Jesus, Compassionate Savior

I wrote this for our intergenerational catechesis program (GIFT), for our newly rolled out blog.  Wanted to share it with y'all.  The answer to a basic question, "Who do you say that I am?"
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Jesus, you are our Compassionate Savior.

Compassionate because you, the Eternal Word, didn’t regard equality with God something to be grasped. Instead, you let go, you humbled yourself, you emptied yourself taking the form of a servant and came to us like us in all things except sin. You could have come in a scary way, through a talking animal, a powerful giant, or a flying angel. Instead, you were found human in appearance. You wanted to be like us. You lived life as one of us and you know of our pain, our suffering. Jesus, you yourself suffered and were obedient to death, even death on a cross.

But Jesus, your compassion is not limited to your birth and death. Your life speaks of compassion. We see you healing the blind, curing the lame, dining with sinners and the least among us. You speak with women and men, with children and adults, the words of everlasting life. You look upon crowds both now and then and are moved with pity and provide nourishment, with bread that sustains our body, mind, and spirit. You want to be with us, want to meet us most especially in those places we consider unworthy, unsatisfactory, imperfect. Your special love for the poor extends into the poor areas of our life.

Jesus, your desire to heal extends beyond our time and our space; you are our savior.

You saved us through your suffering, death, and resurrection and save us now when we call out to you. When we face a difficult situation, when we are in pain and need healing, when we are stuck between a rock and a hard place, we turn to you. Salvation is life-giving and you are the source of life.

Jesus, you are our Compassionate Savior. Desiring our good, loving us until the end, and always calling us towards yourself, may we live eternally in your loving embrace.

El Greco: The Miracle of Christ Healing the Blind

"Who do you say that I am?"

Joy: Not just for almonds

I wrote an article for my parish's newsletter about my experience during the Triduum at the parish and joy. I thought you might en-joy it (or it en-joy you, actually):

During the Easter Triduum I saw and experienced much joy.

The Holy Thursday’s foot washing brought tears to my eyes. The musical backdrop of “The Servant Song” (“will you let me be your servant?”) and other similar songs provided a perfect atmosphere to witness the foot washing of twelve parishioners: young, old, male, female, those I know, those I hope to know. The incredible joy of a child, smile from ear to ear, witnessed to what we as Christians believe and know: our call to service extends to those we don’t always think about; our need to be served and the humility to allow ourselves to be served; that the love of Christ knows no bounds.

On Good Friday we venerated the cross. I was moved as I saw how differently we expressed our relationship with Christ. Some kissed the cross, others bowed, rubbed different parts of the cross, kneeled, or did a combination of all the above. Still others might have been uncomfortable with the veneration and chose stayed in their seats. But all desired an intimacy with God, all wanted to reflect on the mystery of the death of Jesus Christ.

And of course, the climax of the Triduum and the entire Liturgical year, the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday. There was such a joy and electricity present in the congregation, especially during the singing of the Glory to God and the Alleluia. Hungry with forty days of fasting and preparing for this moment, we were ready to rejoice in the resurrection of our Lord. Finally, let’s not forget the joyous reception of our brothers and sisters into the Church, faces glowing with holy oil and Holy Spirit. So much joy and excitement!

The Gospel of John says that “the disciples were filled with joy at seeing the Lord” (John 20:20, NJB). It’s no wonder the joy I found throughout the Triduum. The same joy that filled the disciples fills us as we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord. It is for this reason that we are Christians, because we believe that Jesus is the Christ; we believe that his resurrection saves us. His resurrection provides us with hope in the midst of our own “Good Fridays”. After all, we follow in a Savior who knows his way out of the tomb.

We are people of the resurrection; we are people of joy. As muffled as the joy may be at times, amounting to the tiniest trickle of water, joy drives us to seek more joy. The joy of Easter leads us out of the desert (of Lent and of our lives) as we follow the dribble of water, upstream towards the source, towards Jesus, the source of joy and new life.

As we continue in the Season of Easter and roll on into the summer months, I invite you to be on the lookout for joy. Joy found at home in your family, joy found in the lives of others, joy found at St. James, joy found in creation, and joy found in yourself. Rejoice in that moment of joy and thank God. Where we find joy, we may find the Lord.

May we be the loving presence of the risen Christ to our family, friends, and neighbors. May they be filled with joy. May we take to heart the invitation present in the hymn “We Are Called”: “Come! Live in the light! Shine with the joy and the love of the Lord!”

Happy enjoying! See you in August!

Blessings,
Isaac Garcia, Echo Catechetical Apprentice

As I am wont to do

I've been reading some blogs. Well, actually, a blog today. The blog post that I want to share with you today comes from Amy Welborn, who is a Catholic author and who lost her husband about a month ago or so. The blog post is called "Giving up something for Lent"

In her blog post, she talks about how we as church workers face a temptation for to let our work become our spiritual lives:

That is- you are tempted to let all sorts of things fall by the wayside in your personal life because those things are a part of work. They fall to the wayside either because you decide that since these things somehow characterize your work or make up part of your workday...been there, done that..scratch that off the list for today.

So perhaps because you led a bunch of kids in prayer several times in school or you (yes) said Mass or because you led a prayer service before a meeting or even participated in a prayer service before a meeting...you neglect personal prayer time.

Or because you do Scripture study or instruction with students, you almost never sit with the Word of God yourself anymore, by yourself, just listening.

Or because your paycheck is so small and your hours are so long and the problems never really end you figure....well, that's my almsgiving.

The other, slightly more negative reason that the spiritual lives of church workers goes to pot is that work sometimes goes to pot and worst of all, "ministry" becomes a job, then a job that is endured and even disliked and when you can finally get away from it, the last thing you want to do is think about religion. Or even, you know, God.

I hope to never lose my hunger for the spiritual despite the "I already know it" attitude that I can sometimes posses and the always present temptation of letting my work be my spiritual life. It's easy to tune out that which is familiar: a favorite Scripture passage, the Holy Mass, sometimes even our friends or our community members. Each of these familiar things is an encounter with Jesus, or at least it can be if we're open to it.

Personally, one way that I like to keep things exciting and fresh in the spiritual life is by writing. More specifically, by blogging. (Yea, spiritual blogging) I find that whenever I sit down with the Gospel for the Sunday and go through it, seeing what everything says, the implications, the stories, the backstories, the textual context, the historical context, I can come to a better understanding of how God is at work in the world. If I know that someone else is going to read it -- or at least that someone, anyone, could read it -- I have the accountability of the community of the Internet (more likely my friends and family). I will spend more time struggling with the text in order to produce fruit.

So I guess that's why I blog, for spiritual reasons. How do you keep away from the attitude that Amy describes above?

"There's no way we can fit into there"

A Gospel reflection for this weekend (Mark 2:1-12) I wrote for our catechist blog:

“There’s no way we can fit into there.”

I peer into the subway car packed with people to brim. There are so many people; I can feel heat emanating from the subway car as I stand outside.

“We’ll just wait for the next one,” I think. My Dad has a different idea as he starts entering the clown-car like full subway car, dragging myself and my other friends into the car with him.

Once inside, the smell of body odor attacks my nose and I wonder, “Why did I make this trip to China?”

Without a doubt, in the above the situation I found myself in the most person-packed place in my young life. There was no room in the car, none. Yet, we found a way to get there.

So it is with the Gospel this week. St. Mark describes a scene in not as much detail as above, but likely with a similar feel. Hundreds and hundreds of people are crammed into this house, hoping to hear a few words from a man they hear can heal the sick. There’s likely little air circulation, a heavy stench in the room, and the annoying guy from work is standing across the room.

Suddenly, from the back, four shouts are heard: “Let us in! We have someone that needs to see Jesus! We know he will help him!” But no one wants to give up their spot, some because they have a legitimate need for healing, others because they want to test Jesus, and still others out of sheer curiosity, for this Man has captured their attention.

Minutes later a crashing noise comes from above. Light streams into the room followed by a shaky eclipse. Straining from the adjustment from relative darkness to light to relative light all can barely make out what’s happening – a man is being lowered from the sky!

As the mat comes down, people are forced to make room. Personal space no more, it’s necessary for this man to land safely. Astounded, Jesus, on account of the faith of the paralytic, says, “Child, your sins are forgiven.” When pushed by the testy in the crowd, Jesus says “Rise, pick up your mat, and go home.”

The man who could no longer walk gets up. Shouts of pure joy and exaltations come from above: the paralytic’s friends can’t believe their eyes!

There’s a consensus among the crowd: “We have never seen anything like this.”

And so St. Mark presents us with an image of faith. Do we have what it takes to approach a seemingly impossible situation and dive in head first? Will we be like my Dad and move into the crowded car? Will we have the faith of the paralytic who, despite seeing and hearing the filled house, wouldn’t give up. He just knew that Jesus would heal him. Do we have the same faith in the same Jesus?

An image of community is also presented. Four friends find a way to bring their sick friend on the mat to Jesus. Sometimes we are the four friends, stopping at nothing to help our friends heal. Other times we are the one in need of healing. Often, we’re both in need of healing and the instrument through which God works to bring others to the place they need to be to heal. Yet, often we don’t want to admit that we are in need of healing, in need of a visit to Christ in the Eucharist, in Reconciliation, in the poor and homeless, in our parents, our children, our siblings. Jesus is there, waiting to embrace us, waiting for us to come through the roof, waiting for us to gently lower others through the roof.

If we live a life of such faith, a life of doing the dirty work, a life of service, a life of faith, hope, and love, a life that’s a living reminder of Jesus; if we live such a life, perhaps others will say, “we have never seen anything like this.”

Let us strive to live this life but never desire to hear those words, only desiring to echo the forgiveness, healing, and love of Jesus.

The "Right Kind" of Catholic

I chanced upon a blog that had a post called The Right Kind of Catholic. Before you scroll up and down or decide not to click the link because of the title, she doesn't really mention what the "right kind" of Catholic is. It's more a post about Catholicism in America. I think it's a pretty good read about divisions within the Church. Just wanted to pass it on to you.

To comment on it, one of the comments mention that in America we, as a culture, have an attitude of winning. Not just winning, but a want for our opponents to suffer. I can't count the number of times I've heard people say (and sadly I sometimes join in), "I'm glad Michigan lost again". Or so many other people say, "I'm glad Notre Dame sucks at football". I think this permeates into our faith, this victorious attitude. We, as American Catholics (as a whole), sometimes want to push a certain part of Catholicism when, in fact, it doesn't work like that.

At Notre Dame, some people would refer to the "Campus Ministry Catholics" and the "Center for Social Concerns Catholics". I think the distinction is ridiculous. The Eucharist dismisses us to "Go in peace to love and serve the Lord". AKA Matthew 25. And service can never be seperated from our personal relationship with Christ.

Both. And.

I think the diversity is great. And I'm glad that each of us has a different personal point of emphasis. I do caution against heresy -- in the Chestertonian definition of the word. That is, heresy is when someone holds one particular truth (be it the divinity of Christ, humanity of Christ, or any other thing we as Catholics believe as true) so close to their face that it blinds you from the other truths.

There are legitimate differences. And there is a certain hierarchy of truths. But only one Jesus Christ. Let's prepare His way; make straight His paths.

Silence

We're doing an Advent workshop deal for the middle and high schoolers in our Christian Formation here at St. James next Sunday. I wrote an introduction to this video that we're going to watch in conjunction with the workshop. The video will be linked below the reflection.
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We are here to be silent. Why silence? I thought we were here to do some sort of Advent-y prayer. Yes. We are. Silence can be a type of prayer. Meditation is prayer. We’ll be doing some of both. But it’s important to have a purpose when we are silence, when we meditate. The purpose is Advent. It’s a confusing word that we hear this time of year and sometimes push it aside, knowing that it means the time before Christmas. But Advent is a time of preparation—preparation for God entering into our lives, both in Bethlehem 2000 years ago and this very day, here and now. “The message of Advent is that God has not abandoned you. God is with you.” And so in preparation for Jesus entrance into the world, the Church gives Advent as time to prepare.

This seems crazy, but one way of preparation is silence, purposeful silence. Think about it. When we’re about to tell someone something important, we often take a pause before speaking. Silence. When we’re faced with a big decision in our lives, we take a moment—or many moments—to reflect before deciding. Silence. When we’re studying for that big test, we gather our notes, homework, and quizzes, and get busy studying. Hopefully, in silence. Silence removes the distractions, removes the noise, removes the busyness of our daily lives. Silence gives us time to think, time to prepare, time to be. Silence.

And so, I invite you to take this time out of your busy schedule to enter into silence. Well, it’s a guided meditation on silence, so there will be some talking. I invite you to think about what he has to say, think about how this applies to your life. There is paper and a pencil for you to write down anything that comes into your head. Afterward, we will discuss. Until then—silence.
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And here's the video. Yes, we bought it. We're not going to show this version of it with the translation on the bottom, though that would be awesome.

Thoughts?

Render to Caesar...

At St. James, we reflect on the Gospel for the next Sunday every time we gather together either as a staff, in RCIA, in Christian Formation classes or a variety of other ways. I thought I'd share this with you, not for this week, but for next week Gospel:

What happens to Jesus here is what happens to us frequently. People try and trap us in our words, even and maybe even especially when faith matters come into play. The Herodians are trying to do that here with Jesus. Jesus, of course, knows what’s going on, and responds with some slick words of give to Caesar what is Caesars.

Jesus’ wit is just a funny little subtlety compared to the message of the Gospel. I think these words are especially powerful in today’s world, where the financial situation for the country and the world is very unstable. Money is not the most important thing in life. A job that makes a ton of money is not that important, because ultimately, money is meant to be spent. Money is a means to an end, and not an end itself. Money helps us get by, allows us to buy food and necessities—even some things that are not necessities. Currency is helpful, but ultimately is used to get other things that we need. On top of that, in the US, money is not even ours. It belongs to the government. That’s why it’s illegal to deface money. So give to the government what is the government’s—money.

The interesting part is the second half of the sentence though. Jesus could have left it at just that, give to Caesar what is Caesar’s. Instead, he calls us to give to God what belongs to God. This brings up the question, what belongs to God? Only the most important stuff of life: our time, our energy, and most importantly ourselves. For in God we live, and move, and have our being. While our money is stamped with the seal of the US government, we were stamped with a mark at baptism that claims us as God’s. But just how do we give to God’s what is God’s? How do we give God ourselves?

That’s the question for today’s Gospel. We are faced with the dilemma of giving of ourselves. Where and to whom do we give ourselves? To our job? To an addiction? To money? To our school? To ourselves? To our family? To our friends? To God?

Where are the priorities in your life? And are you faithfully repaying to God what belongs to God?

The inside is bigger than the outside

That's essentially the summer summed up in the words of C.S. Lewis. The inside, the meaning, is much bigger than the outside. The external signs of the summer have passed, 7+ weeks, a couple retreats, orientation, classes, sand volleyball, hellos and goodbyes, open bars, Backer visits, weekly Mass, adoration, morning and night prayer, The Office, "calm down", "you can take ALL of it", the hip walk, community nights, carpet golfing, the many Milwaukee slogans and sayings, Steak N Shake visits, making wraps in the dining hall, 3AM conversations, random songs, reconciliation, conversion and communion. But through all this--the stuff of living in community--I have come to further realize that the inside really is bigger than the outside.

This summer was especially meaningful to me as a Notre Dame graduate because it afforded me the opportunity to return to the heart of why I choose Notre Dame in the first place. You see, when you fill out the ND application, they have this section that says that if you have any last comments that you want the reviewers to read, send them in. So I did. I remember writing something like "I want to go to Notre Dame to discern my vocation." This summer has truly connected me to this on a personal level. I've realized the many ways that I fail at preparing for my vocation of marriage with the love of my life. They are numerous and I won't bore you with the details. But it was within this community that I found a rekindling of my marriage vocation. Perhaps rekindling isn't the best word. I'll say intensifying instead. Your love and concern for each other, for me, intensifies my call to marriage. It was a blessing as well to see the start of a couple of relationships, which re-presented to me my calling and reminded me of my own story with Dezzie.

I've mentioned this to several of you, but it's worth repeating. What I find amazing is how the universal call to holiness can be lived out in so many different ways among our group, but yet, so similar. But it's this diverse response to the same call which exemplifies the whole cloud of witness thing.

The meaning of the summer is much bigger than the events added together. The inside of time is bigger than the outside, the moment was pregnant. A teacher of mine would say that there are some moments that mean more than others. Example: Getting engaged vs. brushing your teeth. The inside of that moment for me is much bigger than the outside, but the inside of brushing my teeth is sadly the same as the outside. Then there's the whole Jesus in the tabernacle thing, or in Mary's womb. That's pretty huge too.

So thank you folks for bringing me further up and further in. I hope to continue to seek out these joyful moments of interior largness and invite you to do the same.