I suspect we all have certain scripture passages that touch us to the core.  That deeply move us every time we hear them.  Where we start to feel an effect as soon as the reading opens.

Today’s first Mass reading from Ezekiel (47:1-9, 12) is one of those for me.  Hearing or reading Ezekiel’s vision is always a source of incredible consolation for me.  There is something in his description of the water flowing from the temple in all directions, the water rising, and then nourishing and enabling the growth of everything around it that just captures me.  And it puts me in a state of well-being, of, dare I say, joy.

I think part of the consolation is that for me, for us, as it was for the people of Israel, this is a vision of the future – a vision of the realization of God’s reign, God’s kingdom.

A couple of things about the context of this vision of Ezekiel’s may help explain its power to the early Israelites.

First, this vision comes to Ezekiel about midway through the Babylonian exile.  The destruction of the temple and the exile to Babylon represented a tremendous shock to the Jewish people.  The temple had meant the constant presence of God to the people.  And their land – the land that had been promised to their father Abraham, supported them.

Now they weep by the rivers of Babylon.  So we can imagine the balm Ezekiel’s vision must have been – this beautiful vision of a river of life.

Even apart from the fact that the people were living in exile, Jerusalem is said to have been the only great city of the ancient world that wasn’t located on a river.  So water, essential for life, was scarce.  A river such as Ezekiel describes would have captured the imagination of the people as it does mine.

Reading or hearing this passage today, we are not in quite the same situation as the Israelites during their Babylonian captivity.  But we do live in a wounded world.  A world where armed conflicts are not a rare occurrence, and where the power of the weapons of modern warfare mean such conflicts threaten the very continued existence of humankind.  We live in a world where many people are forced to flee from their homes and live in a state of exile. A world where water and nourishing food is scarce for many people.  A world where people are still discriminated against on the basis of their race, national origin, gender or sexuality.  And so on.

So the promise of this passage – the vision of God’s kingdom, the realization of God’s hope for humankind carries hope and consolation for us as well.

Of course, the vision will not be realized on its own. Louis Savary in his book The New Spiritual Exercises, writes that “[w]henever Jesus is describing what he calls the kingdom of God or the kingdom of heaven, it is more than a description of the afterlife or life in heaven.  In most kingdom parables there is always some activity, human responsibility, choices made, or a change of heart, all of which suggests that the kingdom is something happening here on Earth, a divine project that is in process here and now, something ongoing, something big.”

We are invited to be part of God’s plan, to co-labor with God to bring about the realization of this vision. Each of us has to ask: What is my role?

Note: This reflection is an excerpt from the reflection I offered at Mass on March 17, 2026 at Eastern Point Jesuit Retreat House in Gloucester MA, where I am directing on an 8-day retreat.

Not long ago I read a homily of Richard Rohr’s that talked about a worldview of scarcity vs. one of abundance.  A worldview of scarcity, he suggested, “tells us to protect what we have, because there is never enough to go around.  It’s a competitive, win/lose worldview [that] moves us toward anxiety, consumerism, and toward possessiveness,” because we don’t want to lose what we have – even when what we have is more than enough.

Rohr contrasts that worldview of scarcity with the worldview of abundance, which he believes is the worldview of the Gospel because it “depends upon us recognizing that we are in touch with an Infinite Source.”  When we recognize that, we know that if we are creative, if we are less selfish, there will be enough.  There will always be enough.

I was reminded of that homily a week or so ago, when I read a Substack post by my friend Stuart Higginbotham, an Episcopal priest in Georgia.  He used the term “lens” rather than “worldview,” and talked about the difference between being grounded in a lens of essential union vs. a lens of separation.  He wrote

The lens through which we see the world shapes the world that we see. That is a lesson throughout all the world’s religious and spiritual traditions. If we see the world through the lens of separation, we will continue supporting policies and frameworks that leverage one group against another, allowing oppression.

Stuart is clearly right on in saying that the lens through which we see the world shapes the world that we see.  So sitting with his reflection and Richard Rohr’s homily, raised for me the question: Are there are lenses like this it would be helpful to identify? Other lenses that color dramatically how we see ourselves and our relationship to others and to our world.

A further comment by Stuart in an e-mail exchange we had after I read his post spoke of how we “grip” these lenses, a phrasing that reminds us that there are really two pieces.  First, identifying and acknowledging the lens or worldview though which we see.  And, second, identifying and seeking to loosen what causes the strong grip of the “wrong” lens.

Scarcity vs. abundance.  Separation vs. essential union.

Is there something you might add to that (thus far, short) list?

Today is the ninth and final day of a Novena of Grace, nine days of prayer in honor of St. Francis Xavier.  (The Novena is sponsored by the Ignatian Spirituality Center at St. Thomas More in Saint Paul, MN.)  Following is an excerpt of the video reflection I offered on this final day.  

In the first line of today’s first Mass reading from the book of Jeremiah, God commands his people: “Listen to my voice,” a command repeated in today’s responsorial psalm from Psalm 95: “If today you hear his voice, harden not your hearts.”

And in the final line of the Gospel reading for today, Jesus tells the crowds, “Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters.” 

Whatever else we can say about St. Francis Xavier, he listened to God’s voice and he gathered with Jesus.

With respect to listening to God’s voice:

In his May 17, 2023, General Audience, Pope Francis focused on Francis Xavier as (in his words) an “exemplary model of apostolic zeal.”  One of the points he made in that audience is that Francis’ intense activity (again in the Pope’s words) “was always joined with prayer, with the mystical and contemplative union with God.  He never abandoned prayer because he knew that strength came from there.”  He listened for the voice of God and acted out of that.

During the time he spent at the southern tip of India, for example, Francis Xavier began his day with his morning prayer, followed by reading the breviary and saying Mass, and at the end of his work day (in the words of one biographer) “he withdrew to a lonely spot and prayed for a long time, as the sea murmured and the splendor of the star-strewn heavens unfolded over the crowns of the lofty palms.”

While his prayer took many forms, it is worth mentioning that, as someone formed by Ignatius, Francis embraced the value of a daily Examen, a prayer form many of you are likely familiar with.  (For Ignatius this is not optional; he viewed the Examen as an essential aspect of daily prayer.) 

In a letter to a Jesuit novice, Francis gave a short version of this prayer form: “At night before you go to sleep, you should retire to some place and examine the things which happened to you that day, your thoughts, words and actions, examining your conscience with great diligence . . . and at the end you should say an Our Father and a Hail Mary. After this has been finished, you should lie down, occupying yourself with the thought of how you are to amend yourself on the following day.”

If some version of the Examen is not a part of your daily prayer, I really encourage you to make it so.  Taking time each day to look at where I have and have not been conscious of God’s presence in my life, has the effect of making us more mindful of God and ourselves in the course of our day.  The Examen trains us to listen more attentively to God in all of the ways God communicates with us over the course of a day.

What about Francis being a person who gathered?

As I already suggested, Francis was enormously influenced by St. Ignatius and his Spiritual Exercises, and his life reflects an embrace of the recognition that loving God means being men and women for others, being so-called “contemplatives in action”.  Loving God means uniting oneself with God by joining God’s active labor to heal and save the world.

We know that Francis has been called one of the greatest missionaries in Christian history.  In the General Audience I mentioned earlier, Pope Francis spoke of Francis Xavier’s passion, his readiness to endure hardships and dangers, driven (in the Pope’s words) “only by the powerful desire to make Jesus Christ and his Gospel known.”

At least two things contributed to his ability to gather people for Christ.

First, liker Jesus, Francis always spoke out of his truth.  People spoke of his “inner flame.”  He won people over not only by his fervent speech, but by his example.  The zeal for God he preached was the product of his own experience of God. 
Second, he had an ability to mix with people of various social-classes, faith and beliefs.  Long before people used language of inculturation, Francis discovered the variety and beauty of different languages, cultures, faiths, and living conditions.  Realizing that God was already present in all cultures, peoples, places and things, he realized that he needed to find ways to adapt to the cultures in which he found himself.  And as he influenced others, he himself was influenced by his interactions with them.  In the words of former Jesuit Superior General Fr. Peter Hans-Kovenbach, “When the heart is touch by direct contact, the mind may be challenged to change.”

I encourage you at this point to take a few minutes to ask yourselves these questions:

 Are we attentive to the voice of God?  Whether through our daily Examen or other contemplative prayer, are we listening to God’s voice or are we allowing the noise of our day to drown God out?  And:

Are we gatherers or scatterers?  Do we – by our word, our deeds, by who we are in the world – bring people to Christ or push them in other directions?

I went to the dentist last week for my semi-annual cleaning and check-up.  Turns out I have a cavity in one of my back teeth, something I haven’t had in quite a long time.  After the dentist left the examining room, the hygienist told me I would need to go to the front desk when she was done with my cleaning so that they could give me an estimate of what I would have to pay for the filling that would not be covered by insurance.  My response was, “Why bother?  I have to get it done.” 

She replied, “Many people don’t,” prompting me to realize the inadequacy (indeed, insensitivity) of my response.  The $87 estimate I received for filling the cavity means nothing to me. But it very well could mean the difference between someone being able to get the required dental work and living with a cavity that could cause further problems down the line.

The truth is that I do know how close to the edge many people exist; I see it in the Twin Cities where I live.  They have enough to pay their rent and feed their families, but many are one mishap, one unexpected expense away from falling into instability.  An uncovered medical expense.  Car trouble.  Replacement of a necessary household appliance.  A child growing out of shoes of clothing faster than expected. Any number of things.

The simple truth is that so many people are one unexpected expense away from not being able to pay their rent, or their electric bill, or buy enough food for their family or diapers for their baby.  One unexpected expense away from risking falling into homelessness or food insecurity.

I think it is important that we remember this.  And in remembering, that we not take what we have for granted, but be grateful for the security we do have.

And in remembering, being willing to be generous with those who do not have the same level of ssecurity we do.

Is it spring yet?  Perhaps in some part of the United States the answer is yes, but it certainly isn’t in St. Paul, Minnesota where I live.

I am not a fan of the cold.  I sometimes joke that my discernment whether to accept the offer from the University of St. Thomas and move from New York to the Twin Cities took an extra couple of weeks as I kept reminding God, “You know I don’t like the cold.  Are you sure you don’t have someplace a bit warmer in mind?

But this winter I have experienced something different here in the Twin Cities.  I’ve watched thousands and thousands of people marching in protest in -18 weather – the kind of cold that makes your eyelashes freeze and makes it difficult to breathe.  I’ve stood on a perimeter of a high school that has a large number of immigrants enrolled to help provide a sense of security at the beginning and end of the school day.  I’ve participated in candlelight vigils on evenings where the temperature was somewhere below zero to express solidarity with those most directly affected by overly zealous ICE agents.

I’m not going to say I wasn’t cold on the occasions I joined others outside.  But there was warmth in my heart in welcoming each high school student with a smile as they approached school property.  And there was warmth in my heart when standing with people I had never met before, singing together and helping ensure each of our candles stayed lit (or re-lit) in the wind. And that warmth continues to rise as efforts to help those still suffering go on.

We can’t do anything to change the outside weather.  But we can find ways to warm our hearts, whether the cold is from low temperatures or other turbulence in our world and in our lives.

How are you staying warm in the times in which we are living?  What is warming your heart?

[This is being posted today as a Jesuit Retreat House (OshKosh) Monday Moment.]

[I made the below post in 2013. Given the events we are currently living through, I thought it worth sharing again.]

One of the books I’m currently reading is Richard Rohr’s Immortal Diamond: The Search for Our True Self.

In his book, Rohr calls God “the Great Allower.” God allows us to make mistakes and God allows acts of great evil to take place. And this is not something anyone likes. Rohr writes

God’s total allowing of everything has in fact become humanity’s major complaint. Conservatives so want God to smite sinners that they find every natural disaster to be a proof of just that, and then they invent some of their own smiting besides. Liberals reject God because God allows holocausts and tortures and does not fit inside their seeming logic.

Rohr goes on to suggests that if we were being honest, we would admit that “God is both a scandal and a supreme disappointment to most of us.” Despite our professed love and desire for autonomy, “we would prefer a God of domination and control to a God of allowing.”

This was something I struggled with in the first weeks of my prayer when I made the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius. I couldn’t see why God couldn’t just “force” me into doing the right thing, rather than risking that I would blow it. It took me quite some time to accept that allowing us our freedom was a great gift.

Rohr speaks of “allowing the Great Allower to allow us, even at our worst.” If we do, he suggests, we learn, as I did during the Exericises, “to share in the divine freedom” and to “forgive God for being too generous.”

Today the Catholic Church celebrates the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity.  The first thing that came to mind as I pondered this feast day is this quote from the late Michael Himes:

I suppose that no doctrine in the Christian tradition has caused more confusion than the Trinity.  But today I fear that, for many people, it is the doctrine that does not make any difference.  After all, if someone were to get into the pulpit next Sunday and announce, “We have received a letter from Rome.  There has been a change; not three Persons in God, but four,” would it really require people to rethink the way they pray, to reevaluate how they live their marriages or bring up their children or make professional decisions?  If not, it is tragic.  For the Trinity is not one doctrine among others; It is the whole of Christian doctrine.

“The Trinity is not one doctrine among others; it is the whole of Christian doctrine.”  That is a pretty strong statement.  If Himes is correct that it is the whole of Christian doctrine, then presumably, we ought to be able to answer the question: How has our understanding of the Trinity made a difference in our faith?  And if he is correct that it is the whole of Christian doctrine, it is pretty sad if we can’t do so.

Most of us have difficulty even finding ways to express the Trinity.  We know the words: God exists as one being in three persons: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.  But what does that mean to say that God is three, but also one?

We try to understand by analogy: The Trinity is like a shamrock leaf.  The Trinity is like three interlocking rings (a kind of smaller version of the Olympics symbol). When I was growing up, I thought of it kind of like rub-a-dub-dub, Three men in a tub.”  Some others, perhaps, think of God as a kind of committee of three.

The medieval mystic Hildegard of Bingen, in one of her visions, was told by God that the image of Trinity she experienced meant that the Father, who is Justice, is not without the Son or the Holy Spirit; and the Holy Spirit, who kindles the hearts of the faithful, is not without the Father or the Son; and the Son, who is the plenitude of fruition, is not without the Father or the Holy Spirit.  They are inseparable in Divine Majesty.

That may not give a complete definition of the Trinity, but it does tell us that the God in whose image we are created is a God of communion, a God of intimacy, a God of relationship.  And that tells us that we are created for relationship.  God created the universe and human beings to invite human beings into the relational life of the Trinity: We were brought into existence out of love, created for a loving relationship with God.  We were created not as autonomous isolated beings, but as beings in communion.  (There is a rendition of St. Ignatius’ First Principle and Foundation that reads: “I am from love, of love, for love.” From love, of love, for love.)

So whatever else we understand about the Trinity, it tells us that we are communal beings, made in the image of a communal God, to grow in relationship.  Perhaps this is why Michael Himes, who I already quoted suggested that the best statement of the Trinity is found in the First Letter of John, in the simple statement that “God is love.”

Did you wake up this morning with a sense of anticipation?  Are you feeling the stirrings of resurrection?

Wednesday, we recalled Judas’ betrayal of Jesus.  Thursday, we relived the events of Jesus’ last meal with his friends, and his subsequent time in the garden.  Yesterday, we walked with Jesus during the final hours of his life, ending in his ignominious death on the cross, experiencing, up close and personal, his suffering and his rejection.

Tonight, those of us who will attend the Easter Vigil will light the candles and sing out our Allelulia’s that Jesus is risen, that the victory over death has been won!  Others will do the same tomorrow morning.

But, before we get there, I invite you to spend some time today in the space between death and resurrection – the space inhabited by the disciples after Jesus was laid in the tomb.

For Jesus’ friends and followers, his death was the end.  They experienced a painful and frightening period of darkness after the crucifixion. Three years of following Jesus and it was all over.  Three years of hope, ended.  Think of what they experienced.  Fear – that everything Jesus had said and done ended at his death.  Powerlessness – believing they had been abandoned by God.  The finality of loss – as the stone was put in front of the tomb.  Confusion – “the road before them shrouded in darkness,” in the words of one prayer.

The morning and afternoon of Holy Saturday offer us an invitation to get in touch with that sense of loss, to try to understand what it would mean to live in a world without Jesus.  To try to experience it in a real and personal way. 

This is an important part of the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius instructs us to take some time after the death of Jesus to be with the disciples and with Mary and the other women in their grief over losing Jesus.  Her wants us to actually be with them – as Jesus’ body is taken from the cross, anointed, and placed in the tomb.  To be there as the rock is being rolled across the tomb’s entrance.  To be with Mary and the other disciples afterwards.  The points is (in the words of one instruction for this reflection to “Let the effect of Jesus’ death permeate your whole being and the world around you.”

I invite you to take some time today doing exactly that.  To take a break from the Easter preparations to grow in your appreciation what the resurrection means to us by living for at least a few hours in that space between death and resurrection.

The traditional depiction of prudence is a figure of a teacher, denoting wisdom.

I once read what seemed to me to be a good description of prudence:

[P]rudence is the virtue of the possible.  It is not just caution or moderation or tact, though those good things all require it.  Prudence is the virtue that translates every other virtue into particular decisions, the link between conviction and action.  The word ‘prudence’ may lack the heft and grandeur of ‘wisdom,’ but without prudence all wisdom is impotent.  The real dilemmas we face in life, including political dilemmas, do not neatly conform to any set of models or list of rules.  The rules must always be applied by someone, and the application is never automatic: there aren’t – there can’t be – rules for how to interpret every rule.

One way to understand the value of prudence is to ask: what qualities do we want the leaders of our society to have?  Presumably we are not concerned with their wealth, their power or their privilege.  Nor is the primary quality necessarily intelligence or cleverness (although these certainly help).  The qualities they really need have are insight into human nature, human needs and human values.  And the insight has to have a practical side – leaders need to be able know people and their problems and to be able to think of practical ways to solve them, not just to have abstract ideals – but ideas that work given all of the constraints that are at play.  That is wisdom, that is prudence.

So prudence has to do with having the wisdom to make right choices.  Prudence helps us to apply moral principles to particular cases without error and to overcome doubts about the good we seek to achieve and the evil we seek to avoid.  St. Thomas Aquinas called prudence “right reason in action.”  It is prudence that immediately guides the judgment of conscience.    For that reason, prudence is called auriga virtutum (the charioteer of the virtues) because it guides all of the other virtue.

Prudence is not a fear of doing anything. It is not simply caution or moderation.  Instead it is the most important tool of discernment.  The Catechism defines it as “the virtue that disposes practical reason to discern our true good in every circumstance and to choose the right means of achieving it.”

I sigh as I write this because I see so many decisions being made that appear to lack prudence. But I pray it is a virtue that those who lead us – in govenment, church and society – grow in.