“Give Us This Day, Our Daily Bread”

The following is the sixth of twelve monthly reflections about the phrases of the “Lord’s Prayer” and what they tell us about family life.

            The summer after my first year of college, I traveled to Denver, Colorado to participate in a summer of service at a homeless shelter there called Samaritan House.  During my first several days, we were still determining what my responsibilities would be when the chaplain made an important suggestion to me.  “Go and eat lunch with the residents.  Just eat with them, and listen to their stories.”  It turned out to be the source of my most memorable moments during my time there, and it gave me new perspective on people’s struggles, longings, and fears.  More significant than the bread we ate together was the true longing for daily bread these people experienced each day as they sought a better life.

Sometimes, I would be so overwhelmed with the weight of people’s lives and stories that I would have to go to the chapel right after lunch to process what I had heard.  I had prayed the Lord’s Prayer my whole life, always requesting my “daily bread” but not often pausing to consider what that was or what I was taking for granted.  I had too seldom pondered that my parents still faithfully married to each other, my house intact and in good working order, my next meal never a question, my freedom to worship God, and a host of other graced realities were gifts from God and not something that everyone had.  I soon came to realize that calling this daily bread really was not enough; rather, it was more like a daily buffet of choice and bountiful blessings.

            Of course, it sometimes takes encountering someone who lacks what we have or losing something ourselves before we understand just how much of our daily bread was provided.  We also get distracted at times about what our essential daily bread is.  Instead of closeness to God, peace in our homes, or deep and meaningful relationships, we may focus on things like our houses not always being spotless or our promotions and raises do not coming as readily as we had hoped.  We sometimes fail to take in the songbirds in the morning light or the gentle touch of a loving hand, the unbridled laughter of a child at play or the constant prayers from a loved one during a tying time.  These, among many other things, are the ways in which God showers us with manna from heaven.

            All this now prompts me to take a bit more time as I ask the Lord for my daily bread in prayer, knowing that God already knows all that I will need that day.  For a young man serving the homeless for the first time, my daily bread became the stories the people shared with me over lunch.  Whatever we find ourselves seeking from God, it is always essential to remember that it is bread for the journey to sustain us on our way toward the eternal feast of heaven.

"Thy Will Be Done, on Earth as it is in Heaven"

The following is the fifth of twelve monthly reflections about the phrases of the “Lord’s Prayer” and what they tell us about family life.

           

            One of the more famous stories of St. Francis of Assisi is his vision of Christ at the ruins of the San Damiano church.  The building, falling into disrepair, was hardly reflective of the reverence and attention due a sacred space.  While deep in prayer, Francis saw a vision of Jesus instructing him to “rebuild my church.”  At first, Francis took this literally to mean restoring the church on site, but over time, he realized that Jesus meant the broader, universal Church.  Francis, ready to submit fully to God’s will, did so and allowed this rebuilding to be accomplished through his life and witness.

            I once had the privileged opportunity to visit San Damiano and the rest of Assisi.  It was at a time in my life when I was very seriously discerning God’s will for me.  It was first a challenge to know God’s will since I, unlike Francis, did not have any visions of Christ with instructions!  Even if I managed to discover God’s will, I wondered if I would have the courage to follow it.

             This twofold challenge is part of every person’s life.  God’s will does not always come to us clearly, and once it becomes evident, we can find ourselves looking for different answers.  For instance, we celebrate now in the Easter season, when all of Jesus’ suffering, pain, and death make more sense in light of the Resurrection.  Yet it was not so long ago when we sat with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane as he wondered and prayed aloud to his Father if this was indeed the best way.  We watched in agony with Mary and the beloved disciple as Jesus breathed his last, and we felt the defeat, albeit temporary, of death as the remnant of Christ’s followers laid his body in a tomb.  God’s will felt very hard to follow in these moments.  We, too, each have our own Calvary where we question the wisdom of God’s will and our decision to follow it.

            To believe is to trust, and even when the answers to God’s will take more than three days to come if they come at all, we take on the humble perspective that God is in control.  It behooves us to relinquish our need to control or even oppose.  This was the mistake of Lucifer and the other fallen angels.  They championed their own power and authority over that of God, and the results of this were nothing short of disastrous.  Instead, we follow Christ, who humbly submitted to the point of humiliation and death but who then was raised up to eternal life and glory.

            What is getting in the way of discovering God’s will in our lives, relationships, and families?  I sometimes find I get myself so wrapped up in my daily responsibilities, to-do lists, and calendar appointments that I have not made time for prayer or contemplation.  Other days I am so ensnared in an emotional conflict with a loved one that I neglect to even seek God in the process.  Whatever the reasons, we would do well to set them aside and focus on finding God’s will.  Only then will our lives have the purpose we so desperately seek.

            Perhaps we have found God’s will but are having difficulty following it for a particular reason.  The sacrifice could seem too great or the consequences overly drastic.  It makes me wonder about the opportunities I have missed because of my delays in this regard.  One of the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit is courage, and it aids us in moments like these when the cost seems too high.  In reality, the cost of not following God’s will is much higher as we risk languishing without direction for years, a lifetime, or eternity.  God’s will is a gift that illuminates the way, and our cooperation, coupled with divine grace, produces results beyond our vision or understanding.

            I was able to spend an entire day in Assisi during my trip, and I prayed a daylong rosary at each of the city’s holy sites, including San Damiano.  My final decade was partway up a mountain, overlooking the city and the lush, green valley beyond.  It was up there that I realized not all of the answers would come that day, but I had enough to press on to tomorrow.  And if my brief hike up that path supplied such a fresh and peace-filled perspective, imagine what the view from heaven must provide.

“Thy Kingdom Come”

The following is the fourth of twelve monthly reflections about the phrases of the “Lord’s Prayer” and what they tell us about family life.

While my wife and I do not have teenagers yet, I lived through my own teenage years and witnessed those of three siblings.  It is a time marked with angst, potential, self-consciousness, change, and sometimes rebellion.  Perhaps readers will recall hearing some version of the phrase “You’re not the boss of me!” shouted by their teenage selves or by their children at some moment of familial discord.  There is a distinct discovery by teenagers (and sometimes their parents) that free will is not just a theological principle but also a life reality.  Once the rebellion against all authority has calmed a bit, children eventually develop to the point of choosing the manner in which they will live their lives.  And while making up our own personal rules for life has grown in popularity within our culture, the wisdom of our faith teaches us that submitting to the proper authority will bring us peace in our suffering, hope for our future, and life beyond our death.  As we pray the Lord’s prayer, the phrase “thy kingdom come” does beg the question, “Who is our King?”

            I sometimes wonder if, by the way we live our lives, that we do not really mean “my kingdom come.”  It is easy to become preoccupied with the square footage of our houses or property, our advancing careers and titles, the amount in our retirement funds, our social status among friends of what parties we attend or trips we have taken, our children’s status on the sports team, and whatever other temporal thing clamors for our attention.  I am not suggesting that any of these things is inherently evil, of course, but when we become preoccupied with them to the point of neglecting our faith and relationship with God, a reprioritization is in order.  If we find ourselves in this state of caring too much about earthly things in bringing about the kingdom, we are not alone.  The scriptures brim with instructive examples of people, the disciples included, thinking God’s kingdom is about one thing when it is almost completely otherwise.

The Lenten readings help us with some good examples.  Satan woefully miscalculates when he takes Jesus to see all the kingdoms of the world, promising allegiance of all if Jesus will simply worship him.  Christ refuses, knowing that worldly allegiances are temporary, especially when coerced.  He instead desires to respect our free will and calls us to himself through works of peace, justice, and charity.  Next, we have the telling dialogue between Pontius Pilate and Jesus in John 18.  Pilate, a representative and follower of worldly authority, questions Jesus about kingship, asking Christ, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  Jesus eventually tells him, “My kingdom does not belong to this world.  If my kingdom did belong to this world, my attendants [would] be fighting to keep me from being handed over…”  Jesus again corrects a false notion of authority and asserts that God’s Kingdom is different from all others.

There are additional examples, but the most telling is the crucifixion scene that hangs in our churches around the world.  Our King is not lifted up on a throne of precious metal but of rough wood.  His hands and head are not adorned with jewels and a crown of gold but with nails and a ring of thorns.  He receives not cries of praise and adulation but of mockery and curses.  He is not given a place of honor but one of shame among criminals.  Yet, despite all these examples of humiliation, our King accomplishes by his actions that which no other authority could: the salvation of the entire world.

As we meditate on God’s Kingdom this Lent, we put aside our worldly notions of power, grandeur, and authority.  Instead, we reflect on what it means to be Christian and follow Christ all the way to Calvary, knowing where that journey eventually leads.  From the world’s perspective, our Lenten practices of self-denial seem foolish.  What could we hope to accomplish through fervent prayer, willful fasting, and sacrificial almsgiving?  We ourselves sometimes do not even see the fruits of our efforts right away, but then again, we are simply following the lead of the Master. 

“Hallowed be Thy Name”

The following is the third of twelve monthly reflections about the phrases of the Lord’s Prayer and what they tell us about family life.

            Some of the most memorable moments of my life have been the birth of my children.  The scenes and emotions of those days are unlike any other I have experienced.  One particular aspect that stands out is the responsibility of naming the child.  It is the exclusive right of the parents present, and it was one of the times that I felt the weighty significance of how a mother and father uniquely impact a child’s life.  Part of this feeling could be because I was always juggling many possible names in my head!  Not only did my wife Stephanie and I elect to wait to find out if our children were girls or boys, my wife also insisted on seeing the babies first before deciding between a few of the final candidates.  This second factor made me a little more nervous the first time.  After all, I had no idea how pain, medicine, exhaustion, and exuberance might affect our decision in that moment.  Thankfully, things went pretty well, and none of our children ended up with the name Epidural.

             Sometimes names seem insignificant.  Who has not seen and recognized a person’s face but gone blank on his or her name?  Yet, arbitrary as they sometimes are, names are important in our faith.  We are called by name in baptism as we enter the Church for the first time, and there are numerous references in the scriptures to God calling people by name for a specific task.  Our own names being spoken easily elicits our attention.  Just think of how we hear our name being said across the din of a talkative gathering, or how our mothers used our first and middle names to great effect when our behavior was out of line.  We respond to the familiar sound of our names, so it is only natural for God and the Church to use them for sacred purposes.

God’s name above all is holy as this month’s phrase from the Lord’s Prayer reminds us.  Our Jewish ancestors so revered God’s name of Yahweh that they would not even say it and instead spoke other names for God.  In fact, since our human language fails ever to capture the full meaning of who God is, we attribute all sorts of descriptors and additional names to try to describe this infinite mystery.  While we as Catholic-Christians practice the speaking of God’s name a bit differently than our forebears in faith, it is important to remember that God’s name is still sacred and not to be tarnished in flippant speech or cursing.

            The name of Jesus is very important as well.  It literally means “God saves,” so Jesus’ mission was inherent even in his name.  Of course, Mary and Joseph had to submit humbly as they accepted the proclaimed name of Jesus, but when an angel of the Lord tells you what to name a child, it is probably prudent to listen.  We attribute all sorts of other names and titles to Jesus as well for the same reason as when describing God.  Our language fails to capture the entirety of who Christ is and what he came to do.  But it is particularly important for us to treat the name of Jesus with upmost reverence.  As St. Paul reminds the Philippians, “…at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, of those in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.”

            As we seek to honor God’s name in our families as well as the names of each other, may we remember the sacred purpose of names.  They identify who someone is, and by association, what that person has contributed to our lives.  It is right for us to name God, the saints, our loved ones, and even our enemies in prayer.  After all, God always responds to our pleas, and every name is sacred to the Creator who called each of us into being.

“Who Art in Heaven”

The following is the second of twelve monthly reflections about the phrases of the Lord’s Prayer and what they tell us about family life.

            Back in my junior year of high school, I was involved in a curious affair called the junior varsity track meet.  As you might imagine, while I was on the track team to stay in shape, I knew the Olympics were not in my future.  The JV meets were interesting because they often featured athletes filling in for events that were not their specialty.  It was enjoyable in some ways to try a new event without the pressure of needing to place first, and it certainly was entertaining to watch others attempt new things.  Of course, there are some events that can go quite poorly for the untrained novice.  I remember just such a day for my teammate, who I will call “Steve.”  There he was, dutifully pitching in where no one else would as our team’s lone entrant in the 110-meter high hurdles, emphasis on the high.  Steve began well enough, and though there was no threat of his winning the race, he cleared the first five hurdles without event.  But then, disaster struck on number six.  Steve caught his foot on the hurdle and could not regain his balance.  I can close my eyes and still remember him distinctly as he landed face-first on the track below.

            The groan of the crowd was audible, and no one was quite sure of what to do, except for Steve.  He got back up, brushed the rubber pieces from the track off his uniform, and ran towards the next hurdle.  The unfortunate thing was that, because of his first fall, he had little momentum, less track to regain speed, and depleted energy.  You might guess what happened next: another face plant.  At this point, the rest of the runners had finished, and no one would have begrudged Steve to exit the track as he had last place all wrapped up.  He would have none of it.  He ran at hurdles eight, nine, and ten, each time tripping and landing in some sort of painful heap on the track.  Bruised, bleeding, somewhat embarrassed, and a bit triumphant, he stumbled across the finish line to the crowd’s relieved applause.

            I tell this story not to only to dissuade anyone but the best jumpers to avoid the high hurdles, but also I want to consider this month’s phrase of the Lord’s Prayer as it relates to finish lines.  For after we invoke the Father, we describe him as being in heaven.  In many ways, heaven is our finish line.  We came from God in heaven, and it is our ultimate task in life to return to God in the heavenly realms of perfect bliss.  I will be the first to admit that I have often lost sight of this goal, choosing instead to focus solely on temporal matters and neglecting thoughts of my final hoped for destination.  It will not be news to anyone that we all get distracted from this purpose, and the stresses, strains, and needs of married and family life can sometimes exacerbate our lack of attention.

            However, in their best sense, our family relationships are meant to aid one another in reaching our final destination.  Our parents, spouses, children, siblings, and wider family can all be gifts from God in that we learn about God’s love and will for our eternal happiness when these people model it for us.  We also are charged with giving this same gift to others.  What adjustments might be helpful for us in our own relationships as we strive for this noble ideal?

            Much like Steve’s hurdles, we will encounter obstacles on our way.  No Christian life happens without some kind of suffering.  Yet we look to the redemptive suffering of Jesus as a source of hope for how God can transform our difficulties into moments of grace.  Like Steve, we must persevere to the finish line.  Our reward, of course, will be infinitely greater than his, for in heaven we are promised a place of rest, eternal happiness, and the fulfillment of our heart’s deepest desire.  May this promise motivate us to stay the course and reach the finish line.  May we, too, help our loved ones, especially those who are struggling in their lives for whatever reason.  It will truly be a moment of indescribable joy when we are there together at the finish line, saints among the saints.

“Our Father”

The following is the first of twelve monthly reflections about the phrases of the Lord’s Prayer and what they tell us about family life.

            What are the moments in life that bring us true joy?  I am referencing the type of joy that is unhindered by the suffering in our lives, something that we feel deep down inside of ourselves.  It gives us the truest sense of God’s grace in the here and now.  These moments of genuine joy might be seminal events such as graduations, weddings, or other sacramental occasions.  On the other hand, they might be seemingly insignificant moments, not likely to make the news, and yet, they are so personally meaningful that we swell with emotion and marvel in gratitude at God’s generosity.  For me, one such small moment is when I arrive home from work every day.  I open the door and am met with the faces of little boys who appear to be looking at their own personal superhero.  It never gets old to have them smiling from ear to ear, running to meet me, and joyfully exclaiming, “Daddy!”

            I feel badly that my wife does not get to experience this same jubilation as often since she is currently with the children most of the day.  When she is gone, however, the kids realize how chaotic things can get when Mommy is away and are really happy to see her when she returns!  As I reflected upon these little moments of joy, I thought about my prayer life, especially the Lord’s Prayer.  In it Jesus instructs us to call God our Father, and this kind of familiarity is a remarkable concept in how we communicate with God.  It dispels the notion of God being a far-off deity who is powerful yet somewhat impersonal.  Instead, we have a God who desires to be intimately close to us, as close as a parent would be to a child.  It is quite radical to think of an omnipotent God who is ready to embrace us as I embrace my young children running to me at the door after work.

            What does this mean for us as we journey through these days of Advent?  We find ourselves waiting for the Lord at Christmas and the end of time.  This delay can be challenging because it can cause us to doubt God’s desire to be close to us.  Still, we wait in hope as a young child looking out the picture window in expectation of a parent’s return.  Advent builds in anticipation from the liturgical readings to the lighting of additional candles that Lord is indeed coming.

God, too, waits for us at times during this season.  We can get caught up in the busyness of everything we attempt to accomplish, and the danger for us is that Advent is not a very prayerful time at all.  More generally, when we sometimes find ourselves mired in our own sinfulness, God waits longingly for our return and even seeks us out.  It is ultimately up to us, though, to accept reconciliation.  I imagine how hurt today I would be if, when I arrived home from work, no one was there to greet me or was excited to see me.  I suppose I should brace myself for when my children are teenagers!

When our relationship with the Father deteriorates to such a point, intervention is essential.  God certainly does not abandon us and waits with open arms to welcome us back.  We have a chance in these days to take part in the Sacrament of Penance, and this is a wonderful way to mend what is wounded in our relationship with God and others.  Though it can be difficult to make that step to come and admit our guilt, it is to our great benefit to take refuge in the Father’s merciful arms.  Once we do so, God holds us tightly in love once again.

May we have the courage this season to return to the Lord, to call God “Father” once more.  Jesus leads us in addressing God in such a manner.  If we find ourselves hesitating, it may help us to know the longing desire that God has for our return.  It will truly be a moment of joy for our Father when we come running and exclaim once again, “Daddy!

King of the Mountain

            In light of our early snow and frigid temperatures, my mind was a bit preoccupied when I sat to write this month’s reflection.  I decided to run with it and took myself back to a time when snow outside was pure joy to a young boy’s mind.  It did not mean icy roads or shoveling driveways or scraping windshields; rather, it was about potential school cancelation and an adventure land right there in my normally boring front yard.  On those days when the weather pattern and superintendent aligned, I would be outside with the neighborhood kids playing snow-themed games.  If the snow was particularly generous, we would have enough to make a pile of snow that would be quickly dubbed “The Mountain.”  My front yard then became the sight of a game of curious origin and implication, “King of the Mountain,” where we would establish being king by shoving everyone else off the mound into the snow below.  A king’s reign lasted only as long the defense of new attacks was successful.  As I think back and laugh about the folly of such a game, it does give me pause.  Am I still playing this game, albeit in other ways, in the motives of my life?

            As you may be aware, the Solemnity of Christ the King is coming up, and with it comes a time fit for reflection.  This feast day is not simply a pre-Advent warning for us, reminding us, like every store we visit, of how many days are left before Christmas.  No, this feast stands alone for good reason, and it gives us the chance to take stock of where Christ is in the hierarchy of our loves and priorities.  On this day, we proclaim Jesus as king of the entire universe, but it remains an open question as to if he is the king of our hearts, lives, and families.  Because of our free will and Christ’s unwillingness to control his subjects, it is still up to us to accept him as king and give proper homage to him.

            There is certainly a competing list of distractions from this laudable goal.  Who or what are the “kings” in our lives to which we give our time, attention, and resources?  Is it our achievement at work or the power and control we have over others?  What about our signs of social or economic status displayed for all, or at least our neighbors and friends, to see?  Could it be the frequency, quality, or weight of importance we give to our online and technological activities?  Perhaps the pursuits of pleasure, whether actual or distracted daydreaming, control us.  Maybe we even thrive in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction with our lives, never wanting to admit to the grace and blessings all around us.  There are many possibilities, but they all lead us to a need for radical reorientation.  It is precisely for our own good that we must make Christ the king of our hearts and homes, forsaking all other weaker and false idols.

            It is instructive, too, to notice the seemingly foreign characteristics of our proper king.  He is gentle and humble, not seeking to dominate others or gather up as much authority as he possibly can.  He leads by his example as a servant to all, especially to the least and most vulnerable among us.  He does not, like my boyish tactics during “King of the Mountain,” raise himself up by striking others down.  Instead, he is raised up in two very unique and significant ways.  First, he is lifted high on a cross, a symbol of torture and shame, complete with a sign mocking his kingly authority.  He does not allow people’s assumptions of this symbol and his method of death define his reign, though.  Transforming the visuals and meaning of this act, he makes it into something that has now become the scene of our salvation and that we revere every time we pray or come into our churches.  The second way he is raised is by his Father, three days following his death, from the darkness and silence of the tomb.  His status as “first-born of the dead” and the perpetual object of glory, honor, and worship is firmly complete.

            In conclusion, I hope that we take advantage of this upcoming solemnity.  It might mean we need to spend some time in personal reflection, having a family discussion, or a making a trip to confession.  Regardless of how we particularly need to prepare, the opportunity to do so is God’s gift to us.  May it indeed mark for us a reordering of our relationships and priorities so that Christ is the king and first-born of our hearts.