WHAT IF GOD DOESN’T CARE ABOUT THE THINGS WE ARGUE ABOUT? That question has been on my mind lately. I see many messages and memes—often posted by sincere, faithful people—that seem to begin with the assumption: “God agrees with me. Therefore, I must convince you to agree with me too.” Catholics can be especially good at this. We argue about how Communion must be received, what music belongs at Mass, who should be permitted in the sanctuary, synodality, the appointment of bishops, and the interpretation of Vatican II. We do it in politics as well. We speak as though God must be a Republican or a Democrat, a conservative or a progressive. We become certain that God supports our candidates, condemns our opponents, and shares our opinions. And I find myself wondering: What if God doesn’t care nearly as much about some of these things as we do? I am not suggesting that truth, doctrine, worship, or public policy do not matter. They do. But perhaps some of the things that consume our attention are not the things closest to the heart of God. Perhaps our arguments distract us from the more demanding questions of the Gospel: Do I love my enemies? Do I forgive those who have hurt me? Do I care for the poor, welcome the stranger, seek peace, and recognize Christ in those whom the world ignores? Abraham Lincoln understood the danger of claiming God for our side. In his Second Inaugural Address, he observed that both sides in the Civil War “read the same Bible and pray to the same God, and each invokes His aid against the other.” Both sides were certain. Both appealed to God. Yet Lincoln offered this humbling reminder: “The Almighty has His own purposes.” The question is not whether we can persuade ourselves that God is on our side. The question is whether we are willing to place ourselves on God’s side—and allow the Gospel to change us. I recently watched the 2007 film Clare and Francis. It portrays the spiritual journey that led Francis of Assisi to choose a radically different way of living. Gazing upon Christ on the Cross and listening again to the Gospel, Francis encountered a Jesus who did not respond to hatred with hatred, violence with violence, or pride with pride. In the darkness of the Cross, Jesus chose a different way: love, peace, mercy, humility, and surrender to the Father. Francis did not merely admire that way. He tried to live it, and his example inspired Clare and many others to do the same. I am grateful for this Jubilee Year of Saint Francis because his witness keeps bringing me back to that essential choice. Francis does not invite us merely to admire his simplicity. He points us toward Jesus and asks whether we are willing to live differently because we have encountered him. I wonder how much time I have spent hoping that God agreed with me—and how much richer my life might become if I devoted that same energy to discovering what God desires of me. There is something vain about imagining that the God who created the universe must share every one of my opinions. There is something liberating about admitting that I still need to be converted. Our disagreements are not meaningless. We should seek truth and remain faithful to Christ and his Church. But when our way of defending the truth produces contempt, division, cruelty, and self-righteousness, something has gone wrong. Before posting the next meme, condemning another person, or correcting someone who sees things differently, perhaps we should ask: Am I helping someone encounter Christ—or merely proving that I am right? Am I seeking God’s will—or recruiting God to support my own? Every day, Jesus invites us to choose a different way: his way. May we become instruments of God’s peace, mercy, love, and grace wherever we find ourselves today. Peace and all good!

Relics of Saint Francis, Saint Clare, and Carlo Acutis will be coming to St Thomas the Apostle. Hear Archbishop pics speak about the Saints during his visit to Assisi.

Further thoughts on the death penalty. I think the horrors of the twentieth century — especially the Holocaust and other forms of state-sponsored killing — profoundly shaped the Church’s modern reflection on the death penalty. The Church saw with terrible clarity what can happen when the State claims the authority to decide that certain lives are no longer worthy of protection. That does not mean the Church’s teaching on human dignity changed. It means the Church came to express more clearly what human dignity requires. Even a person guilty of grave evil does not lose the dignity given by God. As St. John Paul II taught, “Not even a murderer loses his personal dignity.” That is why the death penalty is now judged inadmissible — not because evil is minimized, but because human dignity can never be forfeited, and because the State must not be given unnecessary power to end human life. So when people ask, “How could the Church change?” I think we also have to ask, “What did the Church learn from the horrors of the twentieth century?” We learned how terribly the power of the State can be misused when human dignity is no longer treated as sacred. The dignity of the human person is the unchangeable truth. How the Church defends that dignity must respond to the changing threats of each age.

Calling concern for the poor or criticism of excess wealth “communism” is usually just a way of avoiding the Gospel. Communism is a full political and economic ideology involving collective ownership, class struggle, and the abolition of private control of the means of production. Calling Christians to simplicity, generosity, and care for those in need is not communism. It’s Christianity.

Here is my homily from this past Sunday (Jan 11 26) at St Thomas that begins with a message about the recent shooting in Minneapolis. May it serve as a catalyst to bring reflection before violence. God wants to bless all God’s people with peace. youtube.com/watch?v=tnQHfFdj…