“Concerning obedience as a sign of authenticity, St. Theresa is eloquent: ‘Believe me, there is no better way of acquiring this treasure [of loving fire sent from heaven] than to dig and toil in order to get it from this mine of obedience. The more we dig, the more we shall find; and the more we submit to men, and have no other will than that of our superiors, the more completely we shall become masters of our wills and bring them into conformity with the will of God.'”— Fr. Thomas Dubay, p. 239
“I entrust myself to you because you do not disappoint; I do not understand, but even without understanding, I entrust myself to your hands.—Pope Francis
The plight of Susanna in today’s first reading from the Book of Daniel (13:1-62) is familiar to anyone who has been abused by someone with greater power, more authority, a high reputation in the community. The judges used their position to take advantage of someone with no power, no voice, seemingly no defense. In a similar way, the woman in our Gospel reading is brought before Jesus by those who are more interested in defending their authority than in treating her as a fellow human being. In each case, someone steps forward to defend the innocent, to raise up the oppressed, to speak for justice and righteousness. But we know all too well that this doesn’t always happen. Even in the Gospel, those who drifted away at Jesus’s challenge returned to kill him and so reject his law of compassion. And so we come to the pope’s words. Trusting God when we are suffering, when we are being treated unjustly, when we are abused goes against everything our human instincts tell us is right. We long for a Daniel to swoop in to vanquish the villains and save the day. We want a super hero. But the Gospel reminds us that what we have is in fact a savior, an advocate. But sometimes we have to wait for the plan to unfold fully.
Call to mind an experience of injustice from your own life or the life of someone you love. Recall your response to the situation, your anger, your hopes, your fears. Take all of those feelings and offer them to God. Let your heart struggle to feel the faith and the trust that all will be well.
Nicholas, familiarly known as “Little John,” was small in stature but big in the esteem of his fellow Jesuits.
Born at Oxford, this humble artisan saved the lives of many priests and laypersons in England during the penal times (1559-1829), when a series of statutes punished Catholics for the practice of their faith. Over a period of about 20 years, Nicholas used his skills to build secret hiding places for priests throughout the country.
His work, which he did completely by himself as both architect and builder, was so good that time and time again priests in hiding were undetected by raiding parties. Nicholas was a genius at finding and creating places of safety: subterranean passages, small spaces between walls, impenetrable recesses.
At one point he was even able to mastermind the escape of two Jesuits from the Tower of London. Whenever Nicholas set out to design such hiding places, he began by receiving the holy Eucharist, and he would turn to God in prayer throughout the long, dangerous construction process.
After many years at his unusual task, Nicholas entered the Society of Jesus and served as a lay brother, although—for very good reasons—his connection with the Jesuits was kept secret.
After a number of narrow escapes, he himself was finally caught in 1594. Despite protracted torture, Nicholas refused to disclose the names of other Catholics. After being released following the payment of a ransom, “Little John” went back to his work. He was arrested again in 1606. This time he was subjected to horrible tortures, suffering an agonizing death. The jailers tried suggesting that he had confessed and committed suicide, but his heroism and sufferings soon were widely known.
Nicholas Owen was canonized in 1970 as one of the 40 Martyrs of England and Wales.
Reflection
Nicholas was a clever builder and architect who used his skills to protect endangered priests. Without his help, hundreds of English Catholics would have been deprived of the sacraments. His gift for spotting unlikely places to hide priests was impressive, but more impressive was his habit of seeking support for his work in prayer and the Eucharist. If we follow his example, we may also discover surprising ways to put our skills to God’s service.
“We ought to speak, shout out against injustices, with confidence and without fear. We proclaim the principles of the Church, the reign of love, without forgetting that it is also a reign of justice.”— Blessed Miguel Pro
Humans are the only creatures who have knowledge of their own death. Its awareness creeps up on us as we get older. All other animals, plants, and the cycles of nature themselves seem to live out and surrender to the pattern of mortality. This places humans in a state of anxiety and insecurity from our early years. We know on some level that whatever this is that we are living will not last. This changes everything, probably more than we realize consciously.
So our little bit of consciousness makes us choose to be unconscious. It hurts too much to think about it. On this last Sunday before Palm Sunday, we dare to look at the “last enemy,” death. And the only way we can dare to part the curtain and view death is to be told about our resurrection from it! Yet, I assume we all know that Lazarus did eventually die. Maybe ten years later, maybe even twenty, but it did happen, we assume. What then is the point of this last dramatic “sign” before Jesus’ own journey toward death? An important clue is given right before the action, when the disciples try to discourage Jesus from going back to Judea where he is in danger. Jesus says calmly, “Are there not twelve hours in the day? When a person can walk without stumbling? When he sees the world bathed in light.”
Jesus refuses to fear darkness and death. Quickly he adds, “Our friend Lazarus is sleeping, I am going to wake him” (John 11:9–11). Those who draw upon the twelve hours, who see the world bathed in light now, have begun to see the pattern. As is often the case with wise people, they let “nature nurture them.” Yes, the other hours of darkness will come, a metaphor for death, but now we know that it will not last. It is only a part, but not the whole of life—just as the day itself is twelve hours and night is the other twelve, two sides of the one mystery of Life.
Jesus’ job is simply to “wake” us up to this, as he did Lazarus and the onlookers. We must now “see that the world is bathed in light” and allow others to enjoy the same seeing—through our lived life. The stone to be moved is always our fear of death, the finality of death, any blindness that keeps us from seeing that death is merely a part of the Larger Mystery called Life. It does not have the final word.
“Good God, the creator of light and darkness, You who move the sun and the stars, move us into the place of light, a light so large that it will absorb all the darkness”
St. Nicholas of Flue (1417-1487) was born in Switzerland, a devout child of pious parents. At the age of 21 he joined the army and fought in local battles. In his mid-twenties, at the advice of his parents, he married a similarly pious woman and had five sons and five daughters. He served the public by holding various civil offices, and was esteemed by all for his moral integrity.
After 25 years of marriage, upon discerning a special call from God, and with the consent of his wife, he went to live in a nearby valley as a hermit. He built a dwelling out of branches and left it only for daily Mass. He wore a tunic and kept his head and feet bare, spending his days in prayer and penance on behalf of the local people.
With permission from the parish priest he abstained totally from food and drink, without any negative effect on his health, which was confirmed by the Church as a miracle. He lived in this manner for 20 years and became known as a visionary and a prophet. Distinguished persons from all over Europe came to him for counsel. The civil authorities built him a cell and chapel and assigned him a chaplain.
The saint intervened as an arbiter when a civil war was imminent, resulting in the enduring union of the French and German-speaking parts of Switzerland. His hermitage became a place of pilgrimage after his death. St. Nicholas of Flue is the patron saint of Switzerland. His feast day is March 21st.
The 5th Sunday of Lent is historically known as “Passion Sunday” which ushers in the final two weeks of Lent, called “Passiontide.” Passiontide is characterized by a heightened celebration of Lent as Easter approaches, reaching its peak during Holy Week. During this period the faithful redouble their Lenten penances. It is also customary on this day to shroud all the sacred images in the churches with purple cloths, except the Stations of the Cross.
On Good Friday the crucifixes are unveiled, while the other sacred images are unveiled on the afternoon of Holy Saturday in preparation for the Easter Vigil. This imagery calls to mind how Christ hid his Divinity during his Passion and death, no longer performing miracles until his Resurrection from the dead. Likewise, the holy images are veiled in imitation of their Lord, their glory being unveiled with the joy of the celebration of Easter.
“When will the happy time come when the divine Mary will be established Mistress and Queen of all hearts, in order that she may subject them fully to the empire of her great and holy Jesus? When will souls breathe Mary as the body breathes air? When that time comes, wonderful things will happen in those lowly places where the Holy Ghost, finding His dear spouse, as it were, reproduced, in all souls, shall come in with abundance, and fill them to overflowing with His gifts, and particularly with the gift of wisdom, to work miracles of grace.”— St. Louis de Montfort, p.118-19
