5th Sunday in Ordinary Time; 4th February 2024

The strength of the resurrected life of the Lord Jesus is precisely this: it does not limit itself to freeing us from evil, but ensures that the experience of evil can be transformed into a place in which a greater good is manifested.”

Happy Sunday!

DOCTRINE AND FAITH

(Job 7,1-4.6-7; Psalm 146 (147); 1 Cor 9,16-19.22-23; Mark 1,29-39; 5th Sunday in Ordinary Time; 4th February 2024)

“When will I get up?” (Job 7,4), asks Job, struck by an illness and by such pain that it completely closes his horizon to hope. Mark responds to Job's question with the story of the healing of Peter's mother-in-law: Jesus "came near her and made her stand up, taking her by the hand: her fever left her and she served them" (Mark 1,31). Job's question is somehow transformed: from asking "when will I get up”, to a different question: "who will raise me up?". Then there is a further passage that should not be overlooked: Job evokes a "hard service" that man must perform on earth, like a mercenary who awaits his salary, or a slave who, in his toil, "sighs for the 'shadow' (see Job 7,1-2). Peter's mother-in-law, however, is raised up by Jesus and handed over to a service freed from the harsh constraints of slavery and which already prefigures the dedication of the one who came "not to be served, but to serve and give his life as a ransom" for many" (Mark 10,45). The verb that the evangelist uses to narrate how Jesus makes this sick woman "get up" by taking her by the hand is illuminating (see verse 31). In Greek there is egheiro, one of the two verbs with which the New Testament recounts the resurrection of Jesus, his rising, or rather his being raised from the dust of death. There is already an Easter dawn shining in what is happening in this humble place of Capernaum. Other small elements of the story make it shine through. As soon as Jesus entered this house, "immediately they told him about her" (1,30). Jesus enters “immediately” (v. 29) and “immediately” they inform him of this sick woman. Time continues to prove to be "short" because the Kingdom is near and brings our days to completion (see Mark 1,15).

In this speaking to him about her we can see an initial form of intercession. Peter and his companions were present in the synagogue and they too, like the crowds, were surprised and amazed by the authority with which Jesus drove out the impure spirit and now they hope that he can also do something for this sick woman. However, we can understand something else in their words. They also talk to him about her and her illness to justify themselves. They are welcoming an important guest into their home, an authoritative rabbi, different from all the other scribes and teachers, but they cannot do it adequately, as they would like and as the guest deserves, because there is a sick person in the house, and more so a woman, on whom the burdens of hospitality weighed more heavily. Here then the Easter logic manifests itself, which transfigures the limit into grace, the obstacle into opportunity, and a tomb of death into a womb of life. Pino Stancari comments:

In the house of men, Jesus' passage reveals how the very presence of a creature, which was considered the cause of general discomfort, instead constitutes the foundation on which a reconciled building can be built. “The fever left her and she began to serve them”. Previously, in the same chapter, Jesus had been "served by angels" (1,13); now it is the diakonia expressed by that sick woman (who was considered by everyone as an impediment) to make the house hospitable, and she to provide the service of welcoming Jesus, an honored guest.

The strength of the resurrected life of the Lord Jesus is precisely this: it does not limit itself to freeing us from evil, but ensures that the experience of evil can be transformed into a place in which a greater good is manifested. She who was sick can now serve the good of Jesus and those with him, in the same way that he who was crucified and rejected by men becomes the cause of salvation for all. The logic of Easter is always that of a stone rejected by the builders which is chosen by God as the cornerstone of his house.

At the end of the Gospel the women, who went to the tomb, will receive this command: "Go, tell his disciples and Peter: "He is going before you to Galilee. You will see him, as he told you” (Mark 16,7). Returning to Galilee also means returning to this house in Capernaum, to learn to recognize the many signs of Easter present in our personal Galilee, that is, in the ordinariness of our days. The Lord truly becomes close to our daily existence and raises us up, transfiguring our life and demonstrating how his grace does not eliminate or erase our limitations and our infirmities, but transforms them, putting them at the service of a greater good. Mark's story ends with the invitation that Jesus addresses to those who seek him, to go "elsewhere" (see Mark 38). Not so much in another place, but in a different attitude with which to relate to our days, to seek him and find him there, in that newness that he gives to our lives. A novelty that conforms us to his own life, making us capable of playing in relationships and situations with that style that Paul reminds the Corinthians today: to become "servant of all" and in this way announce the Gospel by becoming participants in it. On the one hand, we must announce what we live; on the other, what we announce changes our existence, lifting us up from the disease of our individualism to make us "all things to all people" (1 Cor 9,22). +John I. Okoye.

3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, 21st January, 2024

 “Until now you have been a fisherman, now you will become a fisherman of men. There is a change, even a radical one, that does not destroy what you have always been but rather makes it mature to its fullness.” May the good Lord in this holy Mass give us the grace to live the life worthy of our call as Christians. Happy Sunday!

DOCTRINE AND FAITH

(Jonah 3,1-5.10; Psalm 24 (25); 1 Cor 7,29-31; Mark 1,14-20; 3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, 21st January, 2024)

“The time has become short,” writes the apostle Paul to the Corinthians (1 Cor 7,29). “The time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God is at hand,” Jesus proclaims in Mark (1,15). Jonah also brings Nineveh an announcement regarding time and its end: "Forty more days and Nineveh will be destroyed" (Jonah 3,4). This attention to time, which dominates the liturgy of the Word on this Sunday, is closely connected to the theme of choice. The time is approaching, and our decision is urgent, which cannot be postponed.

For Paul, the brevity of time changes our relationship with the world, with history, and with the relationships we weave in it. Since Jesus died and rose again, the world has been transformed. His figure passes not because it dissolves into nothingness, but because it is transfigured in the promised fulfillment. The world takes on a new figure: from being the only horizon in which our life is called to play out, it becomes a prophetic sign of a future world, which we certainly still have to wait for, but which already descends into our history, becomes present in it, like a yeast that transforms it, giving it a new meaning. Even the world we know, the relationships we live in it, the commitments we take on, everything must become a sign of something else, that is, of that kingdom of God which, as Jesus announced while walking through the streets of Galilee, is now finally "near" (Mark 1,15). Then there is a "how" that wedges itself between us and reality. “From now on, let those who have wives live as if they had none; those who cry, as if they were not crying; those who rejoice, as if they did not rejoice; those who buy, as if they did not own; those who use the goods of the world, as if they did not use them fully" (1 Cor 7,29-31). We need to understand this "how" well so as not to misunderstand it. It does not mean that what we experience loses depth, and meaning, is no longer worth anything, or that we even have to interrupt the relationships - even marital ones - that characterize our existence. On the contrary, the Apostle's invitation is to continue living what we already live, but by replacing it in a broader gaze - which goes beyond our horizon and manages to glimpse the promised fulfillment, which gives a new meaning to every aspect of our life, existence. The kingdom of God is now so close to our lives that our lives can no longer remain the same. If I cry I know that someone will console my tears forever. If I rejoice, I know that this joy, which over time is always provisional and precarious, will become full and definitive on the coming day. If I possess goods, I know that the true good to be desired is another. Even the love between a man and a woman becomes a sign of that love that will be complete and timeless in the love of God and in the communion of saints. This is the real decision to be made, the conversion to be lived. The Ninevites, in the first reading, convert from their evil works, because they accept Jonah's warning, and above all because they believe in God. They begin to believe in a God who does not punish, but uses mercy. Their conversion corresponds to the conversion of God himself, who "repented of the evil that he had threatened to do to them and did not do it" (Jonah 3,10). It is not that God waits for our behavior to decide how to behave towards us. Rather, it is our conversion that allows us to know what God's authentic face is. If we turn to good, we encounter the God of good, who turns his gaze of benevolence and mercy towards us. Remaining prisoners of the logic of evil prevents us from knowing this face of God and from experiencing his love for him.

Every conversion is, radically, going out of oneself to turn to God and thus receiving a different look at reality, and learning to judge everything according to the logic of that "how" announced by Paul, and being able to discern the proximity in every reality of the Kingdom that becomes truly close to the most ordinary and everyday places of life, to your throwing your nets into the water as you already did yesterday and the day before yesterday. There the Lord comes close and then your life changes, because before your eyes his word opens up a different horizon: "Come after me, I will make you become fishers of men" (Mark 1,17). The newness of God, the unparalleled beauty of his promise, matures within your own life, in your everyday life, to make it different from within. It is not another role that is imposed on you from above, with force, almost with violence. It is rather a new shoot that the Lord slowly matures in the ancient trunk of your life. Until now you have been a fisherman, now you will become a fisherman of men. There is a change, even a radical one, that does not destroy what you have always been but rather makes it mature to its fullness.

Time is short: we have to decide. Jesus passes by and “immediately” calls James and John, just as a moment earlier Simon and Andrew “immediately” left their nets to follow him (see verses 20 and 18). Right away! There's no time. We must convert and believe now. With this awareness: converting to Jesus and believing his word means making his promise explode within our lives, which opens up to an unexpected horizon. The world is transfigured by the light of the Kingdom that now inhabits it, thanks to the gift of God that brings it close to us; thanks to our followership that make us welcome him. + John I. Okoye

2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B, 14th January, 2024

 
“We must learn who to look for, and also where and how to look for them: in a home, in the place of the closest and truest human relationships; even within ourselves, in that dwelling that becomes our flesh, now the dwelling of God, the temple of the Spirit!” May we through the benefits of this holy Mass seek God in spirit and truth. Happy Sunday!

DOCTRINE AND FAITH

(1 Samuel 3,3b-10.19; Psalm 39 (40); 1 Corinthians 6, 13c-15a.17-20; John 1,35-42: 2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time Year B, 14th January, 2024)

The apostle Paul makes us hear a formidable statement today: "Do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you?" (1 Cor 6,19). There is something revolutionary in this phrase, which overturns the criteria with which we are used to imagining the experience of God. In ancient cults we went to the temple to meet God through the mediation of a sacrifice. Animals were sacrificed as substitute victims for one's personal sacrifice. It was necessary to mortify one's body in some way to allow the spirit to become worthy of the experience of the Saint. Not being able to put their own body to death, animals were sacrificed to replace it. This theme of mortification, understood in this misleading sense, has been well present in Christian spirituality and probably still is, at least in part. Paul invites us to convert our gaze/our perception: it is not a question of abandoning the body or putting it to death, but of welcoming it and honoring it as it truly is, the dwelling place of God in the Spirit. If it is necessary to take care of the sanctity of one's body, it is not because one mistrusts it, recognizing it as a place of temptation, fragility or sin, but for the opposite reason: it is the home of the sanctity of God. The presence of the Spirit in our body responds to the logic of the incarnation with which God chooses to manifest himself in history, through progressive stages. His Word was first incarnated in the word of the prophets and wise men; in the mediations of the Law, of worship, of the priesthood, of the temple; in the events of history, interpreted in the light of prophetic and wisdom revelations. Finally, His Word incarnated fully and definitively in the humanity of the Son. By virtue of this culminating incarnation, our very room is transformed into the abode of God. It becomes the body of Christ: “Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ?” (1 Cor 6,15). It is to this goal/this point of arrival that the readings of today lead us. The liturgy makes us listen to some stories of calling today: that of Samuel in the First Testament, that of Andrew, his anonymous companion and his brother Simon in the New Testament. In all these cases the word of the Lord reaches us through human mediations. You listen to the word of God by listening to that of your brothers. Samuel needs Eli's word to understand that the voice he is listening to is that of God himself. Andrew and his anonymous companion also begin to follow the Lamb of God after accepting the Baptist's announcement. Peter himself will need Andrew's testimony. The word of God is intertwined with that of men: one resonates within the other. Just as, in a similar way, the dwelling of God descends into our human dwellings, and our homes become the dwelling of God.

The first two disciples, to the question with which Jesus asks them, seem to respond in a banal way: "Rabbi, where are you staying?", "Come and see". The evangelist then narrates: “So they went and saw where he was staying and they stayed with him that day” (John 1,38-39). There is all the theological wisdom of John in these few lines. To know who Jesus is, we need to understand where he lives. At the end of the Gospel we will understand his home and his relationship with the Father; that is the place from where he comes and to which he returns, the house in which he lives, to lead us there too. Jesus came to this abode to prepare a place for us, so that we too can be where he is. The communion with the Father, which he lives in the Spirit, he also gives to us. He even builds it in us. “If anyone loves me, he will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our home with him” (Jn 14,23).

In the ancient liturgy, the celebration of Christmas was followed by three stories of manifestation (epiphanies) of Jesus: the revelation to the Magi, the baptism near the Jordan, the wedding at Cana. The liturgy born from Vatican II preserves this succession only in one of the three years of the liturgical cycle (year C). In this Year B of the Ordinary Time, the story of Cana is replaced by this other Johannine passage, with the call of the first disciples. The suggestion that the liturgy offers us is therefore to read this text more in its epiphanic perspective than in its vocation/follow after me. This too is an epiphany of the Lord!

By coming in our flesh, in addition to revealing himself, Jesus reveals us to ourselves in a new way. Our existence is transformed, just as Peter's name is changed. By dwelling where Jesus dwells, in the same love that unites him to the Father, we ourselves become the dwelling place of God, the temple of the Holy Spirit, the place where God comes to live. This is the experience that the disciples begin to live in this hour that they will never be able to forget: around the tenth hour, four in the afternoon. Simone becomes Cephas, stone, rock. It becomes a place where all God's faithfulness lives. With Andrew, Peter, Mary, the other disciples, we must learn to look not for something (what are you looking for?) but someone, as at the end of the Gospel, the Risen One will ask Mary Magdalene: "Woman, who are you looking for?”. We must learn who to look for, and also where and how to look for them: in a home, in the place of the closest and truest human relationships; even within ourselves, in that dwelling that becomes our flesh, now the dwelling of God, the temple of the Spirit! + John I. Okoye.

Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Year B,

 
We pray through the merits of this holy Eucharist, that God gives us the grace to always in our daily lives recognize the signs of salvation with which He visits our streets and our homes, learning to live in this continuous dialogue between gift and welcome. Happy Sunday

DOCTRINE AND FAITH

(Genesis 15,1-6;21,1-3; Ps 104 (105); Hebrew 11,8.11-12.17-19; Luke 2,22-40; Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Year B, 30th December, 2023)

After having made us fix our gaze on the mystery of Jesus' birth, on this feast the liturgy urges us to pay attention to the mystery of welcoming him. First of all to that offered by his parents, Mary and Joseph, but then, starting from this first and fundamental hospitality, the vision broadens towards other figures, such as those of Simeon and Anna, or of the same fathers and mothers in the faith, such as Abraham and Sarah, who preceded and prepared, with their own anticipation, the beauty of this event. The singularity of this birth, which has its own completely incomparable peculiarity, however allows us to recognize, in depth, what happens every time a new life buds on the trunk of humanity. There always happens to be an encounter between a gift that precedes and a welcome that responds; between a promise to wait for and a fulfilment to be savored in joy. The celebration of the Holy Family invites us to rediscover how the dialogue between gift and acceptance is the foundation of every relationship of authentic love. Love manifests itself in the tension between way and a home. It is a path, because it sets one in motion, forces one to make an exodus from oneself and from one's own narrow and limited horizons, pushes towards encounters, opens up to the future with hope, is not afraid to dream, gives impetus and enthusiasm to one's steps, swells the lungs and dilates the space of the heart. However, love also needs to become a home, that is, established, nourished, fruitful, hospitable and fulfilled. Indeed it has to be in an incessant dialogue, precisely, between a gift offered with trust and a welcome given with availability. When one of the two poles fades, or enters the routine of habit and the laziness of resignation, one no longer walks and the house itself metamorphoses, from being hospitable, into a suffocating prison.

The dialogue between gift and acceptance matures first of all in the relationship between man and woman, but then it is called to open up towards the children and towards the very sky of God, as it happens in Genesis for Abram, who is invited by the Lord to combine his expectation of a child with a gaze that rises to contemplate the starry sky. At this moment Abram is disappointed because the promise of his descendants is slow in being fulfilled: "I go without children and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus" (Gen 15,2). These words are to be understood in a strong sense: I am heading towards death without a child yet, and not only because of impending old age, but above all because it is already death to experience the sterility of one's existence. Immediately afterwards Abram adds: “Behold, you have given me no offspring” (v. 3); in other words: the responsibility is yours, for you did not keep your word.

God responds to Abram's affliction by renewing his promise and leading him out: he makes him make an exodus from this bitterness, inviting him to raise his gaze towards a starry sky. So it is night, but precisely in this night of faith, in this night of fruitlessness and disappointment, Abram must find the courage to raise his gaze towards a beyond to be contemplated without being able to dominate it. The conversion to be made, which then becomes a condition for every other transformation in our existence, consists precisely in emerging from an attitude hunched over and withdrawn from our fears or complaints. The God of the alliance is always the God of the Exodus, the one who leads us out. To Abram who asks for an heir, God promises much more: descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky. God underlines the “excess” of his promise with the expression “if you can count them”, which first of all shows how God's plan is infinitely greater than Abram's own hope. Furthermore, this starry sky, which cannot be counted, reminds him that he will have to trust the sign without claiming to dominate it or verify it. Finally, to the one who asks: “What will you give me?” (v. 2), God remembers: “I am your shield” (v. 1) That is to say, even before I give you, I will be with you. This is the foundation of every promise. Even the promise of a son.

God renews his alliance, returns to give us his presence, his being with us. In the mutual acceptance that we are called to live in our relationships, between man and woman, between parents and children, between brothers and friends, he always gives us, if we are willing to raise our gaze and fix it on a starry sky, to welcome the very presence of God who returns to promise us: I am with you, I am with you.

Mary and Joseph, presenting their firstborn to the temple and to the Lord, not only obey the Law of Moses, but recognize its profound meaning: the new life they welcome comes from God and leads to God, because in every true welcome we always open ourselves not only to receive the gift of God, but his very presence. The meaning of life and death then changes. If Abram, in his initial disappointment, says with bitterness: "I am going towards death", Simeon can say with joy: "Now can you, O Lord, let your servant go in peace, according to your word, because my eyes have seen your salvation" (Luke 2,29-30). Here is the invitation that this celebration offers us today: to recognize the signs of salvation with which God visits our streets and our homes, learning to live in this continuous dialogue between gift and welcome.

+ John I. Okoye