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COLUMNS
» Believe as you Pray
» Family Ties
» In Light of Faith
 
14th Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A, July 6, 2008
by Genevieve M. McQuade
How do you feel when you’ve opened your mail and find a beautifully crafted invitation, perhaps for a wedding?
Maybe you felt honored by an invitation to attend a graduation. Whether you went to such events or not, you probably responded by giving a gift.
The mail also includes bills, appeals, circulars, and more, that agitate us. Such additional stress can disintegrate our peace of mind.
How different it is when Jesus promises a wonderful gift of peace right within his invitation to us.
“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
Jesus’ words are so comforting for us, if only we permit them to penetrate our hearts, subduing our nerves and healing our spirit.
When did you last have a truly peaceful heart?
You may sigh that it can’t happen for you, that his invitation must be something like generic bulk mail intended for other more naive people.
Listen again.
“Come to me,” Jesus implores. His words of life bear repeating in the quiet of our minds.
Though all receive the invitation to enter his presence, at this particular moment his invitation has your name alone imprinted on it.
Picture the Lord’s arms open wide beckoning you. Imagine Jesus expecting your visit.
You may respond tentatively, wondering what you must do in return. Or, you could approach his summoning arms with confidence that tranquility will be yours after all.
I’ve heard some recommend, “Give your cares to Jesus,” or “Let go.”
Go ahead. Just do it. In sincerity and purity of heart, go to him.
What happens is amazing. Grace abounds. Jesus becomes present consoling us through his Holy Spirit.
Peace beyond our understanding is the byproduct, mostly because we have wisely shaped our attention towards Jesus.
Do you feel burdened? You can relax in his hospitable welcome. Trust Jesus that He will give you what you truly need.
Cares will not evaporate nor will problems go away. Yet, stillness of heart can arise within you. Your difficulties will not weigh you down, sinking you into emotional quicksand.
No, this is not a mind over matter situation. Rather, it’s an opportunity to surrender to God whatever chokes your stamina and oppresses you. Jesus said, “Take my yoke upon you… For my yoke is easy, and my burden light” (Matthew 11:29, 30).
A yoke is a harness intended for two for pulling a heavy load. Jesus himself can carry your burden right alongside you, lightening your baggage.
To follow Jesus is to learn from him, to be meek like him, to be humble of heart, and to obey his word (Matthew 11:29).
His word here is a continuing summons to go to him in our pain. Our RSVP to share the yoke of discipleship leads to a full life, without reservation of our trust in God. Mysteriously, we receive the gift of peace in our hearts, as we become truer disciples of Christ.
Jesus cannot lie to us. “The Lord supports all who are falling and raises up all who are bowed down” (Psalm 145:14).
“I will give you rest,” Jesus promises.
Relax with Jesus now. Give yourself to our supreme host.
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Welcoming the stranger among us
by Mary Hood Hart
Recently our neighborhood held a party in our community clubhouse. The invitation was extended by e-mail to all property owners in the community, and, because the party’s theme was appealing, my son and I decided to attend.
While we know most of the neighbors on our street, we haven’t attended any other community functions, so we don’t know many people in the greater community.
Attending the function was a last-minute decision, and I hadn’t had time to prepare well.
I had RSVP’d indicating I’d bring an appetizer to share, but, rather than make something myself, I picked up a container of Cajun Crab dip from the grocery store.
My son and I didn’t intend to stay long, and I didn’t want to worry about retrieving dishware at the end of the evening, so I plopped the dip in a plastic bowl, surrounded it with crackers on an ordinary paper plate, and my son and I took off.
We arrived about half an hour after the party was set to begin, and I was surprised by the large number of cars already in the clubhouse parking lot.
As soon as we saw the crowded lot, I began to have second thoughts. I am not gregarious by nature, nor is my son.
Large cocktail parties create some anxiety for me. I prefer smaller gatherings. In light of the substantial crowd, my plastic bowl of crab dip and paper plate of crackers seemed particularly meager.
Entering the clubhouse, we faced a room full of people, mingling and chatting happily. The food tables were covered with appetizers; most of them homemade and attractively served. There was already so much food, I couldn’t even find a place to set mine down. If I had found a place, it would have been overshadowed by far more appealing fare.
Holding my sad appetizer, I searched for a familiar face. I recognized a few people from our parish, but I caught no one’s eye.
After a couple of awkward minutes, my son and I looked at each other. We had the same thought — let’s go. No one had noticed us enter, and no one noticed us leave.
Reflecting on this uncomfortable experience, I acknowledge my own limitations that prevented me from enjoying the party. Had I been less intimidated by social events and more comfortable breaking into a circle of conversation, I could have mingled and felt right at home.
But feeling socially inept, I chose not to go outside my comfort zone, and I pursued the easier option — escape.
I blame no one for the fact that I felt uncomfortable. Because it was a neighborhood party at our clubhouse, there was no “official” host. Perhaps if my son and I had arrived earlier, we would have found the environment less intimidating because we could become acquainted with some early arrivals before a large crowd formed.
If I had gone to some neighborhood parties in the past, I’d have become better acquainted with my neighbors. No one at the party was unfriendly; they were simply enjoying themselves, unaware of my awkward timidity.
On reflection, I realized that my experience of discomfort at my neighborhood party may parallel what some people feel when they come to Mass.
Even if no one at the parish is unwelcoming, the visitor or newcomer may feel intimidated when encountering a large group of people who already seem comfortable with one another because of their established bonds.
Those who are naturally shy or who perceive themselves as socially inferior may find it intimidating to participate in parish life. Perhaps, like my meager appetizer, the gifts they bring to the parish seem less attractive or less valuable than the gifts others bring. Perhaps they slip in and out of church without even being noticed.
While an awkward experience at a cocktail party is, in the scheme of things, a tiny blip on my social radar, an awkward experience at church is a more serious matter.
As the people of God, we are called to be consciously welcoming to all who join us for worship.
My social awkwardness should prompt me to be more attuned to the many in my parish, visitor, newcomer, even long-time member, who may not feel fully engaged in our worshipping community.
While I hope I would never deliberately be unwelcoming, I realize there’s more to parish hospitality than that.
I must become sensitive to those who may, for whatever reason, see themselves on the fringe.
While at church or out and about in the community, I must reach out to them through eye contact, a friendly smile, a kind word, and, when circumstances allow, an invitation to become more fully engaged in parish life.
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The rainbow connection
by Barbara Hughes
When mourners emerged from the funeral Mass for Tim Russert, they were delighted by the presence of a magnificent rainbow in the sky over the Capitol building. Was it a coincidence or a sign from above?
Who’s to say? But the fact that “Over the Rainbow” was played just before the liturgy ended made it all the more spectacular. But isn’t that just like God? It wouldn’t be the first time that God drew smiles from aching hearts by reassuring those he loved that he was with them.
In the book of Genesis God said to Noah, “This is the sign that I am giving for all ages to come, of the covenant between me and you and every living creature. I will set my bow in the clouds as a sign of that covenant between me and the earth.” (Gen 9: 11b–13)
After the flood, God reassured Noah and his family of his everlasting love for creation. Given this, it’s not hard to imagine that our heavenly Father couldn’t resist placing a sign in the sky for a man whose love for his own father and son was an inspiration to so many.
There was something reassuring, even playful about the appearance of that rainbow. But it also reminded me of a 15-year-old boy who delighted in passing out rainbows. In fact, I don’t think I ever look at a rainbow without thinking of Scott.
Scott was born with cerebral palsy. When I met Scott, his health had begun to deteriorate and his life expectancy was measured in months rather than years.
At the time, I was working as a Hospice nurse and although my usual role was to comfort patients and their families, with Scott it always seemed to be the other way around. It was Scott who seemed to bring sunshine into everyone’s life.
I never left his home without Scott handing me a bookmark, a picture or a card with a rainbow pasted or drawn on it.
Often this took a great deal of effort but he was determined and Scott seemed to have an endless supply of rainbows. The first time Scott gave me a rainbow, he told me that rainbows were special signs of God’s love.
Later his mother told me that on the day the doctor told them that Scott’s lungs were compromised and that there wasn’t much more they could do for him, their family was feeling pretty low.
But all of a sudden, as they were driving home, a huge rainbow appeared in the sky. She told me that at that moment, a smile broke out on Scott’s face. His tears dried up and he seemed to be changed from the inside out.
From that day forward, Scott said he knew that God was with him and that he wanted to give a rainbow to every person he met.
During the months I visited, Scott never forgot to give me a rainbow. He had a stack by his bedside and when he was no longer able to hand one to me, his mother would do it for him. And each time it was as if it was the first time.
No one knows for sure exactly what Scott experienced the day God gave him a rainbow, but it turned out to be a life changing event for him.
Now some might call the appearance of a rainbow and Scott’s change of heart a coincidence; others may say it was a miracle. But what is a coincidence if not a miracle waiting to be discovered?
And the miracle is that God loves us. God is always with us and God never tires of showering us with love.
Given that, some might wonder why Tim Russert was called from this life so early when he was doing such good things. Those who knew Scott surely wrestled with the same question.
But that’s the thing about life, death and rainbows. They have a way of reminding us that the Kingdom of God is in our midst. They are a sign that heaven and earth are not really so far apart.
Heaven begins in this life. Tim’s Russert’s eyes reflected that reality when he talked about his father. You would have thought he was talking about the President of the United States and not about a man who worked for the city as a garbage collector. And although he was much younger Scott, like Tim, saw rainbows where most people see only rain.
And God said to Noah, “As the bow appears in the clouds, I will see it and recall the everlasting covenant that I have established between God and all living beings — all mortal creatures that are on earth.” (Gen. 9:16)
Ever since the great flood, rainbows have been reminding us that heaven and earth, God and every living thing are connected. It doesn’t really matter whether those rainbows are in the sky or in our hearts. Rainbows invite us to look at the world with the eyes of God.
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