good.  The woman holding the microphone had a lovely voice.  Hope they are there next Friday when I should be in much better shape to stand and listen. 

A man and his sons riding bikes along the river this afternoon.  

+Fr. Jack, SJ, MD