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The Gospels clearly say that Jesus rose in a human, bodily form. (And that’s important.) The Resurrection wouldn’t have been the Resurrection if Jesus had, say, appeared like Obi-Wan Kenobi at the end of “Return of the Jedi.” Jesus isn’t some disembodied spirit who flickers and glows with a knowing smile and nothing in the way of practical advice. Instead, he walks again among us. In person. In the flesh. There are lessons for us in that choice. WE’RE THE WHOLE PACKAGE: First of all, it tells us that the human body is sacred. Put more simply, it tells us that the human body is good. That, in turn, tells us that there must be something awfully special about us. After all, if a human body was good enough for the risen Lord to reoccupy instead of coming back as some bigger-than-life figure in the clouds, then our bodies — and everything that comes with them — should certainly be good enough for us. GOD THINKS YOU’RE A “10”: More than that, it should teach us that we should love what we’ve been given. Funny thing about bodies — we only get one. It’s important to take care of it. Eat right. Exercise. All that. Yes. But it really boils down to loving ourselves for what we are: tall or short, big or small, straight or curly hair. Our bodies are, indeed, temples, regardless of their current condition. DRESS IT UP AND TAKE IT OUT: The other lesson Jesus’ resurrection teaches us is that there is great value and importance to presenting ourselves to one another physically. We live in an increasingly detached world. Think of the impact if Mary Magdelene had known of Jesus’ resurrection only because his Facebook status had changed. Doesn’t have quite the same oomph. Jesus returned to his friends and his followers. He didn’t just send word. He didn’t appear in a dream. He presented himself bodily … and in doing so encourages us to do the same. Let’s remember to pay respect to our own temples; let’s love one another without forgetting the “love ourselves” part; and let’s be there for one another … body and soul. This content comes to you from Our Sunday Visitor courtesy of your parish or diocese.
“That is a real labor of love.” Hearing that statement likely draws to mind the actions of you or someone you know: dedication of time to a special ministry or charitable organization; a craft or art given to loved ones, the parish or a local group; the attention of parents, coaches or teachers for children and youth; the care of health professionals and volunteers for the ill, elderly or those who are dying. These can be real “labors of love.” When we consider it this way, stewardship is a labor of love: we love God, we recognize that all we are and have come from God alone, and, out of this love and gratitude, we respond by being good stewards of our time, our presence and prayer, our talents and material resources. We become more intentional about the ways we use our lives and resources, and are then less willing to waste them. Sometimes our stewardship is noticeable and requires a substantial commitment. Yet the simple daily tasks of our lives can also include labors of love: a caring thought shared; a simple meal prepared, even on the run; a load of laundry accomplished; an encouraging hug at the end of a long day. These are also the ways of stewardship, as we care for, nurture and bring to increase the stuff of our lives, no matter how great or small it may seem. A young woman, Kelli, shared with a group of friends this week this sentiment when she said: “You changed my life. You may not even know it, but your presence and willingness to bring me into your group gave me the confidence I needed so very much.” Kelli’s friends were good stewards of their attention, and from her sharing we see the impact of their labor of love. This article comes to you from Grace In Action ( Our Sunday Visitor ) courtesy of your parish or diocese
Lk 10:13-16 The disciples are to bring Jesus, the word of God, to all those they encounter on the journey. There have been those Jewish cities who did not listen because of their pride and obstinance, having learned nothing from their history, their heritage. We are thankful for the story of our Christian faith and for those who teach us. May we continue to learn and grow and teach others. This content comes to you from Our Sunday Visitor courtesy of your parish or diocese.
“As Christians we remain deeply convinced that the ultimate aim, that most worthy of the person and of the human community, is the abolition of war. We must therefore always commit ourselves to building bridges that unite rather than walls that separate; we must always help to find a small opening for mediation and reconciliation; we must never give in to the temptation of considering the other as merely an enemy to destroy, but rather as a person endowed with intrinsic dignity, created by God in his image.” — Pope Francis Reflection: Do you ever give in to the temptation of seeing someone as merely an enemy? Think of that person as someone created in God’s image, just as you are. How does this change your desire to build a bridge toward unity rather than a wall to isolate? This content comes to you from Our Sunday Visitor courtesy of your parish or diocese.
by Father Joshua J. Whitfield Let’s think about Paul’s words, his astounding invitation to be anxious about nothing at all (Phil 4:6). How’s that going for you? Listening to parishioners, to penitents in the confessional, to my mailman the other day, from what I can tell, not well at all. The world is frightening, more frightening than it was, many feel. That’s what I hear constantly. Culture wars, real wars, climate change, COVID-19 again, civil strife, synodal hopes and fears, and finances, all conspire to unsettle many of us. I get it; I’m unsettled at times, too. Sometimes, even I ask myself where on earth is that peace beyond understanding? How can I find it? Is it actually real? Of course, the simple answer — however, it seems at times counterfactual — is that yes, the peace Paul wrote about is real. But you must look for it. Hence, Paul’s plainly practical advice: “[W]hatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence, and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (Phil 4:8). Again, notice how concrete this advice is. If we put it in negative terms, refitted for our own time, then perhaps Paul’s advice would go something like this: “Stop doomscrolling , stop watching cable news, pay a lot less attention to politics, let go of your fascination with every ugly new scandal.” Now, this, believe it or not, is good advice immediately applicable. Those who have taken it have been the better for it. Thomas Merton, for instance, wrote that he always preferred to take the news “slightly stale,” that is, never as “breaking” news. “The news reaches me in the long run through books and magazines, and no longer as a stimulant,” he said. He said being addicted to the news was like being addicted to cigarettes, a hard habit to kick. However, with a little effort, the “need for this habitual indulgence disappears.” You discover you no longer really need to hear much. And then you’re a little closer to that peace you’re looking for. Rooted in our home soil But isn’t that irresponsible? Shouldn’t we inform ourselves to be good global citizens? Sure, but perhaps not so much, not constantly. Better to better inform yourself about what’s immediately around you first. This is certainly not to indulge in what Pope Francis has called “local narcissism” ( Fratelli Tutti, No. 146), but it is to suggest that we can’t love our neighbor if we ignore the neighbor closest to us; it’s to suggest that we can’t have anything like a good perspective on national or global affairs if we’re not rooted in love in our own home soil. That’s often why the world seems so scary because we’re focused only on what’s scary all over the world all the time, ignoring what’s so beautiful nearest us. Think about these things, Paul would tell us — our family, our parish, our neighbors, our closest friends. But again, this isn’t just localism. Paul’s words are first an invitation to contemplation . The Catechism of the Catholic Church calls contemplation “a gaze of faith, fixed on Jesus” (No. 2715). The truest, most honorable, most just, most pure, most lovely and gracious thing one can think about is Jesus. Paul is not simply trying to pry us away from the world’s ugliness, he’s trying to turn our eyes to something eternally beautiful. Here we come even nearer to that peace beyond understanding. “Peace be with you,” the risen Lord says to us (Jn 20:19). That’s it! If we want truly to find that peace, which passes all understanding, which the world cannot steal from us, then we must keep our eyes fixed on Jesus. This again raises very practical questions leading to very practical advice: How’s your prayer going? When was the last time you spent an hour in front of the Blessed Sacrament ? How bad do you want this peace? Are you willing to do something about it? If so, you know what to do. As you read these very words now, the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament is probably not very far from you. You can go visit the Lord today probably. But again, if you want this peace. Not everyone does. This article comes to you from Our Sunday Visitor courtesy of your parish or diocese.
