But imagine this scene.  You are an unborn child who has lived in cozy but cramped quarters with your twin for nine months.  But now you both are experiencing tremendous pressure, and your twin is squeezed through a narrow opening leaving you alone in the darkness.

Now think of it from the point of view of little one who just was squeezed through the bottleneck of the womb.   He has to learn to breathe the air of this new world.  His eyes now must adjust to blinding light and his skin to much cooler temperatures.

But what if he was born premature?  What if his body was not ready for this new, challenging environment?  What if he emerged from the womb with a dangerous infection?  Would he not have to stay in an incubator in the hospital for a while until he was infection-free and strong enough to endure the challenges of life on planet earth?

On the first two days of November, as daylight shrinks in the Northern Hemisphere and frost turns vegetation brown, the Church leads us to confront the mystery of death.

These days remind us that love is stronger than death, that Christ’s death for us means that our beloved deceased who believed in Christ are very much alive.  They may be among those whose lungs breathe the exhilarating air of heaven and whose eyes gaze upon the glory of God.   In this case, they help us through their prayers.

Yet they may also be among those whose lungs were not ready for breathing and whose eyes were not ready for the brilliance of the beatific vision, whose body carried an infection that needed to be eliminated.  In which case, we must help them through our prayers.  Our loving intercession can hasten the purification and preparation necessary for the full enjoyment of their inheritance.

The Catholic Church has always been very reserved in its teaching about the mystery of life after death, including the mystery of purgatory.  Here’s what we know.  Christ’s death and resurrection won eternal life for everyone.  Yet the fruit of his redeeming work needs to be personally appropriated.  Each person must say yes to Christ, and yield to the liberating power of his grace which progressively breaks the sin’s power and heals sin’s wounds.  Everyone is obliged to actively participate in this process and to renounce all sin, great or small.  God, through his church, provides all the means of grace necessary to facilitate this purification and healing.

Yet what about people who say a fundamental yes to Christ, but drag their feet, clinging to some “small” sins, nursing some attachments to the evil that they’ve supposedly renounced?  Purgatory is the process after death where these attachments, the umbilical cord which binds people to the old world, are cut so that people can be free to enter into the life to come.  It is the hospital where the infection of sin is eliminated.  It is the incubator where heart, lungs, and vision are made ready for a much larger life.

Purgatory is not a temporary hell.  The Church does not teach that there is physical fire there (how could fire hurt spirits, anyway?) or that people spend a certain number of years or months there (after death, how do we measure time?) or that everyone but the greatest saints must go there after death (all the means are provided for purification to happen here!).

We can’t know for sure where our beloved deceased are, unless they happen to be canonized saints.  So when in doubt, we pray for them.  If they happen to need our help, our act of kindness can have great impact on them.  If not, this kind act still has great impact on us, exercising our love muscles so that we will be ready to enter directly into the wedding feast of the Lamb when our own time inevitably comes.

Of course, in this conversation, recounted in Sunday’s gospel, John and James were referring to that glorious moment when Jesus would be finally acclaimed as king of Israel, indeed, of all the world. They envisioned themselves as prime minister A and prime minister B who should naturally bask in the splendor of the monarch.

Jesus was quite restrained in his correction. For it would be natural for the disciples to strive for excellence since God created us to do so. And it would natural for them to think that excellence would mean privilege, honor and glory, for that is how everyone seems to think of it, whether Jew or Gentile. Both chief priests and Roman governors were surrounded with pomp and circumstance, servants and sycophants.

Jesus wanted them to be ambitious to achieve true greatness, which is not about having big heads but big hearts. It is that love called charity that makes men and women truly great, since it makes them like God in whose image they were created. And Jesus had begun to show them what God’s love was like, but they’d not gotten the point. Their feet had not yet been washed and the King had not been crowned with thorns. They’d not yet understood that love is self-emptying, that true greatness lies in sacrifice, that “prime minister” means servant of all.

In a world where self-interest and self-promotion are the law of the land, such a love is destined to suffer. To be great in love is to suffer much. The cup of feasting may come, but only after the cup of suffering. Jesus had come to drain this bitter cup to its dregs. Were they ready to drink it with him? Glibly they answered yes, oblivious to the implications of their choice. They’d learn soon enough what it would entail.

Jesus, says the letter to the Hebrews, can be compassionate and merciful with us, because he was tempted in every way that we are tempted, though he never succumbed. He could correct the sons of Zebedee with gentleness because he himself was tempted to gain the favor and glory of the kingdoms of the world by bowing before the father of pride (Mathew 4:8-9). He chose instead humbly to serve the Father of mercy.

You’d think it would be easier for us to get the point than the two brothers. After all, we received the spirit of understanding when, in baptism and confirmation, we put on the mind of Christ. We know the end of the story–that the resurrection follows the crucifixion.

But unfortunately, there’s still a scar left on all us from the snakebite passed down to us by our first parents, and a residue of the serpent’s venom still lingers on. There is a tug within us to climb over others in our rise to greatness, to exalt ourselves even at others expense, even to trip up others so that we may get ahead. We are tempted to let others take the rap so that we might look good, to leave others holding the bag while we escape scott-free, to leave the dirty dishes for others lest, God forbid, we do more than our “fair share.”

If we are to be followers of Jesus and be truly great, we must renounce placing any limits on how much we are willing to give or whom we are willing to serve. The one who is greatest, and is most like God, is not the one who appears on the cover of People magazine. It is the one who will go to the greatest lengths for those who are least worthy and least grateful.

Curiosity is not the same as desire. True desire will pay any price to get what it wants. Curiosity has the itch to know, but not necessarily the will to act. Jesus decided to help him get honest with himself, for he saw the man’s heart. After all, he is the Word of God made flesh, and Scripture says that God’s word penetrates the surface and drives deep into a person, like a double-edged sword. The gaze of the living Word penetrates. And now he speaks words that also penetrate and even sting a bit. “Go give what you have to the poor and you’ll have treasure in heaven. Then come follow me.”

Immediately the man’s countenance fell. He had not bet on this sort of response. More prayers and fasting he could handle perhaps. But giving up all that he’d worked for? And traipsing after this itinerant rabbi all over who-knows-where, not knowing where his next meal would be coming from? This was all too much for him.

He wanted God as a part of his life. But he wasn’t ready to give God control of his life, to abandon himself completely, to find his whole identity and security in the Lord. His affluence provided him with a level of comfort and prominence that he’d learn to depend upon. It was just too scary to let go of that.

This was a crisis moment in his life, where a choice was set before him that would manifest where his heart truly lie. He tragically failed the heart monitor test.

But there was another young man, a thousand years earlier, who faced the same sort of test and responded differently. His father had built him a very nice kingdom. At the very point at which he was to take over the reigns, the Word of God came to him and offered him anything he truly desired. What was his heart’s desire? To be given riches surpassing the wealth of all other kings on the planet? To be granted stunning military victory over all his enemies?

Solomon chose neither of these. He understood that God knew him better than he knew himself and that God loved him more than he loved himself. If he alone was in control of vast armies and riches, he could lose them in a heartbeat, or use them to do more harm than good. If he alone were calling the shots, trying to make himself and his people happy, he’d probably end up miserable and make his people miserable. Humility caused him to recognize his littleness and God’s greatness. This respect for God’s grandeur, otherwise known as fear of the Lord, is the beginning of wisdom. The first thing wisdom does is seek more wisdom. So that is what he asked for, God’s wisdom, God’s counsel, God’s help and even God’s control. Ironically, putting the reigns in God’s hands enabled this loving God to bring military success and prosperity greater than Israel had ever enjoyed before or since.

Jesus points out how this works after the rich young man went away sad. Yes, those who give up precious relationships and possessions to follow Jesus will encounter hardship and persecution. But they will also receive, even in this life, infinitely more than they gave up and in the age to come, everlasting life.

But God can’t lead us on the adventure of a lifetime if we’re still clinging desperately to what we think will make us happy, with the reigns of our lives grasped tightly in our own hands.

Perhaps Christians ought to pay heed to this businessman.  We often get our ideas about people more from our own wishful thinking than God’s inspired word.  We expect that people will applaud and honor us when we live upright lives that are honorable, chaste, and charitable.  We are shocked when they do the opposite.

Jesus wasn’t.  He had read this yesterday’s first reading from the book of Wisdom long before he began his public ministry.  He knew that the miracles that he performed to heal, feed, and deliver the poor, sick and downtrodden, the words he spoke which captivated them and gave them hope – all this might very well be perceived to be a blessing by many.  But he knew that to some, it would be perceived as a threat.

For what the people so abundantly received from Jesus served to remind everyone of just how little they had received from their religious leaders.  Both Wisdom and James describe the inner dynamic at work in the hearts of such people.  When good people come across someone more virtuous, they are grateful.  For they are reminded of what they can become, and it encourages them to pursue excellence.  They rejoice when the virtuous person is honored, and in fact lead the applause.  When wicked people come across someone more virtuous, they are furious.  Because such people serve as proof that the wicked could be different.  The virtuous person takes away their excuses and exposes their mediocrity, so they resent his success   Rather than emulate the hero and strive to accomplish similar things, they instead seek to destroy him and discredit his work thereby removing the embarrassing threat to their self-respect and their image.

This goes beyond what we customarily mean by the term jealousy, for it is not simply wishing to possess a good thing enjoyed by another.  Rather this sort of jealousy concludes, either through laziness or despair, that the good that it desires is impossible to attain, and so aims to obliterate it and the person possessing it.  It is the capital sin of envy, and often employs ingenious strategies to bring down its nemesis.

Jesus understood all this.  So amidst all the euphoria aroused by Jesus’ sensational ministry, he predicts that he will be tortured to death at the instigation of the “spiritual” leaders of his own people?

But Wisdom incarnate had a plan much wiser than the clever schemes of his cunning opponents.  Yes, they had it all worked out–he’d come to Jerusalem for the feast, as would the Roman procurator, the only one who could approve his execution.  They’d recruit a snitch from his inner circle.  They’d rig a kangaroo court, mustering the Sanhedrin in the middle of the night.  They’d manipulate Pilate with fear of losing the emperor’s favor.

But the worldly wisdom of envy was no match for the heavenly wisdom of Love.  All their maneuvering only served to advance the purposes of his own glorious plan of salvation.  The elaborate machinations of evil men played right into his hands, setting Him up to win the eternal forgiveness of those who plotted against him.

For Love, as St. Paul says in Romans 8, has the power to make everything work out to the good.  And that is the reason that the crucifix is the central image of the Catholic faith.  It is a symbol of faith, hope, and love.  Yes, it demonstrates how much he loves us.  But it also demonstrates that we have nothing to fear from the tragedies and calamities that have happened or could happen.  For if he can bring glory out of the shame of the cross, he can bring good out of anything.

In fact the cradle of civilization, now Iraq, was the home of the most infamous terrorists of antiquity, the Assyrians.  Their goal was to conquer their neighbors in a way that would minimize  initial resistance and subsequent rebellion.  To do this, they knew fear would be their greatest weapon.  Simple threat of death for those who resisted was not enough because many would prefer death to slavery.  So the Assyrians developed the technology to produce the maximum amount of pain for the longest amount of time prior to death.  It was called crucifixion.  This ingenious procedure proved to be very effective terror tactic indeed.

It was the policy of the Roman Empire to adopt from conquered peoples whatever appeared useful.  They found crucifixion an excellent tool of intimidation.  The humiliation of being stripped naked to die in a public spectacle was particularly loathsome to Jews for whom public nudity was an abomination.  Incidentally, crucifixion was deemed so horrible that Roman law forbade that it be carried out on a Roman citizen, even a traitor.  It was reserved only for slaves and conquered peoples.

Non-Christians have often asked a very good question — why do Christians adorn their churches, homes, and necks with a symbol of abasement, terror, and torture?

The feast of the Exaltation or Triumph of the Holy Cross (September 14th) provides the answer.

St. Anselm (12th century) explained it this way.  Our first parent’s sin was all about pride, disobedience, and self-love.  Deceived by the serpent, Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit in defiance of God because they wanted to exalt themselves as His equal.  The results were catastrophic — loss of communion with God, each other, and the created universe.  The history of the human race has been a story in which each one of us, weakened by the impact of this sin on our nature, have followed its pattern, proudly refusing to obey God and love our neighbor.

Anselm pointed out that sin constitutes an infinite offense against the goodness and honor of God.  Having been created free and responsible, bound by the law of justice, our race is obliged to offer acts of love, humility and obedience to God powerful enough to cancel out the long legacy of disobedience and pride and restore our friendship with him.

Problem is, our wounded race could not begin to attempt such a task.  So the Father sent His Eternal Word to become man and accomplish the task in our place, to substitute for us.  For the immortal, infinite God to empty himself and unite himself to a limited, vulnerable human nature was already a feat of unimaginable love and humility.  But for redemption to be complete, the hero would have to withstand the greatest fury that hell and fallen humanity could hurl against him — the cross.

Surely, after the crowds he had healed and fed cried “Crucify him!” and his own apostles fled, Jesus would realize it wasn’t worth it.  Surely he would curse the ingrates and use his divine power to free himself as many suggested in their taunts.  But no.  His was love to the end, love to the max (John 13:1).  His death was the clear and undeniable manifestation of the triumph of obedience over disobedience, love over selfishness, humility over pride.

Good Friday was the D-Day of the human race.  Since Pentecost, the power of Christ’s obedient, humble, unstoppable love has been made available to all who are willing to share it, producing martyrs and saints in every generation, down to the Maximilian Kolbe’s and Mother Teresa’s of our own era.

So the cross is not only victorious, it is fruitful.  It bore the fruit of salvation in the loving act of Christ but has kept bearing new fruit throughout the ages.  That’s why, if you go to the Church of San Clemente in Rome, you’ll see one of the most stunning mosaics in the Eternal City — the ancient instrument of subjection and death, wrapped with verdant vines supporting fruit of every shape and size, the triumphant cross become the tree of life.

But the question is, why did he work miracles?  Did he really care about the individuals he fed, healed, and delivered from evil?  Or was he just trying to make a statement?

This Sunday’s gospel helps us answer this question — it reveals that his miracles were truly miracles of mercy.  Jesus encounters a deaf-mute in his travels.  He does not make a spectacle of himself.  No grandstanding, no fanfare.  In fact, Jesus takes him away from the crowd, off by himself.  And once the deaf-mute is healed, Jesus commands him not to tell anyone about it.  Of course, the man is too ecstatic to keep the good news to himself.  But the situation makes clear Jesus’ primary and unwavering commitment to relieve suffering wherever he finds it, out of sincere compassion for the afflicted.

But human beings often have multiple motivations for the very same action.  Why should it be any different for the Holy Spirit?  Jesus’ miracles reveal not only his compassion, but his hidden identity.  You and I may meet a deaf mute and feel pity in the face of his suffering.  But the power to bestow speech and hearing is a bit beyond us. It is, however, not beyond Jesus. The Holy Spirit who inspired the words of the Old Testament led the Son of God to this particular man in part because his healing would fulfill the words of Isaiah… that God himself would come to save his people, opening the ears of the deaf and causing the mute to speak. Jesus’ miracles are called “signs” in John’s Gospel because they point beyond themselves to the bigger picture, the plan of salvation stretching from Genesis to Revelation and to the Savior who is the focal point of the whole drama.

There is something else in the story that it would be easy to miss. Jesus begins his journey in the region of Sidon and comes to the Decapolis, on the eastern shore of the Jordan, where he meets the deaf-mute. These regions have something in common: they are both pagan territories. Yes, Jesus comes first and foremost for the lost children of Israel. But his compassion knows no bounds.  His miraculous love transforms the lives of the pious and the outcasts as well –tax collectors, Samaritans, gentiles, even the hated Romans!

So James calls us to do no more than follow the example of Jesus. The prejudice which causes us to give preferential treatment to the beautiful people — the popular, wealthy, good-looking and “nice” — may seem to come “naturally” to us who are wounded by original sin. But it needs to be renounced by those who have accepted the healing gift of grace through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.  In the body of Christ, if there is any preferential treatment to be given, it is to those in greatest need, even if they happen to speak another language and come from a different country.  In fact, the unity and brotherhood of different ethnic groups, personality types, and socioeconomic groups in one Church is a sign that this is no man-made sect, depending on merely human forces to hold it together. No, this is a community whose unity is due to divine power, the power of the Spirit. And it is no spiritual club for those who look alike and dress alike.  It is instead comprised by people from every tribe, tongue, people, language, occupation, and lifestyle.  It is the universal family of God, the Church Catholic.

But if we read this portion of the Bible closely, the Lord is not telling us that tradition is a dirty word.  His apostle Paul, in fact, tells us in 2 Thessalonians 2:15 to “hold fast to the traditions you received from us, either by our word or by letter.”

“Tradition” simply means something that is handed or passed on from one person to another, one generation to another.  One question to ask when examining any particular “tradition” is where it came from.  Its value depends on its origin.  Did it come from Jesus?  His apostles?  Some pious believers who lived centuries later?  The traditions Paul passed down were divine (from the Lord) and apostolic traditions, like the meaning and importance of the Eucharist (1 Corinthians 11:23-34) or the death and resurrection of the Lord Jesus (I Cor 15:3-11) and so were of the utmost importance.

The traditions of the Pharisees were quite a different matter.  They were not of themselves evil.  But they were pious customs of human origin passed down to support the living out of the law.  Unfortunately, the Pharisees were incapable of distinguishing divine law from its human support system.  Worse than that, they actually used pious customs as loopholes to help them get around the difficult demands of the Torah.

If you get your Bible out and read the full text of Mark chapter 7, you’ll get a clearer picture of this.  Everyone knows that when God gave Moses and the Israelites the 10 commandments, he meant business.  The fourth commandment, “honor your father and mother,” means not just that young kids ought to do what their parents tell them, but that adult children should provide for the financial needs of aging parents, assuring they live out their declining years in honor and dignity.  But the Pharisees found a religious custom that absolved them from this weighty responsibility.  They “dedicated” their money to God and thereby “sheltered” it, making it unavailable for parental support.

It’s not the tradition that’s the problem here, but the deviousness of the human heart that will use piety as an excuse to evade the obligations of true religion, which include, our second reading tells us, looking after orphans and widows and presumably elderly relatives in their distress (James 1:27).

And this is exactly Jesus’ point in this Sunday’s gospel.  The kinds of foods we eat don’t make us spiritually impure.  No, it is the foul things that come out of the deep recesses of the human heart, wounded by original sin, that separate us from God and each other and lead to all the misery in this world.

The Pharisees thought they’d purify Israel through dietary laws and religious customs.  Protestant Reformers of the 16th century thought they could purify the church by leaving behind ecclesiastical traditions and customs.  History has proven both endeavors to be futile.

The answer is simple.  Let’s just commit ourselves to radical obedience to God’s Word.  Let’s admit our need, our sinfulness, our tendency to make excuses, and humbly, genuinely lay open our lives and hearts before God’s word and listen.  As Moses tells us in Deuteronomy (4:1-8) and James tells us in his letter, let’s do more than listen.  Let’s really hear and obey.  Let’s give ourselves no wiggle room, but act on God’s word, regardless of how much it may cost us.

This is background we need in order to understand this Sunday’s first reading.  Elijah had just brought an end to a two year famine by doing away with the idolatrous prophets of Ba’al.  So what thanks does he get from Queen Jezebel?  She demands his head on a platter.  Within seconds he goes from being a hero to a fugitive.  After running for his life, he finally drops exhausted in the desert under the only shade he can find.  Feeling sorry for himself, he prays for death.  God decides instead to give him food.  An angel appears with bread and water and tells him to take nourishment.  He has a long journey ahead of him and there is no time for moping.

This is no ordinary meal, however.  Have you ever heard of a single snack of bread and water giving someone sufficient strength to trudge 40 days through barren desert only to arrive at an equally barren mountain?

This is indeed a puzzling incident that is more than a miraculous desert refueling of a discouraged prophet.  The Holy Spirit intends it to point forward to an even more remarkable food and drink that God will make available through his son, Jesus.  Are we speaking of the loaves and fishes that Jesus multiplies to feed thousands in the wilderness?  Even that is too little.  For this miraculous lakeside meal, mentioned by all four gospels, satisfied only for a short time, and then the people were hungry again.  Jesus points this out in John 6, and he also reminds the people that the manna their forefathers ate in the desert had similar limitations.

Even the multiplication of the loaves and fishes, like the meal Elijah received under the broom tree, merely points forward to something even greater, to food that truly satisfies and leads to eternal life.  The fulfillment of all these foreshadowings is Jesus’ own flesh and blood, to be eaten sacramentally under the forms of bread and wine, in the Eucharist.  This meal will be offered not just to a select few, but to all those sealed with the Holy Spirit (Ephesians 4:30) through baptism, making them prophets, kings, and priests of the Lord.  They, like the prophet Elijah, will ultimately walk with God in glory, but before that will have a long, arduous journey to make that will require extraordinary strength and stamina.

Our second reading tells us why they will need superhuman strength.  They are to rid themselves of bitterness, passion, anger, harsh words, slander, and malice of every kind.  Have you ever tried to eliminate all such things in from your life?  Have you found it easy to be as kind, compassionate, and forgiving as God, to be imitators of Christ’s way of love and self-sacrifice?  Then you know why God has made nourishment available to us that is truly superhuman, indeed divine, so that we are capable of loving in a way normally impossible for mere mortals.  In God’s wonderful plan of creation, blood was designed to purify our system of all impurities and bring life to every cell of our bodies.  Christ gives us his own blood to drink to flush out the toxins of selfishness and revitalize us with his divine generosity and unlimited patience.  When we receive this sacrament in faith, we have God’s own love coursing through our veins, passing through our weak hearts, transforming them and strengthening them for the journey of love that can lead us through some pretty bleak landscapes at times.

God cared enough for Elijah have an angel bring him a special meal.  He did one better for us.  He sent his Son who both brought the meal and is Himself the meal.

Twenty years ago, George Gallup conducted a poll called “Religion in America.”  He studied two groups of Americans, regular churchgoers from various Christian churches on the one hand, and totally unchurched people on the other.  He quizzed both groups on issues ranging from the divinity of Jesus, to cheating on income tax, infidelity in marriage, and abortion.

His findings were shocking.  Fully 88% of the churchgoers had answers identical to those of the unchurched people.  He dubbed these folks nominal Christians.  Only 12% of the churchgoers had opinions and lifestyles that were recognizably Christian.

Hold it.  Ephesian 4:17-24 tells us that to be a Christian means to live in a radically different way than the pattern offered by the pagan society that surrounds us.  Being a Christian means acquiring a new mind and becoming a new person who reflects the image and likeness of a holy God.

So why don’t 88% of churchgoers get it?   They have presumably heard this passage in Church more than once.  Maybe it is because the adage is true — you are what you eat.

Recently I heard someone quip that if you are what you eat, most Americans are fast, easy, and cheap.  But scarier than what we put into our mouths is what we put into our minds.  The average American watches over 20 hours of TV per week.  When not watching the tube, we are often online, scanning a magazine, or listening to our ipod .  Should we be surprised that our values generally reflect the values of the entertainment industry and news media?  After all, you are what you eat.

That’s why Jesus offers himself to us as the bread of life, the bread that comes down from heaven.  Since the 16th century, people have often debated the meaning of John 6.  Should we interpret the manna from heaven to be his Word, or rather the Eucharist?  This is a false alternative, as shown to us by the Mass.  An ancient tradition dating back to the early Church Fathers says that we feed on Christ from two tables, the table of the word, symbolized by the ambo, and the table of the Eucharist, which is the altar.

Each Mass offers a feast of God’s word not only in the readings, but in the prayers and acclamations which are usually direct quotes or paraphrases from Scripture.  The word of God in the liturgy is like a double-edged sword that penetrates deep, challenging us, healing our wounds, enlightening our minds, directing our steps.  It stimulates the eyes of faith to recognize the body and blood of Christ under the humble signs of bread and wine.  The Eucharist is indeed the most substantial food he offers us.  We are called to be the Body of Christ.   Why did he give us his body, blood, soul and divinity under the forms of bread and wine?  Because you are what you eat.

Lots of Catholics who regularly come to Mass are part of the 88% nominal majority.  Why is that?  Because the word and Eucharist can only be eaten by faith and digested by those who are not bloated with junk food.  Many scarcely hear the Sunday readings because their minds are filled with the song they were listening to on the way to Church or the to-do list from their Daytimer.  Many hear but quickly forget since they don’t feed on God’s word again until the next time they are at Sunday Mass.

If we carefully examined the 12% of churchgoers with a recognizably Christian lifestyle, I bet we’d find that most of them shy away from intellectual junk food, coming to Mass hungry (maybe that’s the point of the hour pre-communion fast).  I bet they provide some time to digest the Word and the Eucharist through regular moments of quiet prayer throughout the week.  And I bet they are smart enough to know that you don’t eat just once a week and expect to run the race to win (1 Corinthians 9:24).  Like the Israelites in the desert, these Christians gather the manna of God’s Word every day and make it their daily bread.  Some even attend the Eucharist daily.

Besides their lives being more inspiring, the lives of the 12% in Gallup’s poll exhibited one further characteristic.  They were considerably happier than both the unchurched and the nominal Christians who were equally plagued with a vague sense of emptiness.

Junk food may taste good, but it often leaves you with indigestion.  But the bread of life satisfies.  We were made for it.  As Jesus says, “no one who comes to me shall ever be hungry, no one who believes in me shall thirst again.”

But this week we come to a story that leaves us scratching our heads.  Jesus goes to his own native place, and receives less than an jubilant reception.  “They found him too much for them.” That may not be so surprising to those of us accustomed to family life.  But what does come as a shock are these words: “He could work no miracle there . . . so much did their lack of faith distress him.”

Wait a minute.  I thought that Jesus was God and therefore omnipotent.  Wouldn’t it be admitting that he is not God to say that he was unable to work miracles in a given place?

Hardly.  God’s exercises his power only in a way befitting his nature.  God is a lover, not a rapist.  He seeks to give his love to those who freely accept it and open their hearts to him.  He refuses to violate the wishes of those whom he has created in his image and likeness, who possess intellect and free will.  He directly controls the wind and the waves through a word of simple command, for wind and waves are inanimate forces.  But with regards to human beings, he makes himself available and waits for an invitation.  That invitation whereby we ask him to come into our lives and calm our interior storms is called faith.

Faith is not, therefore, an emotion.  It is not about an inner assurance, a feeling of confidence that is free of all shadow of doubt or fear.  It is rather a decision, sometimes made with knees knocking.  It is a yes that gives God permission to work in our lives and rearrange the furniture if he so chooses.  That means blessing, healing, salvation and miracles.  But it also means yielding to his will, his plan, his timetable.  And of course, that is the part we don’t like.  What will others think of me?  Will I still be able to spend Saturday nights the way I’ve always spent them?  I work hard for a living and deserve to be able to blow off some steam!  Will I still be able to hang out with Joe, to live with Mary?

Sometimes we are not really happy with the way things are, but at least they are familiar.  We know what to expect.  We are in control, or at least we think we are.  Faith means handing over control, and that scares us.  We are free to say no, and quite frankly we often do.  Sometimes we say no in small ways–we only let God take us so far.  Sometimes it’s a very firm “no”, that shuts God completely out of our lives.

This is the sort of “no” that Jesus encountered during his visit to Nazareth, and which the prophets before him often encountered from the people of Israel.

So if Jesus was divine and therefore all-knowing, why did he bother to go to Nazareth at all?  For the same reason that God sent Ezekiel to the Israelites and told him in advance that they’d resist. The Lord wanted to take away all excuses.  God loved his people enough to offer them every opportunity for the healing and deliverance that they prayed for.  He called their bluff, so to speak.  Jerusalem pleaded for deliverance from the Babylonians and the people of Nazareth probably prayed for healing for Uncle Jacob or food for the town orphans.  But in both cases when God showed up, ready to pour out his gifts, they didn’t like the packaging and rejected the terms.

At the last judgment, when our lives flash before our eyes, we’ll be reminded of the times that God made a house call and we slammed the door in his face.  I say it’s time to apologize, unbolt the door, and roll out the red carpet.