Blog & Pastor Letters

“There was a rich man who dressed in purple garments and fine linen and dined sumptuously each day. And lying at his door was a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who would gladly have eaten his fill of the scrapsthat fell from the rich man’s table.”

Jesus was undoubtedly a gifted storyteller and the parable of Lazarus that we hear proclaimed this coming Sunday is certainly among one of the most powerful that we hear in the gospels.

Our faith is meant to be at work in every area of our lives — not just the personal and private, but the political and public as well.

People have a tendency today to separate politics and religion. They see religion as having to do with the afterlife and politics with the here-and-now. Religion is private and politics is public. They don’t want religious leaders to comment on public policy and they don’t want politicians meddling in Church doctrine and discipline. People want a clear separation of church and state.

An Excerpt from: Spiritual Freedom: God’s Life-Changing Gift by Fr. Dave Pivonka, published by Servant Books, Cincinnati.

“I remember one young woman who had gone through terrible struggles. She has lost her mother at a young age and had made choices that were very destructive. She had done things that she regretted, and she really had doubts about a God that loved, not to mention that she herself was lovable.

“This one began to build but did not have the resources to finish.” – Luke 14:30

If I had to choose one of the Bible’s 31,102 verses to have inscribed on my tombstone, it would be Luke 14:30.

As a companion piece, my obituary could tell the story of my life through the list of projects I never finished. Swimming lessons in preschool. Piano in the sixth grade. Every journal I’ve ever tried to keep. That trip to Europe. The house my husband and I designed and never built. My life is littered with these unfinished projects, races for which I could not make it across the finish line. Whether it was strength, interest, money, or something else, I just didn’t have “it.” I came up short.

The overarching theme found in Sunday’s readings is humility. The virtue of humility, sagely defined by C.S. Lewis, “is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less.” As we hear Jesus’ words in the Gospel, this is precisely what we are invited to do by allowing space at the head of the table for others to be honored above ourselves. Jesus lived the ultimate example of humility — incarnate, reliant on Mary and Joseph as an infant and child, handing himself over to be crucified, and now allowing himself to be consumed by the faithful daily, in the guise of bread and wine in the Eucharist.

Abraham Lincoln is said to have remarked that “discipline is choosing between what you want now and what you want most.” What is it that you desire most? This is a powerful question that must be asked and answered if we want to avoid a haphazard, disjointed, and chaotic life. It also must be asked and answered if we claim to be a person of faith who is committed to living the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We all have smaller desires that motivate us throughout the day. I may desire to complete a project that has been sitting undone for some time or to spend some quality time with someone I love. But at the end of it all, what is it that you really desire?

Jesus said to his disciples: “I have come to set the earth on fire, and how I wish it were already blazing! There is a baptism with which I must be baptized, and how great is my anguish until it is accomplished!”

What are you passionate about? What stirs up the fire within you?

Faith helps us overcome many of the anxieties of daily life.

As a society, we are experiencing an epidemic of stress. Keeping up with the demands of life has worn us out. Many of us are getting much less sleep than we need. This heightened stress takes a toll on our bodies making our blood pressure soar. We overeat and use alcohol to compensate for the pressure we feel. As we close in on ourselves, we become more isolated until we find ourselves trapped in a prison of fear.