The gospel reading for the First Sunday of Lent is the testing of Jesus in the wilderness. After fasting for forty days, Jesus is subjected to the devil's temptations. I have always been struck by how the devil prefaces his first two attempts to trip up Jesus (at least in Matthew's account): "If you are the Son of God, . . ." The verse just prior to this passage, however, has made it abundantly clear that Jesus is in fact God's beloved Son, as the voice from heaven declares in the immediate aftermath of his baptism (3:18). Therefore, the issue raised by the devil is not whether Jesus is the Son of God. Rather, Matthew's version suggests that the question is: what kind of Son is Jesus going to be?

We usually think of temptation as enticement to sin and evil. I suggest that we broaden the concept to include any enticement – whether within or outside of us – that allures us to choose to become other than the person God is calling us to be. The devil tries to get Jesus to succumb to his hunger, to put on a dramatic spectacle, and to grasp after worldly power. But we would be mistaken if we thought that, after enduring an intense period of testing by the devil, Jesus was never tempted again, at least in the broader sense defined above. Throughout his gospel Matthew goes to great pains to portray Jesus as the obedient Son who constantly enacted righteousness by being faithful to the Father's will. Jesus did not succumb to the lure of "success" or to discouragement. He remained faithful to God's plan for him, even in the face of rejection and abandonment and condemnation. (Paul alludes to this radical nature of Jesus' obedience in today's second reading – Rom 5:19). That Jesus was tested to the very end is evident from the taunt of the passers-by as he was hanging in agony: "If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross" (Matt 27:40, a detail unique to this gospel). To the very end Matthew presents Jesus as the faithful, obedient Son of the Father. How can Matthew's portrayal of Jesus' faithfulness in the face of temptation speak to us today? The first reading, from the second chapter of Genesis, suggests one possible appropriation. There God is depicted as a skilled sculptor who carefully creates human beings from the clay of the earth. This image of God is worth pondering. It intimates that each one of us is a master piece of God, lovingly molded and shaped to reflect something of the divine image (cf. Gen 1:26-27). At the most basic level, then, it can be claimed that one's fundamental vocation in life is to grow into becoming more and more the person God has made and called one to be. Viewed from this level, each one of us is irreplaceable.

The Church's selection of readings this First Sunday of Lent thus provides rich food for thought and contemplation. How cognizant am I of being uniquely created in God's image? How grateful? How do I experience temptation, those voices within and without that entice me from embodying and revealing God's image to others? Am I willing to "return to the Lord" and believe that now is "a very acceptable time" to seek healing and forgiveness (as the Ash Wednesday readings invited us)? Do I want to be more conformed to Jesus, whose obedience to the Father has unleashed the power of the Spirit to restore us in the divine likeness? In short: what kind of son or daughter of God am I becoming? Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

When lecturing on Paul's first letter to Corinthians, Daniel J. Harrington, S.J. – my colleague at Weston Jesuit School of Theology – tells our students that there are no problems in the Church today that did not exist in some form in the early church at Corinth. This insight can be consoling (e.g., at least we have company in our failures) or discouraging (e.g., will we ever get things right?).

I thought of Dan's words as I looked at the second reading for this Sunday (3rd Ordinary), taken from the opening chapter of First Corinthians. The first line of this reading is the verse widely regarded as the "thesis statement" of the entire letter. Paul urges the Corinthian Christians – whom he tellingly names "brothers and sisters" – to "agree" in what they say, to put an end to divisions among themselves, and to "be united in the same mind and in the same purpose." The Apostle thus makes abundantly clear that he wants the community to strive for unity. (The many causes of factionalism in Corinth sound all too familiar to us: divisions over leadership; competitiveness; spiritual elitism; socio-economic differences; contempt for others in the community – to name but some.)

Paul's exhortation to unity is all the more poignant, not to mention pertinent, given that we are coming to the conclusion of the Octave of Christian Unity (now more commonly known as the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity), Jan. 18-25. As has been well documented, the impetus towards ecumenism has waned in recent years. The reasons are undoubtedly complex. But one reason that unity is hard to work for and achieve across denominations and polities is that many if not most churches themselves are plagued with divisions and factions of various stripes and colors.

It strikes me, perhaps over simplistically, that unity – like charity – must begin at home if it is to be authentic. That is, how can we strive to grow in union with others when our own house is not in order? One of the conspicuous features of First Corinthians is that Paul insists throughout the letter that the sine qua non of growing into our identity as the Body of Christ is to enact love for one another. While doctrinal formations are not unimportant, his focus throughout the letter is primarily on specific practices. Paul exhorts the Corinthians in simple but challenging terms: seek to build one another up in love (e.g., 8:1; 14:12); seek what is advantageous for others rather than one's own advantage (11:33); become servants of one another (9:19). In fact, Paul holds himself up as one whose modus operandi is to serve others in love; in doing so, he claims to imitate Christ (11:1), whose love is marked by patience and kindness, not by insisting on his way (13:4-7).

In effect, Paul asserts that self-giving love within the community is the greatest antidote to disunity and factionalism. Is this naïve? Perhaps. But it seems to be the same strategy set forth in the Holy Father's general intention for the month of January: "That the Church may strengthen her commitment to full visible unity in order to manifest ever more clearly her nature as a community of love in which is reflected the communion of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit."

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

The Christmas Season comes to a close with the celebration of the Baptism of the Lord. The outpouring of the Spirit and the Father's declaration "You are my beloved Son" make Jesus' baptism one of the three traditional Epiphany events.

That Jesus submitted to receiving baptism – "a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins" (Mark 1:4) at that! – has troubled many. It apparently troubled the evangelist Matthew, who adds a dialogue between Jesus and John that functions as an apologia. This apologetic concern, important as it may be, can easily deflect us from the rich message contained in the celebration of Jesus' baptism.

The synoptic gospels are in agreement that two important things happened when Jesus emerged from the waters of the Jordan River. First, he heard the voice of God the Father naming him as "beloved Son" (according to Mark and Luke, this seems to be a private revelation to Jesus; in Matthew it has the air of a public pronouncement). What is noteworthy is that the Father's declaration of love comes before Jesus has embarked on his mission of proclaiming God's kingdom through a ministry of teaching and healing. This serves as a powerful reminder that God loves us, first and foremost, for who we are – not for what we do. Love is a gift to receive and cherish, not a reward to be earned. Second, Jesus experienced in a special manner the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. According to Luke's gospel (4:16-21), Jesus himself interpreted this empowerment as an anointing (the word from which we get the name "Christ," which means "anointed one"). This anointing with the Holy Spirit and power then led Jesus to go about "doing good and healing all those oppressed" (Acts 10:38). In short, the Spirit's anointing gave Jesus a clearer sense of his mission as well as the empowerment to carry it out.

Reflecting on these mysteries in Jesus' life sheds light on our own baptism. Whereas Jesus is God's Son by nature, we are God's adopted children through baptism. That is, like Jesus, each one of us has been dramatically named "beloved child" by God. Yet Baptism involves more than the three-fold immersion in water and the invocation of the Trinity. It also entails being anointed with the Sacred Chrism and being called and empowered – each in our own way – to be priest, prophet, and shepherd after the manner of Jesus. Thus, like Jesus, we receive the gift of the same Spirit for mission.

It is very appropriate, then, that the Christmas season ends with the celebration of Jesus' baptism. As we have been celebrating the Incarnation of Jesus as Emmaunel ("God-with-us"), we are now reminded of our privilege and call to continue to make Jesus present through our allowing the Spirit to work within us to 'do good,' to be agents of healing, and to work against oppression.

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

This Sunday's gospel (30th, OT) continues Jesus' teaching on prayer in the eighteenth chapter of Luke's gospel. Jesus proposes another parable that invites us to reflect on the proper attitude and manner of prayer – and on what is improper

Jesus briefly describes two figures who enter the temple to pray. The first is a Pharisee, a member of a religious group in Jesus' time that took religious practice and spirituality very seriously. We immediately sense something is amiss in the Pharisee's prayer because he prays not to God . . . but "to himself"! While the Pharisee begins by expressing thanksgiving to God, his "prayer" is peppered with the word "I." Glancing over at the tax collector, the Pharisee self-righteously takes it upon himself to condemn the former, thus setting himself in God's place as judge. His "prayer" is, in all actuality, a self-encomiastic recitation of his own accomplishments. Indeed, the Pharisee doesn't ask God for anything – neither for assistance nor for mercy. There is no room in his heart for God's gracious assistance or for compassion for others.

Recall that Jesus' parables are intended to both inform and challenge. It's easy, in hearing this gospel, to distance ourselves from the Pharisee. But notice that if we do so – thinking, for instance, "I'm glad I'm not like him" – we end up committing the same sin of pride! People who are religiously inclined can easily struggle with self-righteousness and judgmentalism.

The second figure in Jesus' parable is a tax collector. Tax collectors were looked down upon as collaborators and as notoriously dishonest in their collection of tolls. This particular tax collector, however, humbly stands in the back of the temple. He bows his head and, beating his breast in contrition, offers a simple and heartfelt prayer: "O God, be merciful to me a sinner." The tax collector acknowledges his need – in this case, for forgiveness – and opens his heart to receive God's mercy. Jesus then remarks that, of the two figures, it was only the tax collector who "went home justified," for it is "the one who humbles himself [who] will be exalted."

Jesus's parable teaches us several things about prayer: rather than focus on ourselves, we are to place ourselves in God's presence and turn our attention fully to him; rather than enumerate and boast about our accomplishments, we are to humbly recognize that we are in need of God's grace; and rather than judge and condemn others, we are to confess our own sinfulness and ask for his mercy.

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

Luke's gospel is often called "the gospel of prayer" for three reasons. First, Luke frequently portrays Jesus at prayer; second, he records the prayer Jesus taught his disciples (i.e., the Our Father); and third, he devotes more space than the other evangelists to Jesus' teaching about prayer and its importance. This Sunday's gospel, like the following Sunday's gospel, contains a parable about prayer. The focus this week is on "the necessity...to pray always without becoming weary."

What does the parable of the persistent widow teach us about prayer? In the first place, it invites us to consider how we image God. If a godless and dishonest judge can be worn down by a widow – the classic example of vulnerability in any society – to render justice, with how much more confidence can we approach the One whom Jesus invites us to address as "Father," as a loving parent who seeks to give his children what they most need (cf. Luke 11:13)? Thus, one reason to pray always is to allow God to reveal himself to us more and more as loving, patient, merciful, and just. The point of the parable isn't to wear God down or to make sure that he hears us; rather, Jesus' exhortation to pray always is really for our sake.

Sunday's second reading, from Paul's second letter to Timothy, suggests another reason to pray always. Here Paul discusses the importance of Scripture. The more we mature in the life of prayer, the more we ought to find ourselves listening to God. One privileged and sure way to listen to God is to prayerfully contemplate the Sacred Page. Such prayerful listening to God's Word inculcates "wisdom for salvation," "train[s] in righteousness," and "equip[s] for every good work." In other words, the prayerful contemplation of Scripture is a means by which we are transformed so that our very lives "proclaim the word" to others.

In fact, the transformation of lives leads us to the ultimate reason why it is necessary to pray always. The heart of the prayer Jesus taught us is "thy will be done." Jesus himself exemplified this prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane. We need to pray always in order both to learn what God's will is for us and to align our own wills more and more with his. Because of this, constant prayer is a sine qua non for Christian discipleship. It lies at the heart of our expression of faith, one that places us in intimate relationship with the One whom Jesus called "Abba."

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

Just as real estate agents insist on the importance of "location, location, location," so exegetes pay close attention to the context in which biblical passages are set. The gospel reading for Sunday (28th OT)--Luke's account of Jesus healing ten lepers, one of whom returns to give thanks (17:11-19)--is a good example. While the story is straightforward enough, Luke's placement adds rich texture to its interpretation. To illustrate this, it is necessary to recall last Sunday's reading (17:5-10), which in the third gospel is the immediately preceding context.

Recall from last week that the apostles approached Jesus with the request to increase their faith. Now Luke tells a story that concludes with Jesus praising the faith of the healed leper who returned to him in gratitude. Luke adds that this man of faith was a foreigner, a Samaritan at that. Observe the irony: those ostensibly closest to Jesus struggle to attain faith while a despised foreigner exhibits great faith. As is often the case, Luke turns our expectations upside down. What matters most in the realm of faith is how we respond to Jesus, rather than race, pedigree, possessions, or physical attributes. But lest we be tempted to reduce faith to the realm of the spectacular--albeit the story of the healed leper encourages us to open ourselves to the power of God--last Sunday's reading reminds us that the arena in which faith is lived is the quotidian realities of our lives. That would seem to be the point of Jesus' use of the example of one who comes in from plowing the field or tending the sheep.

Another insight gleaned by paying careful attention to the juxtaposition of passages pertains to thanksgiving. Recall that last week Jesus challenges us--who so often thrive on receiving recognition for what we do--to be content with doing "what we were obliged to do." That is, we are not to seek to receive gratitude merely for doing what God has called and empowered us to do. This Sunday's reading makes clear, however, that we are to be concerned with expressions of gratitude, namely the gratitude we owe to God. Indeed, Jesus' final comment to the healed leper indicates that gratitude and praise are essential elements of authentic faith. Moreover, his question "Where are the other nine?" is a haunting warning against the tendency many of us have to put God in the background during times of health and prosperity. Was taking God's blessings for granted behind the struggle of the apostles to attain faith? Behind our own struggles?

These are a few simple examples of the importance of literary context for the interpretation of Scripture. The best source to ascertain what a passage means is always the biblical author himself as revealed in the larger context of the writing in question.

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

21st Sunday, Ordinary Time

Today's readings present a certain tension. On the one hand, there are images of salvation reaching to all parts of the world – the gathering of "nations of every language" to see God's glory (Isa 66:18); the coming of peoples "from the east and the west and from the north and the south" to feast at the kingdom banquet (Luke 13:29). These images correlate well with the divine plan set forth in 1 Tim 2:4: God "wills everyone to be saved and to come to knowledge of the truth." On the other hand, Jesus speaks about the need to enter through "the narrow gate" and the reality that many will not be strong enough to do so (Luke 13:24). How is this tension lessened, if not fully resolved?

The second reading, from the letter to the Hebrews, provides an important clue. The author makes the provocative point that God "disciplines" and "scourges" those whom he loves. To 'discipline' and 'scourge' . . .; these words strike our ears as distasteful, if not downright abusive. How do we make sense of them, especially when we consider that God is one who does the disciplining? The Greek word that translates the substantive "discipline" is paideia. It refers to the upbringing, education, formation, and nurturing of children. Paideia thus entails teaching, rigorous training, disciplined practice – in short, hard work.

What does paideia involve for God's children, for Christian formation? A minimal list would include: daily prayer, active participation in the Church's sacramental life, study of God's Word and the Church's teaching (including its social tradition), works of charity, and ascetics. Such formation is hard work and a lifelong task. Hence Jesus' image of the narrow gate. In fact, only God's grace makes possible our advancing through the course. But the hard work is necessary because we are called by Christ to be "the salt of the earth" and "the light of the world" (Matt 5:13-14). It is through following in Jesus' footsteps of self-giving love and service – through teaching, feeding, healing, reconciling – that others will be attracted to the grace and energy that animate us. The call to enter the narrow gate is thus, paradoxically, the vocation to be instruments of drawing the nations to God's love and salvation.

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

The verb "assume" has several meanings. Its primary meaning is "take up," which is precisely the sense intended in today's celebration of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. As we pray in the Preface to the Eucharistic Prayer, "Today the virgin Mother of God was taken up into heaven." We celebrate the mystery--proclaimed as dogma by Pius XII on November 1, 1950--that "when the course of her earthly life was finished, [Mary] was taken up body and soul into the glory of heaven" (Munificentissimus Deus).

But "assume" can also mean "take as granted or true." It is this sense of the verb that I'd like to focus on. What are we assuming, taking as granted, when we celebrate Mary's Assumption? In the first place, we assume that Marian celebrations ultimately direct our attention to her Son, just as in her lifetime Mary directed those around her to heed Jesus and his words (John 2:5). Specifically, today's feast invites us to contemplate the wonder of Christ's victory over the power of death. The second reading, from 1 Cor 15:20-27, makes this clear as Paul proclaims the good news that "Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have fallen asleep." In the dog days of summer (at least in the northern hemisphere), we are beckoned to enjoy an Easter oasis.

In the second place, we assume that Mary has a special relationship with the Church, as the crucified Jesus indicated with his words to her and the beloved disciple (John 19:26-27). The Preface captures well this intimate connection: Mary's Assumption marks "the beginning and the pattern of the Church in its perfection, and a sign of hope and comfort for your people on their pilgrim way." Today's feast thus reminds us that we are people on a journey, destined to "a better homeland, a heavenly one" (Heb 11:16). We are summoned to be people of hope. And as the Adam-typology of the second reading suggests, we are called to walk in the ways of Jesus, the new or second Adam, whose self-giving love and service of others, in obedience to the Father, revealed how human beings can fully live in and reflect God's image.

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan is challenging on many levels. James DiGiacomo's entry (July 11) effectively highlights the provocative quality of Jesus' decision to make a despised Samaritan the hero of his story. I want to focus here on how Jesus turns the lawyer's question--Who is my neighbor?--on its head. While the parable teaches us to expand the horizons of our love and concern, Jesus' main point is to exhort us to become a neighbor like the Good Samaritan was to the victimized traveler.

The road that descended from Jerusalem to Jericho was notoriously treacherous, as it wound through several narrow passes. It was easy for bandits to hide and then flee after they robbed and terrorized their victims. And the man Jesus describes was not just a victim of robbery; indeed, he was badly beaten and left to die in his pool of blood. It is upon this scene that the Samaritan arrives. While calling 9-1-1 was not an option, his actions reveal that he probably wouldn't have limited his response to that. Getting off his animal--and thus exposing himself to danger--he Samaritan rolls up his sleeves and gets to work. Notice how he literally reaches out to the victim. Setting aside his repugnance at the sight of human carnage, the Samaritan cleans the man's wounds and bandages them. Then he places the injured man on his animal--thereby making himself even more vulnerable to attack--and leads the victim to an inn where he extended more care to him.

In telling this story, Jesus certainly sets the bar high for what it means to be a good neighbor! He calls us to treat every person we meet--including our rivals and those whose condition frightens and repels us--with compassion. But there is another twist. Jesus does more than teach; he also leads by example. Jesus' entire mission was to seek out those who dwelled in darkness and the shadow of death (Luke 1:79). He came to search for the lost sheep and, upon finding it, to place it on his shoulders and bring it to safety (15:4-7). Moreover, Jesus was not sentimental about what his mission entailed. His exhortation to be compassionate just as the Father is compassionate comes at the end of his teaching to love one's enemies (6:27-36). Jesus put this exhortation into practice when, in exposing his own life to reach out to save us from our sins, he prayed for those who put him to death (23:34) and showed compassion to the repentant bandit crucified next to him (23:43).

In short, Jesus' entire life and ministry is an enactment of the story of the Good Samaritan--something that St. Augustine and other Fathers saw. While this has extremely challenging ramifications for our discipleship, it is also consoling to know that his healing touch reaches us when we are most in need.

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

The apostle Thomas is best known for his stubborn refusal, without further empirical evidence, to believe in the resurrection of Jesus. Perhaps because he is my patron saint, I have always been dismayed--and admittedly, defensive--about the moniker "Doubting Thomas." What follows is a playful midrash, a digging deeper into the text, in order to suggest another way of appreciating the story told in John 20:24-29.

This story is so familiar that we can easily gloss over some interesting details. Notice that it begins (in verse 19) with the notice that the apostles were taking refuge behind locked doors. They feared the consequences of having been so closely associated with Jesus. Of course, the risen Lord then appeared--bestowing the gift of peace and commissioning them, empowered by the Spirit, to the work of reconciliation. Nevertheless, seven days later, these self-same apostles are still behind locked doors! What's going on here?

Other features rarely alluded to are these: What was it like for the ten apostles who witnessed Jesus' first appearance to cohabit the same quarters as Thomas while he steadfastly refused, for a whole week (!), to believe their good news? And why wasn't Thomas present that first night of the week? Where was he?

The gospel of John offers a couple of clues about Thomas's personality and character. When Jesus declared his intention to return to Judea after hearing news of Lazarus's death, the apostles objected that it was dangerous to do so. Thomas, however, declared with great chutzpah, "Let us also go to die with him" (11:16). And when Jesus spoke in mysterious ways about returning to his Father and preparing a place for his followers, Thomas raised the question the others feared to ask: "Master, we do not know where you are going; how can we know the way?" (14:5). In sum, Thomas was a man who took initiative and showed courage, but who also needed things clearly spelled out.

Returning to the room with the locked doors: Was Thomas gone that first night because he was looking for a way to move forward, to get on with their lives? Or, perhaps more practically, was he taking care of nitty gritty details such as gathering food? I've always imagined Thomas feeling indignant at the ten apostles cowering in fear, and that his resentment rose as he heard what to his ears was nonsense. Hadn't the beloved disciple already borne witness to the excruciating final hours of Jesus' life on the cross (19:35)?

Thus, when Jesus appears a week later, he certainly wants Thomas to experience the power of the resurrection. Moreover, the risen Lord desires that Thomas understand that one of the principal ways that God brings new life to us is through the ministrations and words of others--even (and especially!) from those who might appear to us as weak and unworthy. Am I humble enough to receive good news from such emissaries? From those whom I tend to judge as weak? From my colleagues whose deficiencies I know so well?

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.

Wading into the deep waters of Trinitarian reflection is always risky – especially for folks like me who don't know how to swim. The problem, of course, is not God's; it is our inability to "take it all in." But the Feast of the Holy Trinity invites us consider how much God desires that we receive and appropriate his Self-gift.

The opening prayer of the liturgy expresses that God as one and triune is active on our behalf: "[Y]ou sent your Word to bring us truth and your Spirit to make us holy." The alternative opening prayer expresses God's action in more intimate terms: "You reveal yourself in the depths of our being." The latter is echoed in the final line of the second reading: "the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us" (Rom 5:5).

These lines from liturgy reveal God's self-revelatory impetus, or what Rahner called "the self-communication" of God as personal and absolute mystery. What does it mean that God is self-revelatory? While it can be dangerous to employ human analogues to understand God – after all, we are created in God's image, not vice-versa! – think of the dynamic that ensues when two people fall in love with one another. The one who loves wants to reveal him- or herself more and more to the beloved, while simultaneously he or she also wants to know more about the beloved. The more two people who are in love reveal themselves to one another, the deeper their love grows.

This example from human experience can give us insight into God. God's self-revelatory impetus reveals, first and foremost, how much he loves us – and desires to be known and loved by us in return. Perhaps this is, in part, what Jesus meant when he said, "This is eternal life, that they should know you, the only true God, and the one whom you sent, Jesus Christ" (John 17:3).

Thomas D. Stegman, S.J.