Reasons to Rejoice

Last week after one of the Masses, a parishioner of ours was speaking to me about her husband who, because of health issues, is no longer able to live at home. In the course of our conversation, she grabbed my hand and said, “Father, please pray for his roommate. We really don’t know him, but he has a lot of medical issues and really needs prayers.” The words rolled off her tongue with such naturality and ease, as if they were the most normal thing in the world to say. I was deeply moved. Here, while she and her own family were undergoing their own suffering, there was room in her heart for the suffering of another. She didn’t ask for prayers for anything specific for the roommate. She simply asked me to pray for him. She trusts that prayer will—somehow in the Mysterious Providence of God—help him. From where does such serene confidence arise? It arises from a long life of Faith which is firstly a gift bestowed by God Himself. Nurtured by her parents, nourished by a Sacramental life, and exercised through prayer and a life of charity, the Faith is not something layered upon top of her regular life. For her, Faith has infused every aspect of her life so that nothing is left untouched by it. It was evident in that encounter that I was witnessing a Faith that is simple. By “simple,” I mean, “pure,” like the way a father or mother looks upon their infant with a love that is simple, without condition, without caveats. I mean that at the very core of the heart is a simple, unshakable confidence in God. The mustard seed has almost contradictory qualities. It is prolific and bursting with newness. At the same time, planted in the solitude of the earth, it is hidden, quiet, and unnoticed. Its humble size indicates a certain fragility, and yet it is resilient, potent, and unyielding. Sometimes in the life of the Church (and in our own spiritual lives), I think, we are overly concerned about what is above the ground—what is visible, verifiable, and capable of calculation at this very second. We want to produce a mustard tree, but without reference to the mustard seed. We want quick solutions to our temporary problems, but not something that is long-lasting, durable, and which provides a stable and enduring shelter. The Kingdom of Heaven, however, is not a quick-fix solution to our problems. It is not something meant simply to make us feel better. It is something so much more than that. It is something sublime and humble, something pure and hardy. It is something trustworthy that grows steadily and relentlessly. It becomes a place where others can come to dwell and find safety and refuge. Last week while I spoke to that woman, I knew I was standing before a mustard tree, someone who brings into the world something beautiful, true, and good. But none of us can make ourselves into that tree. It is a fool’s errand to try. It all begins and is sustained by what was planted by Another. Christ is the seed that was planted into the ground and who—by His Resurrection—has burst forth a new life into the world. The Church and each of its members is invited to exercise a serene confidence in Christ. In doing so, we become—like the woman I mentioned above—a place for others to find shelter and their own serene confidence in Christ. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes

This past Tuesday the Gospel of the day was one we heard recently on a Sunday. In part, it read, “At the sight of the crowds, his heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd” (Mt 9:36). It is true that on that day, Jesus saw the crowds who were in that particular place and His Heart was moved for them. But, it is also true that on that day, Jesus saw the crowds of all places and times. He saw me on that day. He saw you. And, His Heart was moved. The human heart desires to be seen and to be known. At the same time, we are fearful of being thoroughly known. In fact, we even attempt to hide ourselves even from our very selves! There are things we would rather not look at, acknowledge, or provide any attention. Left, however, unattended, these weeds tend to strangle life within us. Think of the person whose life is given over to some particular vice, whether it be to gambling, online shopping, pornography, a substance like drugs or alcohol, or intemperance in food. The risks increase, the debts grow, and the self-loathing and anxieties increase. To alleviate the anxiety, the person repeats the behavior that, in turn, only increases the risks, the debts, the self-loathing, and the anxieties. It becomes a vicious cycle. We can say something similar about other vices. How many people are filled with anger, resentments, and bitterness against others even while they acknowledge that these things are poisoning themselves? Instead of dealing with these things, they deprive themselves of interior peace in order to stoke the interior fires of bitterness. There are many things in each of us that we would rather not acknowledge. This is what frightens us a bit, I think, about opening ourselves up to the Lord. There is something about his penetrating gaze that frightens us because we know that He sees it all. He saw the crowds that day. He didn’t see them in a cursory manner. He saw them. He saw them, truly. He saw us. He sees us. He sees it all. He knows us better than we know ourselves. He knows us simply. He sees our virtues and our vices. He sees our hopes and disappointments. He sees our successes and our failures. He sees our joys and our sorrows. He sees our sins. He sees those aspects of ourselves that we would like to hide. And so, like Adam and Eve, after the Fall, we tend to want to hide from the Lord. But, his gaze falls upon us. This would, in fact, be utterly terrifying, except that St. Matthew tells us that “At the sight of the crowds”– at the sight of us–“His heart was moved with pity for them.” This, in a sense, is the shockingly good news of the Gospel. There is One who knows everything about us, and this penetrating gaze does not stir him towards repulsion, resignation, or abandonment. Instead, His Heart is moved with pity. He wants to shepherd the sheep who are troubled and who have no one to care for them. His gaze is not one of disdain or indifference. His gaze is one of mercy. When we visit the Lord in the Eucharist, we encounter that gaze upon us in a particularly penetrating way. From the tabernacle, Jesus looks upon us whole and entire. Nothing escapes His notice. Yet, to our amazement, nothing also escapes His love. Most days, both the upstairs church and the lower church are open for prayer during large parts of the day. There is a deeply Catholic custom of, “paying a visit.” It simply means to stop by and be with the Lord for a few moments. It doesn’t have to be long. I encourage you to consider cultivating a habit of “paying a visit” now and again, either to our church or to another. Just come in and remember that Jesus is looking at you. He is seeing you completely and totally. Nothing is hidden from His eyes. What He sees moves Him. You are looking at Him and He is looking at you. And, He loves you. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes

The other evening I was sitting out on the front porch of the rectory and Lich, our seminarian from Vietnam joined me. Out of the blue, he asked me, “Do you look at the moon?” I wasn’t exactly certain what he was asking and thought maybe something got lost in the translation. He went on to say how when he was little, the village where he grew up had no television, no internet, no smartphones etc. So, after they’d go to the village church for evening prayers, he and the other children would just sit on the church steps and look at the moon. He was laughing and saying, “There was nothing else to do!” He said as he got a bit older, one home got a black and white television set so instead of looking at the moon, after prayers, they’d go to the front of their home and watch their television through the window. It reminded me of something my mother has long recounted. When she was a little girl, living in a triple-decker in Boston, her aunt and uncle bought a small television set. At one point they brought her Nana (who was born in rural Italy in 1884) up to see it. They turned it on and Nana said, “Questa è la fine del mundo.” “This is the end of the world.” In a sense, Nana was a bit of a prophet! Technology itself is a tribute to the human person’s ingenuity and provides extraordinary benefits to us. I am glad I am typing this letter to you on my computer rather than handwriting it. (You should be glad too as my penmanship teacher, Sr. Conan, would attest.) The extraordinary advances in medical, transportation, and communication technologies–to name a few–-make our lives so much better. Technologies, however, develop so rapidly that it is difficult for us to learn how to use them. By that, I mean, that it is difficult for us to learn how to use them in a way that is healthy for us. So absorbed are we in the latest technologies that we can forget that right over our head is . . . the moon. We can forget that right in the same room as us is another person; a husband, a wife, a child, a father, a mother, a friend. All of us should exercise a certain dominion over the technologies in our life. We used to sit on the porch, look at the moon, and converse because there was nothing else to do. Was life worse then? During the past couple of weeks it has been great fun watching the World Cup. Because of technology, we are able to see peoples from all over the planet, play, spectate, and meet one another. It’s been great fun in the rectory where the priests and seminarians have watched a lot of matches together. This shows that technology also has the capacity–when we choose to–to bring people together. This weekend we commemorate the Fourth of July, the 250th anniversary of our Nation’s founding. On the day when we recall the beginning of a revolution that changed the world, altered history, and gave birth to an extraordinary country, most will have celebrated by doing something rather boring. They will have put some hamburgers and hot dogs on a grill, put out potato salad, played some games, perhaps watched a World Cup match, and looked up at the sky to see fireworks. And they will love it! Chances are, anybody who does spend the day like that will be thinking, “We should do this more often.” Don’t forget that we can do it more often. We can actively opt for that simpler way of life that we occasionally catch glimpses of and that stir within our souls a memory of what can easily slip away from us. On Sunday mornings, for example, when I see parents bringing their children to Mass, I catch a glimpse of that simpler way of life. When I see these families arriving for Mass, something in my heart leaps because I know I am witnessing something that is true, good, and beautiful. Is Mass always an exhilarating, action-packed adventure that is fun for kids from ages one to ninety-nine? No, it’s not. Is sitting down at a family dinner necessarily more thrilling and exciting than a video game? No. Does spending time in prayer each day provide that immediate “thrill” and the immediate gratification that can come from online gambling, pornography, and video games? No. And yet, within each of us is the inexhaustible desire to look up, to look up together. Within us is a desire to look up together and to discover, not the moon, but rather the Face of the One who looks down upon us with Love. This path does not string us along with a never-ending series of dopamine blips that leaves us emptier than before. This path is one that carries us along together. It helps us to live a more human existence, an existence that corresponds to that desire of our heart to live life as the adventure it truly is. It is an adventure marked by child-like wonder. Jesus himself teaches us, “Unless you turn and become like little children, you will not enter the Kingdom of God” (Mt:18:3). We used to look up because, “There was nothing else to do.” Now, we have to choose to do it. “If then you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Think of what is above, not of what is on earth” Col 3:1-2). None of us will ever say at the end of our life, “I wish I spent more time in my life staring at my phone.” Look up. In Christ, Fr. David Barnes

The following is excerpted from a letter that Pope Leo wrote to young people attending a conference. I thought it was something worth sharing. Your Brother in Christ, Fr. Barnes Dear Friends, If you had met Saint Francis on the streets of Assisi in the thirteenth century, he might have looked at you with a serene and loving smile, and said: “Pace e bene,” that is “Peace and all good.” This was the way that Saint Francis often greeted people, and it expresses one of the desires in his heart. We too can ask ourselves: Do I desire true peace for those who come into contact with me? Do I treat others in such a way that brings them peace? Now, you may say that this is not always easy. Sometimes our behavior, even toward those whom we most dearly love, can bring frustration and conflict rather than peace. We must bear in mind that Saint Francis was able to sow peace not because of his own efforts, but because he possessed within himself the source of true peace. I have often repeated that peace is a gift from God, a gift we receive when we invite the Lord into our heart. We are then called to become instruments of his peace, spreading it to our families, our communities, our countries and the whole world. Saint Francis was also known to be a particularly joyful person. He delighted in the beauty of creation, in God’s infinite goodness and mercy, and in the conversion of sinners. And yet, you may be surprised by how he once explained what perfect joy is. One winter evening, as he was walking back to Assisi with Brother Leo, one of the first members of the Franciscan order, Saint Francis began to give a long list of apparently “good” things that do not lead to perfect joy. At a certain point, Brother Leo finally exclaimed, “Father Francis, I pray that you will teach me about perfect joy!” In his response, the saint described a tragic situation that implied suffering cold, hunger and rejection — the opposite of what you would expect — and added that if such difficulties are embraced with patience, without complaining and with love for God, “This is perfect joy.” Is it really possible to have joy in such difficult circumstances, we might ask? It is only possible if our life is founded upon our relationship with God as a loving Father. Indeed, the joy of Saint Francis — the joy Saint Francis was speaking of — cannot be found through electronic devices, spending hours in front of a screen or endlessly scrolling on social media every day. These activities often waste precious time that could be used for moments of silent prayer, of cultivating authentic friendships, spending quality time with family, learning more about our faith, studying or playing sports. Joy should never be sought through drug use, alcohol abuse, promiscuity, superficial relationships, obsession about our image, or any kind of damaging behavior. Surprisingly, neither can it be found in goods such as wealth, beauty, fame or even health, for one day we will leave all of this behind. Only the love of God can provide us with true and perfect joy. If we have the profound conviction that God cares for us as his beloved children, we will not be flustered or discouraged, even in difficult situations. Many of you have heard since you were little that God loves you. But do you really believe it? You are precious in God’s eyes! (cf. Is 43:4) You are unconditionally loved by him! Are you certain of this? If you cultivate a trusting relationship with him, through regular prayer, through reception of the sacraments, if you abandon yourself into his hands, then anxiety, or sadness, and loneliness will fade away as his grace fills you and as his love inflames your heart. This is the secret to being able to face challenging circumstances with a smile. Open your hearts to discover this reality. So Saint Francis’ message, and mine, is simple: true peace and perfect joy are gifts from God that come when we open ourselves to him and trust in his power to transform us. What can we give him in return for such great love, for such generous gifts? Nothing but ourselves! Today, the Lord needs missionaries to spread the word to those who do not know him, holy men and women to begin loving Catholic families, priests to be spiritual fathers and ministers of the sacraments as well as religious men and women to be witnesses of the true joy of his kingdom. If you have a sense that the Lord may be calling you to one of these vocations, do not close yourself off or turn away in fear, but take a step forward and say to the Lord, “Here I am, send me!” (Is 6:8). At the same time, do not be afraid to talk to someone about it, a trusted friend, priest or religious sister. I wish all of you a fruitful conference, praying that in these days you will be filled with Christ’s love and come to know other young people who desire to give their lives completely to him, and in so doing, find true happiness. Entrusting all of you to the maternal intercession of Our Lady, Cause of Our Joy, I gladly invoke upon each of you the divine blessings of peace and strength. Leo XIV

The other day I went to the barber and sat down in the chair. There were two young barbers working and a young guy in the other chair. The barber asked, “Any big plans for the weekend?” Dressed in shorts and a golf shirt, I answered, “I work weekends.” I wondered if that would be the end of it, but he quickly followed up with, "What do you do for work?” From that point on, both barbers and the guy in the other chair peppered me with questions about Catholic life. They occasionally apologized for asking so many questions, but for me, it was an edifying encounter. I found it extraordinary that three young men were all quite comfortable and interested in engaging in questions about the Faith. It was, for me, further evidence of an interesting phenomena taking place in the culture today. Whereas in the past, people in those situations would assiduously avoid expressing even the slightest interest in religious questions, today there is not only an openness to questions of Faith, but there is a clear hunger for something more. Many young people (and especially in this particular moment, young men) recognize that those who raised them in an environment of no Faith or in a lukewarm practice of Faith, did them no favors. There is a desire in them to reclaim what was either lost by them or withheld from them. In the past, perhaps if I were in a situation like that, if there were any questions at all about Faith, it might be merely a thousand questions about this moral teaching or of that moral teaching. It was more about controversies. But nowadays, what I seem to encounter is more fundamental. It strikes me more as people who are basically asking, “What must I do to be happy? What must I do to be good? What exactly is Catholicism?” I think for many people in their late teens, twenties, and thirties, they feel like they are in a rut. They feel like something is missing in their life, but they don’t know how to “get” what they are lacking. For many, they feel like they wasted valuable time and now, they’ll never get it back. They might feel like they are irrevocably defined by the bad decisions and bad actions of the past. They feel–even at a young age–that the course of their life is chained to one (or more than one) bad decision of the past. Either that, or they live in such a way that life is just a series of disassociated events. It is a way of living that has no consistency or ultimate meaning. One of the surprising things I discovered while working with college students is that there was a deeper humility and honesty present in them than there was among previous generations. I found college students in recent years to be forthright, honest, and humble about their life. They weren’t concerned with appearing good. They actually wanted to be good, even if they didn’t know how. They didn’t begin every confession with disclaimers about, “I am basically a very good person.” They just said their sins matter of factly. The fact that there is openness, honesty, and hunger among young people makes for fertile ground for the Gospel. The “more” for which they are searching is available to them in Christ. Their desire to be good, their desire for a coherent life, their desire for meaning, for forgiveness, for hope . . . all of this is discovered in Christ. What I find particularly amazing in this moment is that we are not trying to give people answers to questions that they are not asking. They are asking questions and searching for answers. They are hoping that their life has meaning, that they are not imprisoned by their past, that there is hope for their future. For many of them, life has been built on foundations that lack certitude. They desire to have a life built on a rock foundation. Those people do not necessarily need a theologian, a philosopher, or a Catholic Dictionary. What they need is to encounter a person whose life becomes a proposal to them. They need a friend, a mentor. They need someone who is caught up into the life of being a disciple of the Lord. They do not need someone who has stifled the desires of their own heart and settled for a humdrum, mediocre, boring religion. At the same time, they don’t need someone who is just attempting to manufacture emotional religious highs. Instead, I think, they need someone who possesses even more desire than they do. They need to encounter someone who has discovered a Presence who–instead of crushing the desires of the heart–awakens them and testifies to them, “What you are seeking, is possible.” Your Brother in Christ, Fr. David Barnes