Fr. Frank Majka, SJ – The Bridge

Like a Treasure, Like a Pearl

Jesus said that the Kingdom of Heaven was like finding a treasure in a field or a pearl of great value.

Ignatius Loyola, whose feast was celebrated on July 31, was no stranger to the joy of finding God or to giving up everything he had in order to be in God’s service.

God and Christ were his treasure, his pearl and the bedrock of his life. As he prayed about all the blessings he had received from them, he knew that only by giving back his whole self could he offer them what they deserved.

His total donation of self was a matter not just of words or feelings but also of decisions and deeds. He put his mind, heart, will, and memory — all he possessed — at God’s disposal for the service of those who were most in need of faith, hope, and love in their lives. He also wanted the people who made his Spiritual Exercises and shared his mission and spirituality to pray for the grace to do the same.

Ignatius found his treasure and pearl. And by God’s grace, he took possession of them just as they had taken possession of him.

Statue of Ignatius Loyola at Creighton Preparatory School, Omaha, Nebraska

Silence for Aurora

What a sad past few days. There really are no words that can make the terrible tragedy in Aurora, Colorado, intelligible. And that’s the point: right now there are no words.

But, of course, we’ve already heard many words about what it all means, what we can do about it and what will keep it from happening again. And there will be more words in the days ahead.

That’s what happens when there is TV time to fill and when talking heads are always ready with something that sounds insightful but often really isn’t.

Instead of listening to all that, I plan to take some silent time each day this week to pray for those who have been so hurt by what has happened. Right now, prayerful silence seems a more appropriate response than talk.

Mission

It’s a commonplace to say that life is a journey. For disciples of Jesus it’s also a mission, for Christ told his disciples, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

He sends us to anyone who will listen to what we have to say. He sends us to affirm and encourage the good, to help lift the burdens of those who are weighed down and to pay attention to those who don’t count or are ignored. In short, Christ sends us to be ambassadors of faith, hope, and love.

We can be forgiven for thinking that this is too hard. It would be, if we thought we all have to pack up and go to the other side of the world. Some people actually are called to do this, but not everyone.

For most of us, being missioned doesn’t have to mean going farther away. It can often mean staying where we are but going deeper into our relationships and surroundings. Our families, our places of work, our cities, communities and churches — these are often the places where Christ sends us, and we don’t even have to pack.

But we do need to remember that Jesus normally doesn’t send us alone. We often find that others are being sent along with us. Above all, Christ always goes with us.

As you think about this, ask yourself, “To whom or to what might Jesus be missioning me today or this week or this summer?”

Making Miracles Possible

It was hard for Jesus to work many miracles in his hometown. Mark’s gospel (chapter 6) says it was because of the people’s lack of faith. They thought they knew all about Jesus and were also angry he wasn’t performing miracles when they wanted him to. Are there ways we make it hard for Christ to work miracles for us today, especially ones that heal and renew our souls?

One way is to think we really don’t need help or healing. We may believe we can handle our faults, failings or sins on our own. But when it comes to curing things like our self-centeredness, our blindness to the needs of others or our fears and resentments, we need Christ’s help. And if we don’t open ourselves to him, it’s hard for Jesus to help us.

Another way is to think that Christ can’t really be aware of each individual person’s needs. We might be willing to admit our need for Christ but think that, with all the billions of people in this world, surely he can’t pay attention to each one of us. The Scriptures tell us that God knows each of us by name, and Jesus said every hair on our head is numbered. But if we believe Christ can’t hear us, we’re unlikely to call out to him.

We make it hard for Christ to touch our lives if we don’t admit our need for his help or trust that he knows and cares about each person. But if, with God’s help, we admit our need for him and believe in his individual knowledge and love for us, then it will be easier for Jesus to work the miracles he wants to do for us.

Arise!

The story of Jesus’ raising the daughter of Jairus, a synagogue official (Mark, chapter 5), recounts his confrontation with death and with the mourners at Jairus’ house. We naturally focus on Jesus’ restoring life, but it’s worth paying attention to his confrontation with the mourners as well.

Such mourners were professionals, hired to provide dramatic, loud and organized grieving when a death occurred. Their presence made it clear that death had taken away a life, thus bearing testimony to death’s power and inevitability.

We may not have professional mourners in our society, but there definitely are people who loudly and relentlessly insist that death will always have the last word. They may be talking about the death of a relationship between friends or family members or the futility of our efforts to bring about justice, peace and reconciliation in our world and in our churches.

Whether they come from outside ourselves or from inside, such voices weigh us down and sap our hope. But just as Jesus wouldn’t accept the fatalistic, negative voices which declared that death was all-powerful, we don’t need to accept them either.

Jesus silenced the mourners and ordered them to leave. Then he spoke to the girl, “Little girl, I say to you, ‘Arise!’” And to the amazement of her parents and the disciples he’d brought with him, that’s just what she did.

We should remember, then, that Christ’s power can deny death its seeming victories; and, thus, our hopes are not just illusions. Those who tell us differently don’t deserve to be heard.