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.

I can’t imagine being a nurse or doctor. Medicine is tough, from the hours, to the demanding situations, to the needy patients at all times of the day. I would imagine time alone for a few quick minutes could be a luxury! But all too quickly, the silence breaks and it is back to saving lives and tending to the sick.

This week we saw Jesus’ ministry in this same fashion. He is in high demand. As we follow His ministry in Mark’s Gospels, he continues to preach and heal. To this end, as he takes care of one person, he need simply turn around and see another in need. Again, and again. “Everyone is looking for you.” (MK 1: 37)

It might be more obvious to reflect on his healing ministry, but I wanted to focus today on prayer. Of course, Jesus was fully aware of the needy around Him. However, we witness the importance of prayer life to Jesus through today’s Gospel.

“Rising very early before dawn, he left and went off to a deserted place, where he prayed.” (MK 1:35)

Prayer was a priority Jesus made at the start of the day before anything else. Taking away distraction, Jesus sought to find a private place of prayer. He sought alone time, which is something too often many of us are without.

In this Gospel, Jesus models for us Stewardship of Time. Stewardship of Time is our opportunity to make time with God a priority. He also shares a model for a personal prayer life, drawing us closer to our relationship with God. It takes an intentional decision to place your relationship with God above all else, as Jesus has shown us.

Katie Price is the Stewardship Coordinator for the Cathedral. She can be reached at [email protected].

The books of the Bible each have their own innate beauty because each is the inspired word of God, but that is not to say that the individual reader may not have different preferences for one book over the other. This is usually the case with the four Gospels. For me, my favorite is the Gospel of Luke because it gives us one of the two infancy narratives (Matthew does also), it is full of parables and stories (as in Matthew also), and the Passion narrative is one where Jesus continues to minster throughout his own suffering as he makes his way to Calvary (rather different from Matthew). The Book of Job is another standout for me among the Scriptures.

We do not know who wrote the Book of Job, but it was likely written between the 7th and 5th centuries BC. The book centers on numerous tragic events that happen to Job, who himself is a good and holy man, and these events are the source of great suffering for him. The book contains varying discourses from Job, his neighbors, and finally from God. In the first reading for this Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, we hear of Job’s frustration, sorrow, and even anger at the events that have happened to him and the direction that his life has taken. Towards the end of the book, God speaks to Job in a wonderful, vivid discourse, reminding Job, and us, that God’s ways are far beyond us. At the end of the book, God makes all things right for Job, yet there is one thing in reading the Book of Job that you will find lacking: an answer to the question of why do bad things happen to good people.

This question is as old as time and if I had an answer for you I would be selling books and appearing on talk shows. We can delve into philosophy and theology to address this question and we can come up with some answers but they will not be definitive and many will not find them satisfactory. Fully grasping the problem of evil, especially concerning the innocent, is something that none of us will be able to fully this side of heaven. While we may not be able to answer the question, that does not mean that there is nothing to do in the face of suffering and evil.

This Sunday finds us continuing in the first chapter of Mark’s Gospel. Jesus is preaching and healing, the crowds are coming to him, and in the midst of it all he attempts to briefly get away. Our translation says that his disciples “pursued him” but the actual Greek is closer to “hunted him down.” The crowds were eager, desperate to get to Jesus because they recognized in him the ability to make things better: to cure, to forgive, to heal, and to console. Jesus leaves his solitude and goes back into the fray of the crowds who have been searching for him. The crowds knew that Jesus could make a difference. Do we believe the same when faced with suffering in our own lives?

When faced with suffering, we want it gone, we want nothing to do with it; that is a natural reaction. In dealing with suffering, when deciding where we turn to or where we go, is God one of those options, or, rather, shouldn’t God be our automatic “go to?” Jesus tells his disciples in this Sunday’s Gospel that preaching the Kingdom is why he has come and so he sets off. The coming of the Kingdom is about our liberation from the power of sin and the cares of the world. With this proclamation, the Lord also God’s desire for our good through his healing actions and his generous compassion.

The good news for us is that whenever we turn to God in the face of suffering, he is already turning towards us. God does not will our suffering and while God will not always address our suffering in the way we might want him to, he will always be present in it as he was to Job and as Jesus was to the crowds. The Psalmist this weekend reminds us that God “heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” You may not have an answer for why bad things happen in life, but in the midst of sorrow, pain, and loss, God will draw near to you, to love you and to console you. In the end, on the other side of heaven, he will make everything right as he did for Job. In the meantime, make sure that you are always seeking to draw near to him, whether in joy or in sorrow.

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.

As cited in the Catechism (No. 2043), the Precepts of the Church maintain that each person has the duty to support the material needs of the Church. Of course a person fulfills this obligation according to his abilities. The Code of Canon Law also states, “The Christian faithful are obliged to assist with the needs of the Church so that the Church has what is necessary for divine worship for apostolic works and works of charity end for the decent sustenance of ministers” (No. 222). However, the Church does not mandate a “tithe” as such of any percentage of income or other resource.

The word tithe comes from the Anglo-Saxon word teotha meaning “a tenth. ” The first mention of a tithe in the Bible occurs in G e n e s i s w h e n Melchizedek, a king and a “priest of God Most High,” offered a sacrifice of bread and wine in thanksgiving for Abraham’s victory over several enemy kings. As an o ff e r i n g t o God, A b r a h a m g a v e Melchizedek “a tenth of e v e r y t h i n g . ” (Co n f e r Genesis 14.) However, this tithe was not seen as i n i t i a t i n g some new practice, but rather as fulfilling an established custom. Apparently, one tenth of one’s bounty was customarily given to the priests in their service to God.

 The Torah laws prescribe the offering of tithes A person offered to God, or “tithed,” one-tenth of the harvest of grain of the fields or the produce of fruit of the trees, one-tenth of new pressed wine and oil, and every tends firstborn animal of herd or flock (Leviticus 23 30-33. Deuteronomy 12:17. 14:22-29). Such tithing recognized that God had graciously bestowed these blessings upon man, and man in return offered a thanksgiving sacrifice of one-tenth of the “first fruits.”

The Book of Numbers also records how God prescribed that the Levites, the priestly class of the Jewish people were entrusted with these tithes: “To the Levites I hereby assign al} tithes in Israel as their heritage in recompense for the service they perform in the meeting tent” (Number 18:21-24). Therefore, these tithes were contributions offered to the Lord and distributed to the Levites for their support.

Interestingly, the practice of tithing whether as a sacrifice in honor of God or as a tax in payment to a ruler was common among the ancient people of Greece, Rome, Lydia, Arabia, Babylon, and Persia. Some archaeologists suggest that the portion one-tenth constituted the tithe because the number ten was the basis for the numerical system and thereby signified totality. Since God governed totality, any blessing received from it was a gift of God, and an appropriate act of thanksgiving one-tenth-ought to be returned to God.

In the early history of our Church, the priests depended upon the generous support of congregations for their sustenance. This custom was based on the New Testament instruction: Jesus taught the apostles to depend upon charity when He sent them on mission “Provide yourselves with neither gold nor silver nor copper in your belts; no traveling beg. no change of shirt, no sandals no walking staff. The workman after all, is worth his keep. (Mt. 10 10). St. Paul also instructed the early Church community to provide for the needs of their priests “Do you not realize that those who work in the temple are supported by the temple and those who minister at the alter share the offerings of the altar? Likewise, the Lord Himself ordered that those who preach the gospel should live by the gospel” (I Cor inthians 9:13- Such support, of course, was spontaneous and within a person’s means.

However, as the Church grew, the Church enacted laws to insure such support, based on the precepts of the Old Testament. The first recorded legislation is found in a letter of the Bishops assembled at Tours, France m 567 and the canons of the Council of Macon in 585. The Church viewed tithes as in accord with divine law since they were instituted by God Himself. The practice of tithing fluctuated throughout Europe. After the Protestant Reformation and then especially the French Revolution, and the growing secularization of civil government, mandatory tithing fell into disuse.

In the United States, churches have relied on the voluntary contributions of the faithful. Prior to Independence, a different situation existed. During the early colonial period in those areas governed by France and Spain a mandatory “tithing” was sometimes imposed which supported the Catholic Church. In the same way, in the English colonies tax revenue was used to support the Church of England.

 Although we may not have a rule of tithing, we do have the duty to support the needs of the Church, whether at the international, diocesan or parish level. Each of us should evaluate what we do “give back to God” through our support of the Church and charitable organization. For example, we should ask, “Do I give to God each week at least what I spend on entertainment, such as movies? Do I give to God at least one hour’s worth of my 40 hour pay check?” St. Paul in his Second Letter to the Corinthians (8:1-7) praised the generosity of the faithful in Macedonia: “In the midst of severe trial their overflowing joy and deep poverty have produced an abundant generosity According to their means — indeed I can testify even beyond their means — and voluntarily, they begged us insistently for the favor of sharing in this service to members of the church. “Each of us should be more of a “tither” than a “tipper” in returning a portion of our bounty back to God.

Father William Saunders is pastor of Our Lady of Hope parish in Potomac Falls, Virginia. He is dean of the Notre Dame Graduate School of Christendom College. The above article is a “Straight Answers” column he wrote for the Arlington Catholic Herald. Father Saunders is the author of Straight Answers, a book based on 100 of his columns, and Straight Answers II.