The somewhat questionable consequences of smartphones, social media, and the many other technologies of their ilk have been well documented. A Psychology Today article, “How Technology is Changing the Way Children Think and Focus,” for example, had this to say about the societal effect of recent technologies: “Frequent exposure by so-called digital natives to technology is actually wiring their brain in ways very different than in previous generations.” Terms like “digital natives” and “wiring their brain” can sound vaguely ominous, maybe even apocalyptic. Of course, we could have said something similar about the baby boomers and the advent of their surrogate babysitters: television sets. And to be fair, such recent technologies also offer a lot of in the way of good for our world. Like most things in life, there are “pros” and “cons.”

If we survey the “cons,” the decrease in attention spans tends to be one of the biggest criticisms levied against the tide of technological progress. However, there is another burgeoning criticism that presents some grave implications. A recent article in The New York Times (“Stop Googling. Let’s Talk.”) explores a lesser-known drawback of recent technology: a diminished capacity for empathy. This is worth pausing over, since a society that loses its ability to empathize with others can quickly descend toward the inhumane. The article references a study conducted a few years ago by a team at the University of Michigan led by psychologist Sara Konrath. After reviewing 72 studies conducted over a 30-year period, they found that a “40 percent decline in empathy among college students, with most of the decline taking place after 2000.”

The author of the article, M.I.T. professor Sherry Turkle, goes on to affirm such findings, specifically among young children, by detailing her own experience of consulting with faculty at a private middle school.

“At a retreat, the dean described how a seventh grader had tried to exclude a classmate from a school social event. It’s an age-old problem, except that this time when the student was asked about her behavior, the dean reported that the girl didn’t have much to say: ‘She was almost robotic in her response. She said, “I don’t have feelings about this.” She couldn’t read the signals that the other student was hurt.’” The problem unfolds quite logically: if we can’t empathize with others, then we can’t as easily love them.

It’s worth mentioning that we can still will the good of others, and love them through acts of service even if we don’t “feel” for our neighbor, but it becomes harder to do so. (To be sure, there will always remain instances when we’re called to love without the feelings.) By cultivating a more empathetic worldview, we are making it easier to fulfill Christ’s command to heal the sick, set captives free, and spread the Gospel of life. There are times in the Gospel when we not only read about what Christ did to help others, but also about what he felt. Christ had “pity” on those suffering in his midst, which then moved him to loving action. The role that empathy plays is crucial, so any threat to our ability to “feel” for our suffering neighbor is worth taking seriously.

Many of us have been conditioned to rely on technology—be that our phones, laptops, or tablets—as a means of comfort, entertainment, information, and in the case of certain awkward social situations, escape. Honestly, when we’re eating dinner by ourselves in a restaurant, sitting on the bus alone, or waiting for a friend meeting us at a crowded venue, how many of us don’t rely on our phones to fill the empty space?

On certain days after work I head to a coffee shop to write. On those days I grab dinner somewhere quickly by myself. As I’m sitting alone at a table with a sandwich or salad in front of me, I feel the overwhelming compulsion to look at my phone. It feels strange not to be doing something and to just sit by myself, not listening to a podcast, talking on the phone, reading articles on my newsfeed, or doing anything else but eating.

Part of the reason it’s hard to sit alone is because it can be boring. I’ve conditioned myself to receive short rewards for looking at my phone. Each YouTube video, Facebook post, or email notification gives me something to chew on. I’m never bored because I have unmitigated access to something to entertain, inform, or engage me.But the less I’m able to sit in my own presence, the less I’m able to sit in another’s as well. As it turns out, being present to ourselves in the form of healthy solitude is similar to being present to our neighbor. If we can’t do one well, we can’t do the other well, either. Turkle unpacks this in her article:

“A VIRTUOUS circle links conversation to the capacity for selfreflection. When we are secure in ourselves, we are able to really hear what other people have to say. At the same time, conversation with other people, both in intimate settings and in larger social groups, leads us to become better at inner dialogue.”

There is tremendous irony in that often our gratuitous desire to connect with others, via social media for instance, can leave us more isolated. Our desire for connection is valid and worth honoring, but the best way to do this may be limiting time spent pursuing “digital connections” in order to create space for face-toface relationships.

There is something mysteriously sacramental about spending time with someone through in-person conversation devoid of expectation or distraction.

When we open ourselves up to relationships with others through our presence—and nothing else—we welcome a level of vulnerability, which can then lead to real and authentic connections. It’s hard to sit in the shared space with someone else and have ordinary, boring, and meandering conversation. There are awkward pauses, moments we don’t know what to say or how to respond, feelings of restlessness and impatience. This is often the case when we’re first getting to know someone, where we have to tread lightly across a plain of superficial and sometimes bland topics in order to set the groundwork to dig deeper. However, if we are talking to others while checking our phone, or thinking about checking our phone, then how can we ever get past that initial superficial level of getting to know someone, and therefore establish real, honest, and empathetic relationships?

Turkle mentions in her article that “the mere presence of a phone” in the periphery of two people in conversation influences what they talk about. With a phone present, two people will tend to only discuss things of which they are willing to endure interruption. It’s okay if the person across from me picks up their phone if I’m talking about a movie I saw or concert I attended over the weekend. However, I won’t risk talking about a struggling marriage, weakened faith, or deep yearning if I suspect that such vulnerability might be met with feigned nodding, eyes glued to a phone.

Not only does the undisciplined use of technology limit our ability to empathize and connect with another, but we ultimately miss out on experiencing God at a deeper level. For the more we enter the inner life of another—one created in the image and likeness of God—the more we come to know about the mystery of God. Charles Dickens wrote in his iconic A Tale of Two Cities that “every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other.” By keeping our attention on the latest tweet or email alert, we miss out on something of infinitely more beauty and mystery: the person in front of us.

Chris Hazell is the founder of The Call Collective, a blog exploring the intersection between faith, culture and creativity. He holds bachelors’ degrees in English and Economics from UCLA and currently works as a Lead Content Strategist for Point Loma Nazarene University.

 

Growing up, I remember what seemed to be a more common sight than today when watching sports on television. It was not at all uncommon to see someone in the stands holding a sign that read “John 3:16.” The words of John 3:16 are given to us for this Fourth Sunday of Lent, Laetare Sunday. John is recounting for us a conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus. Nicodemus is a Pharisee and a respected member of the Sanhedrin. Later in John’s Gospel, Nicodemus will caution the elders not to rush to a hasty judgement concerning Jesus and his ministry without attempting to understand his words and actions.

Before Jesus expresses to Nicodemus the words that we have come to know from John 3:16, he implicitly centers the conversation on the impending mystery of the Cross. Jesus refers to an event concerning Moses and the Israelites that is recounted in the Book of Numbers. The people grumbled against God, so God sent poisonous seraph serpents into their camp causing many to die. Moses interceded on behalf of the people and God, in response, commanded Moses to fashion a bronze serpent and to erect it on a pole and anyone who looked at it would be healed of the poison of the serpents. This lifting up of the bronze serpent prefigures the lifting up of Jesus on the Cross so that whoever looks upon Jesus in faith will be saved from the poison of the original serpent given through the bite of the sin.

This brings us to one of the most beloved phrases in all of the Scriptures:

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.

The concept of “the world” in the Gospels is many times equated with darkness and opposition to God, but we hear in this discourse from Jesus that, even though the world is covered in darkness and steeped in sin, God still loves the world. In the mystery of the Cross and Christ crucified we see God’s ultimate judgment on the world: not condemnation and wrath but love and mercy.

We must remember that this love and mercy are not irresistible. We must have hearts and lives that are open to receiving these gifts of God’s goodness. Jesus is the light that has come into the world and we must not be afraid to approach him.

The light that he gives exposes our sinfulness, but only so that we might confess it and choose his love and forgiveness as a remedy for it.

Sadly, there are many people who cannot bear the light, who are unwilling to acknowledge their own sinfulness and their need for a savior. They prefer to remain in the darkness with a false sense of fulfillment and happiness, neither of which can truly exist apart from a real and lasting relationship with God.

This Fourth Sunday of Lent is known as Laetare Sunday, a Latin command to rejoice! We are called to rejoice because our Lenten journey is now more than half over and the joy of Easter fast approaches. We are called to rejoice in the depth of God’s love for us which is fully revealed through the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Jesus which we will soon commemorate. As we continue our Lenten journey, let us be mindful of why we are fasting, praying, and giving alms.

All of these practices should be responses of a heart that is grateful to God for the mercy that he has shown to us and marks of a desire for continued conversion.

Let us look upon Christ crucified with eyes of faith and hearts open to his saving grace. As with Moses and the seraph staff of old, so now with our crucified Lord: look with faith and live.

Father Christopher House is the Rector-Pastor of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia, specifically Chancellor and Vicar Judicial.

We are enhancing the stewardship offerings for your convenience. First, we often hear that parishioners wouldn’t mind contributing online, but would prefer something to still have to place in the basket. To that end, we are creating stewardship cards that you will be able to download and print from home or for pick up in the office. Secondly, we are working with the envelope company to add a checkbox on that back of the envelope that reads, “Please note my offertory gift was made online.” You could use your envelope to place in the basket, it would just be left empty. We hope these options will enhance your giving opportunities and make you feel comfortable with any decision you make. Please reach out to Katie Price, Stewardship Coordinator, by calling the Parish Offices or emailing [email protected]

If you are interested in signing up for electronic giving for your Sunday Offertory gifts or would like to make a donation to the Cathedral, please go to: https://spicathedral.org/give-online/

The season of Lent is a special time for Catholics. In almost every sphere of life, those who take something seriously come up with a plan. Championship sports teams, flourishing businesses, triumphant political campaigns and successful individuals all teach us a powerful lesson: Those who get results are generally the ones with better strategies implemented with perseverance.

That’s true, too, of the spiritual life, which is too important to wing. So much of our happiness, in this world and in the next, depends on whether we have a plan, whether it’s adequate to form us in holiness, and whether we make and keep the commitment to follow that plan. Lent is a time for Catholics to get back to the basics and make resolutions to prioritize what is truly important. We need to ensure, however, that our resolutions are commensurate to the task.

Pope Benedict used to stress that Lent is not about making minor course corrections in our lives, but about experiencing a radical and total conversion. It’s a moral exodus in which we give up the easy superficiality in which we live and resolve to adopt faithfully, step by step, Christ’s own path. It’s meant to be a Passover from mediocrity to sanctity; from being a part-time disciple to inserting ourselves fully into Christ’s paschal mystery; dying to ourselves so that Christ can truly live within us.

Lent, in short, is meant to help us recalibrate our entire existence and propel us toward becoming the Christians that our faith calls us to be. Our resolutions ought to reflect this. Will giving up candy for 40 days really make us holy? What about filling up a rice bowl with loose change or adding three extra Hail Marys at the end of the day? Such resolutions are, I think, equivalent to a professional athlete’s thinking he can train for the upcoming season by lifting five-pound barbells and watching Richard Simmons’ videos!

Lent, rather, is the “acceptable time” to get radical and put out into the deep, to overcome the temptation to become spiritual sissies in the resolutions we make, because if we’re wimps in the annual “spiritual boot camp” of Lent, then it’s almost impossible for us to have the spiritual discipline to live by Christ’s high standards throughout the rest of the year.

On Feb. 1, Pauline Books & Media published a book I wrote entitled, Plan of Life, in which I tried to give an overview of the training for holiness to which St. John Paul II challenged the Church in his pastoral plan for the third Christian millennium. It’s an adaption of what future priests receive in seminaries, religious are given during novitiate, and members of the more recent movements and ecclesiastically-approved institutions for lay faithful gain through their ongoing formation. It tries to cover everything from getting up to going to bed and making the most of the time in between.

At the beginning of Lent, we can focus on the basic Christian plan, what Jesus emphasizes for us every Ash Wednesday in the Gospel: praying, fasting and giving alms. In these practices of prayer, self-discipline and self-giving, Jesus summons us to follow him by imitating his bold example of praying and fasting in the desert for 40 days and nights and in giving himself to others to the last drop of his blood. Just as the devil tempted Adam and Eve in the Garden and Jesus in the desert, so he seeks to tempt us to disorder our relationship with ourselves, others and God.

Fasting, almsgiving and prayer are the respective antidotes. The more we fast and prioritize spiritual nourishment over material food, the less vulnerable we will be to being tempted by bread and earthly pleasures. The more we sacrifice ourselves and our belongings for others’ good, the less prone we will be to giving in to the devil’s seductions to seek power or control over them. The more we pray to God and hunger to know and do his will, the less assailable we will be to the devil’s trap presumptuously to force God’s hand.

Pope Benedict used to stress that Lent is not about mak ing minor cour se corrections in our lives, but about experiencing a radical and total conversion. In addition to being a great remedy against the seductions of the Evil One, these three traditional practices are also a great means to help us reorder our relationship to God, our neighbor and appetites.

First, prayer. If God is truly first in our lives, we will want to commit to making the loving dialogue with God our foremost priority. Rather than squeezing him into our day when we have time, we resolve to center our whole lives on him. Some Lenten resolutions to do this would be to come to daily Mass, “stay awake” with him in Gethsemane through Eucharistic adoration or a daily Holy Hour, pray the Stations of the Cross on Fridays, or try to attend a Lenten mission or retreat.

Second, fasting. Many of us, though believers, live like materialists, laboring harder to stock our refrigerators than to nourish ourselves spiritually.

Fasting helps us to say No to the devil’s temptations to prioritize our stomachs over our souls. It allows us to subordinate our bodily desires and needs to those of the Spirit, to control our desires rather than let them control us. The fast I ordinarily recommend is threefold: to drink mainly water throughout Lent, give up condiments on food (salt, pepper, sugar, butter, ketchup, salad dressing), and forsake sweets and snacks between meals. That’s a type of fast that not only is healthy, but at the end of 40 days will fill you with the discipline that it takes to be a disciple!

Third, almsgiving. Our biggest spiritual cancer often flows from selfishness or egocentrism. That is why the Lord commands us to give alms; to look toward others’ needs, not just our own; to love others in deeds and not just wish them well; and to take responsibility for others’ welfare, for as often as we fail to do something for them, we fail to care for Christ (Matthew 25:45).

How charitable should we be? We should try to give more than our surplus time or resources, but extend ourselves like the widow with her mite, something that will conform us to Christ’s standard of loving generosity. We should also be deliberate about our charity, not just engaging in “random acts of kindness,” but having a concerted game plan of self-sacrifice, just as Jesus had one toward us from before the world’s foundation.

Like baseball players have spring training to get back to the basics after a winter off, so Lent is the time for Christians to get back to the building blocks of a life built on Christ.

Championships often depend on the work done to form the habits that lead to greatness. Catholics would similarly profit from using Lent to jump-start the plan to form the habits that lead to virtue and ultimately to the eternal “Hall of Fame.”

Father Roger J. Landry is a priest of the Diocese of Fall River, Massachusetts, who works for the Holy See’s Permanent Observer Mission to the United Nations in New York. Father Landry is the national chaplain of Catholic Voices USA. His homilies are posted each week at saintanthonynewbedford.com and he is the author of Plan of Life: Habits to Help You Grow Closer to God.

I’m not big on jewelry, but one thing you might notice about me is that I always wear a crucifix around my neck. It is not a cross, but a crucifix. There is a reason for that. In fact, I want to share three reasons why I wear a crucifix.

Reason #1 — Remembrance: To Remember What True Love Looks Like

The crucifix is different than the cross. The cross is the instrument of torture with which Jesus was murdered, a particular favorite of the Roman Empire. The cross is the altar on which the Son of Man offered himself as an eternal sacrifice for the forgiveness of our sins. The cross is the new tree of life. The cross is significant, but only because of the time Jesus spent hanging from it.

For some people the cross is scandalous. It is something they hold to be in the past. As a Catholic I believe that the sacrifice of Jesus on the cross is eternal, and made ever-present at every Mass held everyday in every country around the world. “But we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block for Jews and foolishness for Gentiles, but to those who are called, Jews and Greeks alike, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 1:23-24).

Don’t get me wrong. I know Jesus is not on the cross. He is not dead. He is risen. In fact: “A Catholic is one who believes that this Jesus remains alive, active, and accessible in and through His Church.” (Archbishop Timothy Cardinal Dolan)

Jesus on the cross is what matters. It is the ultimate act of God’s love for us. To gaze upon the crucifix, for me, is to look upon love in its most perfect expression. In the busyness of my daily life I need to be reminded of that, and reminded often. The crucifix around my neck serves as a reminder of God’s love for the world, but particularly God’s love for me.

Reason #2 — Inspiration: To Inspire Me to Take Up My Cross Daily

The crucifix might be thought of as a gruesome sight. However, for me it is inspiring. To see Jesus on the cross is a reminder of the challenge he made to his disciples—the challenge he makes to me. “If anyone wishes to come after me, he must deny himself take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23).

It’s not a suggestion or a good idea; it is the condition of discipleship. To be a disciple is to make your life about this challenge. And believe you me, it is a challenge. This is why I need to be inspired. This is why I like to contemplate the image of Christ crucified: not because I enjoy seeing him broken and bloody, but because I know those are the footsteps in which I must follow.

As a Christian I know I am called to be a martyr—a witness. Who I am in life and in death must bear witness to Christ. Whether that means I will literally lay down my life for him, I cannot be certain. But come what may, the challenge made to we disciples is just that: to accept the pain and suffering that can and will come our way because of our free decision to follow Jesus.

“Blessed are they who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 5:10). Seeing Jesus on the cross is an inspirational example that I am called to follow, and this is another reason for the crucifix around my neck.

Reason #3 — Accountability: So Others Will Hold Me Accountable as a Christian

The last reason I wear a crucifix is for accountability. It is not jewelry. It is not meant to be flashy. But I do want others to see it. It’s not because I want them to think I am super holy. (Although I should be striving for holiness; after all, that is the call we share as Christians.) I wear a crucifix so that others may know that I am a Christian and hold me accountable to that claim. For it is one thing to tell people you are a Christian and another to show them that you are. I want to be treated differently because of my faith. I want people to know that I live my life differently than most. When they know this, they will expect me to. And if I don’t, then I need to be called out for it.

Accountability is important. Fraternal correction is essential. We shouldn’t be able to parade around claiming to be new creations in Christ, but living lives that don’t follow suit. And the crucifix I wear is the perfect symbol of my faith that tells all those who encounter me that I am a Christian and take my faith seriously.

I can’t wear the crucifix and then deny my faith. It would cause scandal. People would notice. So it is the perfect way to invite others to challenge me to live my faith.

There may be other methods of achieving each of these three things shared here, but for me the crucifix is the best. If you wear a crucifix but don’t know why, then I hope these reflections have served to help you understand this practice on a deeper level. If you aren’t Catholic and always wondered why the crucifix is held in such high esteem among Catholics, then hopefully this explains it.

May the sacrifice of Christ on the cross bring the power of God’s love and mercy into each of our lives, that we may “proclaim Christ crucified” (1 Corinthians 1:23) and “make disciples of all nations” (Matthew 28:19).

A convert to Catholicism, Ricky Jones came into the Church in 2008 and has served as a catechist and parish leader. He blogs about faith at LeadersThatFollow.com. He is the author of Seven Lessons in Leading People to Life Change, a practical guide for living your faith, leading people into relationship with God, and building up the Church.

Almsgiving is more than just allocating surplus funds to a charitable organization or cause. More is expected of us than that! Think of almsgiving as acts of generosity that enable the performance of the corporal and spiritual works of mercy. It is through the corporal and spiritual works of mercy that we show ourselves to be faithful, rather than accidental, disciples.

Ours is an age of scandals, and one of the great scandals that has become a stumbling block to so many in terms of the faith is that too many of the faithful have come to believe that the performance of the works of mercy is a matter of delegation. We make the works of mercy works for hire and exempt ourselves from having to actually do them ourselves. Not so! The works of mercy cannot be delegated. We each have to do them, and it is through our participation in the works of mercy that almsgiving is fulfilled.

Almsgiving places a demand on us to receive Christ as he presents himself to us in his poor.

Almsgiving places a demand on us to receive Christ as he presents himself to us in his poor. This can be an off-putting experience because Christ arrives in his poor on his own terms. Our place, once he makes his presence known, is not to control, but to serve. And as in his poor Christ takes the lowest place, we are compelled to take our place beneath him as servants of the One who makes himself a slave. The performance of such service often resists offering to us the kinds of consolations that we might expect from our service to the Lord, but it is precisely in this that our service becomes efficacious. We learn from this experience how to imitate Christ’s generosity, who gave to us fully knowing that what he gave was undeserved, could not be reciprocated, and would be unappreciated by many. It is in imitation of Christ’s service and acceptance of his conditions that our own service is perfected.

Almsgiving is also a reminder of our own mortality, inasmuch as all worldly goods will be surrendered at the moment of death. Rather than building ever greater storehouses for our possessions, we give what we have away. That we do so incrementally prepares us for the surrender of all worldly goods that will ultimately come.

Prayer. Fasting. Almsgiving. None of these are ends in themselves. Instead, each is a way, a way that is opening us up to the Church’s spiritual passage into the great mysteries of Holy Week:

“Remember, thou art dust And shall to dust return: Then place not in the world thy trust, Its delusions spurn; Prepare thee for the mighty change Impending over all; Give to thy thoughts a loftier range And heed Heaven’s call.”

(J. Beste, nineteenth century)

This is an excerpt from an article titled, “How to Get Ready for Lent” by Fr. Steve Grunow, CEO of Word on Fire Catholic Ministries. The article can be found at the Word on Fire Blog, wordonfire.org.

The first reading from the Book of Genesis and the passage from the Gospel of Mark that are both given to us for this First Sunday of Lent may appear to have no relationship to each other but that is not the case. As we begin this holy season, one of the themes that is presented to us is the call for the renewal of baptismal grace in each one of us. Immediately in the first reading we are given an allusion to something great that is to come: baptism.

The story of Noah and the Flood may not seem to be an image that moves us to think of baptism but what did the flood do? The flood washed away the evil that had ruined the world and, following the flood, God chose to renew his creation and bring new life back to the earth. In baptism, God chooses to do the same with us. Through those saving waters, the reign of sin is broken within each of us and we are incorporated into the mystical body of Christ. Just as God made a covenant with Noah following the flood, he also makes a personal covenant with us through baptism.

God chose to renew his creation and bring new life back to the earth. In baptism, God chooses to do the same with us.

What we don’t hear in this Sunday’s Gospel is what happens just before Jesus’s departure for the desert. Immediately preceding this episode is Mark’s account of Jesus’s baptism by John in the Jordan River. At that moment, the voice of the Father is heard acknowledging Jesus for who he is: the Son of God. The same is true for all the baptized. While it does not happen in the same dramatic fashion, God no less claims each of us as his child through baptism. It is in this saving act that we are made heirs of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Immediately following Jesus’s baptism, Mark tells us that Jesus is driven into the desert and, surrounded by wild beasts, he is tempted by Satan. Some Scripture commentators claim that the use of the word “tempted” is not a good translation. In Matthew and Luke, Jesus is clearly tempted by Satan in the desert through pleasure, honor, and power. Mark’s Gospel presents this time in the desert more as a time of testing, where Jesus is isolated and opposed by evil and the powers of the world. At times, we may find the same to be true for us. If we choose to cooperate with the grace given to us through baptism, we will find ourselves naturally in opposition to the powers of the world. At times, we may feel as though we are alone and left in desolation, like Job whom we heard about two Sundays ago. However, Mark also tells us that angels came to minister to Jesus.

As with Jesus, so it is with us, the covenant that God has made with us is never broken by him. We are never forsaken or abandoned, even in moments that seem to be the most trying for us.

During this Lenten season, the Church invites us to seek the grace of God to renew the baptism that each of us has received. Let us make the most of this sacred time so that we may always remember who we are and whose we are: heirs to the Kingdom of Heaven and sons and daughters of God. We may be tested at times, but we are never forgotten or left alone.

Father Christopher House is the Rector-Pastor of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia.

Bishop David L. Ricken of Green Bay, Wisconsin, former chairman of the Committee on Evangelization and Catechesi s of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB), offers “10 Things to Remember for Lent”:

Remember the formula. The Church does a good job capturing certain truths with easy-toremember lists and formulas: 10 Commandments, 7 sacraments, 3 persons in the Trinity. For Lent, the Church gives us almost a slogan—Prayer, Fasting and Almsgiving—as the three things we need to work on during the season.

It’s a time of prayer. Lent is essentially an act of prayer spread out over 40 days. As we pray, we go on a journey, one that hopefully brings us closer to Christ and leaves us changed by the encounter with him.

It’s a time to fast. With the fasts of Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, meatless Fridays, and our personal disciplines interspersed, Lent is the only time many Catholics these days actually fast. And maybe that’s why it gets all the attention. “What are you giving up for Lent? Hotdogs? Beer? Jelly beans?” It’s almost a game for some of us, but fasting is actually a form of penance, which helps us turn away from sin and toward Christ.

It’s a time to work on discipline. The 40 days of Lent are also a good, set time to work on personal discipline in general. Instead of giving something up, it can be doing something positive. “I’m going to exercise more. I’m going to pray more. I’m going to be nicer to my family, friends and coworkers.”

It’s about dying to yourself. The more serious side of Lenten discipline is that it’s about more than self-control – it’s about finding aspects of yourself that are less than Christ-like and letting them die. The suffering and death of Christ are foremost on our minds during Lent, and we join in these mysteries by suffering, dying with Christ and being resurrected in a purified form.

Don’t do too much. It’s tempting to make Lent some ambitious period of personal reinvention, but it’s best to keep it simple and focused. There’s a reason the Church works on these mysteries year after year. We spend our entire lives growing closer to God. Don’t try to cram it all in one Lent. That’s a recipe for failure.

Lent reminds us of our weakness. Of course, even when we set simple goals for ourselves during Lent, we still have trouble keeping them. When we fast, we realize we’re all just one meal away from hunger. In both cases, Lent shows us our weakness.

This can be painful, but recognizing how helpless we are makes us seek God’s help with renewed urgency and sincerity.

Be patient with yourself. When we’re confronted with our own weakness during Lent, the temptation is to get angry and frustrated. “What a bad person I am!” But that’s the wrong lesson. God is calling us to be patient and to see ourselves as he does, with unconditional love.

Reach out in charity. As we experience weakness and suffering during Lent, we should be renewed in our compassion for those who are hungry, suffering or otherwise in need. The third part of the Lenten formula is almsgiving. It’s about more than throwing a few extra dollars in the collection plate; it’s about reaching out to others and helping them without question as a way of sharing the experience of God’s unconditional love.

Learn to love like Christ. Giving of ourselves in the midst of our suffering and self-denial brings us closer to loving like Christ, who suffered and poured himself out unconditionally on cross for all of us. Lent is a journey through the desert to the foot of the cross on Good Friday, as we seek him out, ask his help, join in his suffering, and learn to love like him.

We do not hear about lepers today. Generally, when the word is used, it is used more as a figure of speech to describe someone who has become an outsider for one reason or another. The term leprosy was a wide-ranging term for any visible skin ailment in ancient times. One form of leprosy in Biblical times was known as nodule leprosy. It would discolor the skin and skin nodules would form in the folds of the face, on the nose, lips, and forehead, ultimately disfiguring the person who was afflicted with it. The disease would also cause ulcers on the body and vocal chords, and eventually even affect the person’s mental state. Another form of leprosy was known as anaesthetic leprosy. This form of the disease would attack a person’s nerves, especially in their hands and feet, eventually causing them to lose fingers, toes, and whole limbs. Finally, any type of skin disease was considered leprosy including psoriasis.

Besides the intense physical suffering that this disease inflicted on its victims, there was also the pain of the social stigma that came with it. People long ago did not understand the nature of disease, how they were contracted, or how they occurred. Disease and illness were seen as punishments from God for sins that a person had committed. For this reason, and also for the contagious aspect of diseases, those who were found to be sick with leprosy were cast out of society. The first reading this Sunday from the Book of Leviticus tells us what was expected of those poor souls who found themselves afflicted. The unjust social stigma and shame that they faced, through no fault of their own, only compounded the suffering that they were already experiencing in their bodies. Leprosy was essentially an undeserved excommunication for which there was no real remedy. Only those who had a passing affliction, which would not have been true leprosy, were able to find themselves “clean” and able to rejoin the community.

This Sunday, Mark’s Gospel recounts the scene where our Lord Jesus is approached by a leper. The encounter was unthinkable as this man, because of his condition, was forbidden to be around others, let alone approach someone. He asks Jesus to heal him, if Jesus wills to do so, and Jesus does. The Gospel tells us that Jesus was moved with pity. Other translations say that he was filled with compassion; however, some scholars say that both of these are wrong, that the proper translation was that he was filled with anger. Anger?

Jesus’s anger would not have been with the man, but rather with the social injustice that further victimized the man, causing him to qualify his request to be healed with “if you wish.” Of course, Jesus wanted to heal the man, to “make him clean,” to bring him from the outside back into the community.

Are we willing to do the same for the “lepers” among us?

We know all too well of societal sins: racism, sexism, and other forms of discrimination. As Christians, it should be second nature for us to be angered by the injustices around us and for us to seek to end them, to bring those on the outside in. Sadly, these sins find their way into the Church’s members as well and there is no room for these attitudes and behaviors whatsoever. There are also “lepers” around us whom we do not recognize; those who carry shame and guilt for reasons unknown to us. For them we must always be ready to be sources of the mercy and compassion of God.

Why does Jesus tell people that he has cured, such as the man in this Sunday’s Gospel, not to tell anyone? He does this because he knows that there is going to be pushback from the powers of the world who do not want to hear and heed his message or to accept the change that Jesus seeks to bring. Jesus knows that this pushback is inevitable, but he wants to be able to preach and minister as freely as possible in the time that he has, which is limited. If we would follow the Lord’s example and seek to bring in those who have been cast out, we too can expect pushback from the powers of the world. These powers do not accept the Gospel today any more than they did 2,000 years ago. So, do what is right and holy and let the world pushback. Seek those who have been pushed out, those who are the modern “lepers.” The world will not like it, but the world’s opinion is ultimately worthless. Remember, we who bear the name “Christian” do not belong to the world.

Father Christopher House is the Rector-Pastor of the Cathedral and serves in various leadership roles within the diocesan curia.

We’ve probably all received an unexpected gift or act of love. Perhaps this past Christmas someone we didn’t know very well— and from whom we didn’t expect anything—brought us a gift or wrote us a nice card. Since we didn’t expect it, we may feel uniquely loved and valued. We’re touched by the act, possibly more so than gifts by our loved ones, which we expect on some level. The urge breaches to do something nice for that person, to offer them something tangible as well—to remit payment for the free, unexpected act of kindness. Since they did something nice for me, surely I must do something similar in return.

There is obviously nothing wrong with showing affection or love to another who has first shown it to us, and in fact, that’s what we are called to do with God who first loved us. However, there can be the subtle temptation to believe that if we don’t respond in kind, if we remain only the receiver of love, then we’ll lose out on this person’s love—and potential gifting—in the future; if I don’t gift them in return, then they’ll love me a little less, or perhaps not at all. It’s a natural and reasonable feeling because we live in a world ordered by justice. And with other people, that is usually true. If we don’t respond to their love with love, we can lose it.

It’s a great challenge not to let this paradigm of justice sour our relationship with God. We can fall prey to judging the measure of God’s love for us based on our actions or behavior. Now, to be clear, our relationship with God is dependent in some sense on our behavior—clearly a life of grace looks different than a life of sin. We must respond to his love with love, otherwise it’s a oneway relationship, which isn’t a relationship at all. We choose to receive God’s love—and receive it to an infinite number of degrees—or reject it altogether. In this case, any lack of union with God is our fault, as God doesn’t love us any more or less depending on the state of our souls:

“But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your heavenly Father, for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good, and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust.” – Mt. 5:44-45

With our intellect we may believe God loves us unconditionally, but it’s hard to believe it with our hearts. It’s easier instead to believe that if we do good, God will reward us with good, and if bad, then God will punish us with bad. This can bleed into our relationships with others. If others do good to us, then we can rightfully love them, but if not, then they don’t deserve our love. In short order, this can snatch the joy and freedom of living in God’s friendship. If we’re perpetually nervous that God’s favor with us might slip, then we become overly critical of ourselves, doubtful of God’s mercy, and unable to image God’s love to our neighbor. For if we worship a God—even unintentionally or implicitly—who loves us based on our actions or good deeds only, then we have no hope of loving others without condition.

One of the most beloved parables in the Gospel is that of the Prodigal Son. When I initially came back to the faith, I empathized strongly with the younger son (something to be expected by those of us who have strayed from God before being embraced again by his mercy). I was also quick to dismiss the elder son as pharisaical—a blind, arrogant, jealous, and judgmental man without a heart of flesh. And while the elder son doesn’t respond to the celebratory feast with love and joy, there is something understandable about his response. As I matured in my faith I was able to see the elder son in a more empathetic gaze. He is simply living within the confines of the natural world— one built on the pillars of justice and fairness. Day after day, he weathered the sun and rain to work for his father out in the field. He has been patient, obedient, dutiful, and virtuous. And so when he finds out that his prodigal brother is back, and his father has killed the fattened calf, he is understandably upset.

“He said to his father in reply, ‘Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.’” – Lk. 15:29-30

While his response is reasonable, it only is through the eyes of the world—one bereft of radical mercy. I see his bitterness stemming not so much from a blatant maliciousness—a stony hatred that opposes his brother’s salvation—but rather from being hurt. Perhaps he is deeply hurt because he assumes that if his father never slayed even a goat for him, despite his good and obedient behavior, then his father must love him less. And if we too believe God loves us less than others because of what befalls us in this life or the blessings that others receive, then we can become angry and bitter—a deep wound can fester unchecked.

Henri Nouwen echoes this same thought in his insightful and touching The Return of the Prodigal Son:

“When I listen carefully to the words with which the elder son attacks his father—self-righteous, self-pitying, jealous words—I hear a deeper complaint. It is a complaint that comes from the heart that feels it never received what it was due.”

If we live in this space, we aren’t able to understand the reality of a God who is merciful, a Father who bestows love on us—and others—without our deserving it. The elder brother sees through the eyes of the world, and in his account, he is right: the younger son deserves punishment, justice. However, God responds with a radical mercy that can only be understood in the light of grace. It’s the kind of mercy that the world itself doesn’t understand.

On May 13, 1981, Mehmet Ali Agca, a man who had escaped from a Turkish prison, shot Pope John Paul II four times in St. Peter’s Square. Two years later, in 1983, the Pope would image the Vicar of Christ in a profound, concrete way. He visited his would-be assassin—the man who willed his death and caused him much physical pain and suffering—and befriended him. And in 2000, the Pope requested that the man be pardoned. Here was a man who knew that the Father loves all men unconditionally—even the “unjust.” This was a man who understood what it meant to look into the heart of every single person and love them freely, not expecting anything in return, no matter the cost.

If we don’t see God’s love as truly unconditional—that God does really love us more than we love ourselves, no matter what evil we’ve done—then we are empty vessels without the capacity to share his love with others. In this state, the good we do is coerced in some way, done to appease a peevish father or to ensure a life of continued blessedness.

“Yet there can never be happiness in compulsion. It is not enough for love to be shared: it must be shared freely.” – Thomas Merton, “No Man Is An Island”

Love can only be shared freely if we believe it has been given to us freely in the first place. We never do find out what the elder son does, and I think for good reason. As we stand outside, the sun burrowing beneath the hills, and God pleads with us to join the celebration inside, what will our response be? Will we refuse to share our love with those who seemingly don’t deserve it? Or will we walk back with God into a room filled with laughter, mirth, and music, with hearts ready to share God’s mercy with all?

Chris Hazell is the founder of The Call Collective, a blog exploring the intersection between faith, culture and creativity. This article was written for the Word on Fire Blog, printed with permission.