10th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C) June 9 (1 Kings 17:17-21, 22-24; Psalm 30; Galatians 1:11-19; Luke 7:11-17)

Pain, suffering and death definitely challenge human endurance and put faith to the test. Most prayers plead for relief from pain, suffering or misfortune. For some, the experience leads to a deepening of faith and trust in God. For many others who feel that their prayers were unanswered, cynicism and a loss of faith in a benevolent higher power may be the unhappy result.

Recently an op-ed piece appeared in the New York Times by Frank Bruni, entitled, “The Wages of Celibacy.” The column, while provocative, is fair. Mostly he asks a lot of hard, necessary questions.

Late one pleasant evening, I was putting out the garbage. A neighbour stepped out with her garbage, too. Seeing me, she came over; I know her only by sight, but I like to get to know my neighbours, so I was pleased. Momentarily.

Body and Blood of Christ (Year C) June 2 (Genesis 14:18-20; Psalm 110; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26; Luke 9:11-17)

In a good story there is almost always more than meets the eye. The plot and main characters in the foreground are not necessarily the only or the most important elements of the story. Characters that play important roles only much later in the story make brief and fleeting appearances throughout the earlier portions of the narrative. Reading the story carefully and with attention to detail will reveal aspects of the story that are missed by others.

Some years ago, a woman shared this story at a workshop. She had a six-year-old son whom she had conscientiously schooled in prayer. Among other things, she made him kneel beside his bed every night and say aloud a number of prayers, ending with an invocation to “bless mummy, daddy, grandma and grandpa.” One night, shortly after he had started school, she took him to his room to hear his prayers and to tuck him in for the night. But when it came time for him to kneel by his bedside and recite his prayers, he refused and crawled into bed instead. His mother asked him: “What’s the matter? Don’t you pray any more?” There was remarkable calm in his reply: “No,” he said, “I don’t pray any more. The sister teaching us at school told us that we are not supposed to pray, she said that we are supposed to talk to God ... and tonight I am tired and have nothing to say.”

Trinity Sunday (Year C) May 26 (Proverbs 8:22-31; Psalm 8; Romans 5:1-5; John 16:12-15)

How does one describe that which is infinite and beyond human comprehension? In other words, how do we talk about God?

Twenty-five years ago, I wrote a column entitled “Guidelines for the Long Haul.” Revisiting it recently, I was encouraged that my principles haven’t swayed during the past quarter-century, only taken on more nuance. I still recommend those same commandments, nostalgically revisited, somewhat redacted, but fully re-endorsed:

Pentecost Sunday (Year C) May 19 (Acts 2:1-1; Psalm 104; 1 Corinthians 12:3-7, 12-13; John 20:19-23)

What actually happened at Pentecost? What would a video recorder have registered? The issue is clouded by the fact that we have two accounts in the New Testament and they are very different. The descent of the Spirit in Acts is rather noisy and flashy, and it results immediately in public proclamation of Jesus by the assembled disciples. The giving of the Spirit in John was a quiet, intimate affair in the upper room. Jesus bestowed the Spirit personally on His followers, but there was no record of an immediate public ministry.

Pentecost Sunday (Year C) May 19 (Acts 2:1-1; Psalm 104; 1 Corinthians 12:3-7, 12-13; John 20:19-23)

What actually happened at Pentecost? What would a video recorder have registered? The issue is clouded by the fact that we have two accounts in the New Testament and they are very different. The descent of the Spirit in Acts is rather noisy and flashy, and it results immediately in public proclamation of Jesus by the assembled disciples. The giving of the Spirit in John was a quiet, intimate affair in the upper room. Jesus bestowed the Spirit personally on His followers, but there was no record of an immediate public ministry.

In his novel A Month of Sundays, John Updike presents us with a character, a lapsed vicar, who, though struggling himself with faith, is extremely critical of his young assistant whose faith and theology he judges to be fluffy and lightweight. He describes his young assistant this way: