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You are here: Home / Gordon MacRae / A Harvest Moon Before Christ the King

A Harvest Moon Before Christ the King

Posted by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on November 22, 2017 16 Comments

The Gospel for the Solemnity of Christ the King sets the standard by which our souls are measured for eternity. Heaven requires faith, mercy, and a little humility.

It was never intended this way, but the Solemnity of Christ the King occurs on the Sunday after Thanksgiving in the United States. And it’s the Sunday before Advent begins so there are many other distractions. In a world in constant crisis, we cling to the celebration of family and tradition that Thanksgiving has become.

Some time ago, I wrote an account of what really happened in the Plymouth Colony of 1620. It became one of the most widely read posts on These Stone Walls and ended up being cited in the footnotes of a couple of history books. “The True Story of Thanksgiving: Squanto, the Pilgrims and the Pope,” tells the story of Squanto whose odyssey left him alienated and homeless. But without him, our Thanksgiving could not have taken place.

Reading that story might be good spiritual preparation, not only for Thanksgiving but for the Solemnity of Christ the King. It embodies what the Gospel proclamation calls for at Mass on that day. It’s a familiar passage, but like much of the Gospel, it has some deeper meaning to uncover. The Gospel for Christ the King, from Matthew 25:31-46, is called “The Judgment of the Nations.”

Why this is such a beloved passage seems a mystery to me. For some, it should also be one of the most conscience-shaking. It lists in the most direct terms the requirements of discipleship and what failure to observe them will mean. The words of the Messiah in the passage end with a dismal foreboding:

“And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.” (Matthew 25:46)

THE BLESSING OR THE CURSE

All four Gospels focus more attention on the final days of Jesus than on his earthly ministry. The Gospel for Christ the King enters those final days by delivering the key to heaven that the mission of Christ imparts to us. The passage for Christ the King is followed immediately in Matthew by the conspiracy to kill Jesus, then the Passion Narrative commences with the betrayal by Judas, the arrest, the denial of Peter, the Way of the Cross, the Resurrection.

You may have read recently about the 500 year anniversary of Martin Luther’s “99 Theses” affixed to the Wittenberg Cathedral sparking the Protestant Reformation in 1517. One of the theological sticking points it launched was a debate over whether we are saved by faith alone or by faith that is manifested in action.

There can be no debate when you consider what Jesus imparted to us in the Gospel for Christ the King. The passage opens with a declaration of the establishment of His Kingship and our fate:

“When the Son of man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit upon his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate them one from another as a shepherd separates sheep from goats.” (Matthew 25: 31-32)

This Gospel passage forms the basis for the Corporal Works of Mercy, our encounter with the world’s poor and alienated. In his book ‘You Did It to Me’ (Marian Press, 2014) Father Michael Gaitley opens with the mandate this Gospel presents:

“You did it to me… You did not do it to me.” One day, one great and terrible day, one of these two sentences will be for each of us heaven or hell. They will ring in our ears for eternity either as a blessing or a curse. They will lead us either to praise, glory, and honor or to horror, regret, and everlasting despair.” (‘You Did It to Me,’ p. 15)

Father Gaitley’s book is about getting the blessing and avoiding the curse. The course of action it prescribes is not so very difficult, and if you are reading this post you are already accomplishing one of the requirements for the blessing. I am, after all, in prison, and you are here at this moment with me. In fact, we are a part of this book. A photo of our friend, Pornchai Moontri, appears halfway through it.

It’s fascinating that this passage about mercy in action is the Gospel for the Solemnity of Christ the King. The judgment of the nations – the judgment of all peoples – is not in the category of a parable, but rather an apocalyptic revelation. It presents our moral responsibility and the fact that God takes note of it. The big test of this life is not justification by faith alone, but our capacity for mercy and the humility to fulfill it.

“Humility” might seem a strange word in this context, but it fits, and I’ll explain why in a moment. I encountered its challenge even while writing this post. But first, some of the deeper background in this Gospel passage.

What is the “It” referred to in ‘You Did It to Me’? The Gospel breaks it down to simple statements about the requirements of discipleship and salvation:

“I was hungry, and you gave me food. I was thirsty and you gave me drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was naked, and you clothed me. I was sick and you comforted me. I was in prison, and you came to me.” (Matthew 25:35-36)

This Gospel passage illuminates justification, the King’s discernment of the righteous from the unrighteous. “When did we see you in prison, Lord?” His answer identifies service to those in need with the love of Christ.: “Whenever you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.”

The meaning of “the least of these” has long been debated since the Protestant Reformation. Our mandate for mercy has at times been wrongly seen as referring only to members of the Christian community. In that interpretation, the mandate to service excludes everyone else. The “least of these” is also sometimes translated as “brethren,” lending itself to an exclusionary meaning.

However, the original Greek of the Gospel for this phrase is “adelphos” which has a broader sense that includes any person in need. This is reflected in Saint Paul’s theology as well:

“In Christ there is no Jew or Greek, no slave or free, no male
or female, for all of you are one in Christ.” (Galatians 3:28)

The sin of exclusion is also expressed in another post of mine, “On the Road to Jericho: A Parable for the Year of Mercy.” It’s the familiar parable of “The Good Samaritan” (Luke 10: 25-37) with a surprising outcome. The one who attains justification in the parable is not the religious “insider” concerned only for the rituals of faith, but the “outsider” who tends to the needs of a wounded man.

The tenets, “I was sick and you comforted me,” and “I was in prison and you came to me” are also weak translations. The original Greek translated as “comforted,” and sometimes “visited,” or “came to,” is “episkeptomai.” Its fuller meaning is to “look after” or “tend to.”

This is what justifies the Samaritan in the Parable of Saint Luke’s Gospel cited above. He does not just comfort the wounded man on the Road to Jericho, but tends to his needs and looks after him.

The last tenet on the list of requirements – “When I was in prison, you came to me” – should be easy for someone like me. I am already in prison. Coming to others in prison should not be such a challenge, but, to be honest, the need for humility has been a stumbling block.

THE PRODIGAL SON AND THE PRODIGAL PRIEST

One of the more difficult tenets of the Gospel is perhaps a greater challenge in prison than it is anywhere else: “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.” Strangers come to prison every day. There is probably no one more in need of welcome and inclusion than someone arriving here for the first time in his life. But what actually happens is often the opposite.

When a new prisoner shows up where I live, he is a stranger and an alien in the strangest of lands. Other prisoners typically distrust and shun “new guys,” and the unspoken peer pressure to avoid them is like another prison wall. Getting over it takes autonomy, courage, and humility. Why humility? The story of my friend, Jeff, will make it clearer.

You might remember a post I wrote as 2017 began: “Hebrews 13:3: Writing Just this Side of the Gates of Hell.” It turned out to be one of our most popular posts because it was carried at, of all places, SpiritDaily.com where readers came to it by the thousands.

But it is also gruesome reading. It presents a vivid snapshot of what day to day life in prison can be like. It describes the drug traffic, the violence, the cruel exploitation, the distrust and the overcrowded chaos into which we had been thrown for a year.

One young man who also lived in that awful place was Jeff, a 21 year-old in his first year in prison. I did not know Jeff very well then, and to be honest with you, I accepted without question the judgments of others and avoided him.

Jeff was drawn deeply into the prison drug culture, and all that it entails. Then he became associated with an exploitive sociopath whom, from all appearances, Jeff chose to follow.

The drug culture, combined with that man’s history of exploiting vulnerable people, drew Jeff into the darker realities of prison. While using drugs, Jeff was amassing debts that he could not pay. So he ended up paying in ways that only further demeaned himself. Then Jeff descended to the lowest depths of the bizarre social strata of prison. He had to be placed in protective custody.

Now, it’s easy to say that 21-year-old Jeff is an adult who should be held responsible for his choices, and that would be the truth. But truth stripped of all context often ends up not being the truth at all. The story of Jeff seen in context left me concerned, not only for him but for my attitude toward him.

When Jeff emerged from protective custody, he was sent to the place in which I now live. However, the reputation he amassed also followed him here. Many prisoners shunned him, and some of those who didn’t were men who would continue the same pattern of manipulation and exploitation that had already been Jeff’s ruin. He was on a path from which he could not escape on his own.

One night in October 2017, Jeff was standing alone in the dark on the top floor walkway near the place where I live. I had stepped outside to descend down to the lower area to walk. As I passed, Jeff said, “Can I talk to you?” I stopped. “I heard you’re a priest,” said Jeff. “I was Catholic for a while.”

Jeff was nervous, fearing rejection, and my spontaneous instinct was to close my mind and not let him in. My heart, however, just can’t be that jaded. I gave Jeff a chance, and that’s when I learned that humility is needed for the Corporal Works of Mercy. After my first conversation with Jeff, some of my friends protested. “Why would you even talk to that loser?”

The easiest path would have been to abandon Jeff to their harsh and unmoving judgments. But on the next night, Jeff was there again, and we spoke for several hours. A story emerged that became the missing context for a man I judged wrongly. I challenged him to trust me, and he did. All of what had been his undoing was laid bare before me, and left me feeling ashamed for my failure to be who I am for this broken and alienated man.

Jeff grew up with an alcoholic father and drug-addicted mother. They were never married, and Jeff was shuffled between the two for much of his childhood. As a teen, he moved in with his grandfather who was a devout Catholic. For a short time, Jeff was drawn into the life of the Church, but his loneliness and emotional isolation went largely unaddressed.

At age 17, Jeff had a brief relationship which resulted in his fathering a child. In response, his grandfather withdrew his support of Jeff and their relationship evaporated. Jeff was the Gospel’s prodigal son. On his own at 17, he left school and tried to work to support his own son. But having never had a father, Jeff was without a compass for how to be one.

He became alienated from his child’s mother and lost contact with his son who is now five years old. Jeff descended down a long descent that would lead to prison. He medicated his sorrow in drugs, first Percocet, then methamphetamine, then heroin.

Addicted, Jeff submerged fully into the drug culture of the streets. He could have easily ended up on the prison “Wall of Death” that I described recently in “Cry Freedom! A Prisoner Unlocks Doors from the Inside.”

Jeff could not support his growing addiction any more than he could support his son. He was recruited to sell drugs on one occasion at age 19 but was caught, charged, and sentenced to prison. Jeff saw this as his wake-up call. He entered rehab and emerged clean and sober to begin to pay his debt to society.

Like many of the isolated young men who land in prison, Jeff was vulnerable to the nefarious agendas that are rampant here. This is what happens when the right people treat strangers and aliens as strangers and aliens. They fall prey to the wrong people. With no one to protect him, Jeff was targeted by a sociopath who rekindled his addiction, drew him into debt, and exploited him.

This was the state Jeff was in when I first met him – when I accepted without question the judgments of others that Jeff did all this to himself. I could have tried to get him away from the man who enslaved him, but my failure was based on one factor: “What will others think of me if I stand with a leper?”

It was not easy getting the context for this story out of Jeff. He learned the hard way not to trust anyone in prison, and he took a risk to trust me. The night we first spoke, after seeing more clearly the weight of Jeff’s loneliness and despair, I knew that I must also try to liberate him from his life as a social pariah that broke his heart and silenced his spirit.

One October night as we spoke – when Jeff’s slow release from the inner prison of sin was exhausted – he suddenly pointed to the horizon. “What’s that?” he asked. From the top floor walkway where we stood, there appeared a strange glow beyond the distant hills. The glow became an arc of bright light, and then I realized what it was.

We watched, mesmerized, as a full harvest moon rose before our eyes to pierce the darkness. Magnified by the heat released from the Earth, it seemed huge and magical as we stared in long silence. It was, for Jeff, the illumination of his dark night of the soul, but it illuminated something for me as well. After a time I put my hand on Jeff’s shoulder and said, “We’ll talk more tomorrow.” The smile that returned was that of Christ.

My friends talk to Jeff now. They do it because I do it. And because we gave him the gift of inclusion, the serpents that whispered to him have moved on. Jeff just tested “clean” for his fifth consecutive weekly drug test. His prison debts – which were mostly just a manipulative con game – have vanished. Under that harvest moon, Jeff took the first step into the light on a road to freedom.

But this is not Jeff’s confession. It is mine. I’m sorry I was late. “Whatsoever you do to the least of these, you do to me.”

Note from Father Gordon MacRae: Please share this post. If you like it then please read & share these others in a spirit of Thanksgiving:

  • Giving Thanks in the Time of Christ the King
  • The True Story of Thanksgiving: Squanto, the Pilgrims and the Pope
  • Pope Francis has a Challenge for the Prodigal Son’s Older Brother
  • I’ve Seen the Fall of Man: Advent East of Eden

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About Fr. Gordon J. MacRae

The late Cardinal Avery Dulles and The Rev. Richard John Neuhaus encouraged Father MacRae to write. Cardinal Dulles wrote in 2005: “Someday your story and that of your fellow sufferers will come to light and will be instrumental in a reform. Your writing, which is clear, eloquent, and spiritually sound will be a monument to your trials.” READ MORE

Comments

  1. Peter Haas says

    November 27, 2017 at 3:30 PM

    Dear Fr. MacRae –
    I’m late reading and commenting on this post as we were away for the Thanksgiving weekend.
    I will add Jeff to my prayers when I pray for you.

    Pete H.

    Reply
  2. Vickie Green says

    November 26, 2017 at 3:28 PM

    Dear Fr. Gordon, I’ve read this post twice now and shared it with my family. I started following you in These Stone Walls about a year ago after attending a retreat put on by Fr. Gaitley where he mentioned you and your blog. I come here as often as I can to read your words and ponder it all in my heart… You are in my daily prayers. I came across this two days ago and thought of you and wanted to share: “Our freedom always has this marvelous power to make what is taken from us—by life, events, or other people—into something offered. Externally there is no visible difference, but internally everything is transfigured: fate into free choice, constraint into love, loss into fruitfulness. Human freedom is of absolutely unheard-of greatness. It does not confer the power to change everything, but it does empower us to give a meaning to everything, even meaningless things; and that is much better. We are not always masters of the unfolding of our lives, but we can always be masters of the meaning we give them. Our freedom can transform any event in our lives into an expression of love, abandonment, trust, hope, and offering.”
    — Fr. Jacques Philippe,
    I believe you live these words and I thank you for your witness. God Bless and keep you!
    In Christ’s peace,

    Vickie

    Reply
  3. Tom says

    November 24, 2017 at 1:48 PM

    I hope your Thanksgiving was peaceful and celebrated as best you could do in your circumstances. Again, this was a very good article and I am so happy that you continue to blog from behind those stone walls. You are quite a witness to the world and I just pray that you and Max and all those in your facility receive many blessings for the witness you are providing.

    Reply
  4. Maria Stella says

    November 23, 2017 at 10:39 AM

    Happy American Thanksgiving, Fr.G;
    I am so glad that Jeff took a step in courage to initiate a contact with you, and that your priestly heart was open to his overture.

    I’ve added Jeff to the list of your prisoner friends that I pray for each Saturday night during my Adoration Hour. May you minister to him and bring him healing, as you have done to so many forgotten ones.

    God bless and keep you.

    Reply
  5. Helen says

    November 23, 2017 at 2:03 AM

    HAPPY THANKSGIVING, Father Gordon. I do and will thank God for you. I hope your day, as well as Max’s and the crew, all experience the Holy touch of God Himself, on this day, set aside to thank Him.

    Gratefully,
    Helen

    Reply
  6. Carla Twigg says

    November 22, 2017 at 10:41 PM

    Thank you for this post, thank you for reminding me that I need to look everyone in the eyes and at least smile, if that’s the best I can do at the moment. I see a lot of homeless on the way to Mass, and I have gotten to where I keep money handy to give when circumstances allow. I sometimes get resentful, however, and I needed this post to remind me that it’s not up to me to know why they are there.

    Reply
  7. Michael says

    November 22, 2017 at 6:38 PM

    “All of what had been his undoing was laid bare before me, and left me feeling ashamed for my failure to be who I am for this broken and alienated man.” You said “be who I am” – that is true! You are a priest forever. Thank you and praise Christ Jesus for making you one. “The smile that returned was that of Christ.” Isn’t it so often that I fail to be Christ to others, and to let others be Christ to me – because of my pride! Thank you for the lesson. Jeff will be in my prayers. May you have a happy Thanksgiving, Father.

    Today on the website of New Liturgical Movement was posted photos from the Church of St. Cecilia in Rome for her feast day. They’ve adorned it with flowers coloured red and white for her and her husband’s martyrdom and virginity. It made me think of St. Maximilian Kolbe and the red and white crowns he accepted from the Virgin Mary. And then I thought of you: your martyrdom for truth and for the priesthood of Jesus Christ. The ones who put you in here out of greed and hubris knew not what they did – knew not what a priest really was, a living conduit for the grace and peace of the King of Kings, a living oblation and propitiation to the Father who created the universe with a word. I’ll pray for them too!

    Reply
  8. Barbara says

    November 22, 2017 at 2:39 PM

    There’s a MOMENT at the heart of THANKSGIVING
    when we bow our heads and say a quiet word of THANKS for all the GOOD in our lives…
    And in that MOMENT as WE remember the blessings and GIFTS IN OUR lives……….

    WE REMEMBER YOU
    WISHING YOU A VERY HAPPY AND MOST BLESSED THANKSGIVING
    FROM OUR HEARTS TO YOURS!
    WITH LOVE, HUGS, PRAYERS, AND BLESSINGS
    Barbara and Cameron

    Reply
  9. Suzanne Formanek says

    November 22, 2017 at 10:17 AM

    Oh Father, what a wonderful lesson this post contains and how inspiring it is to all of us who are naturally inclined to “cross over the road” when we see potential problems that ask of us more than we feel capable of giving.
    I wanted to know if you can have a KOBO in prison. Perhaps that might be a way in which you could overcome the space limitations of books. I would so love that you have access to the volumes of Divine Will, since it was St. Padro Pio who appointed the Community’s first spiritual father. All the works have been zipped into electronic book format and what a resource they could be for you and others.
    Thank you for all the effort you and your team go to, to keep us company in your virtual parish!
    Blessings in the Divine Will,
    Suzanne

    Reply
  10. Barbara Bowman says

    November 22, 2017 at 8:28 AM

    Father Gordon,
    I am so thankful that you write about your experiences in prison. You have brought light to a place that those of us outside the walls find it impossible to imagine. You have softened my heart to the plight of prisoners and the terrible conditions in which they live. As well, you’ve depicted the abandonment of priests who are accused of abuse. I pray for you each day – that you will remain faithful to you priestly promises and that your life will continue to bear much good fruit. You are a blessing to me, and I believe, many others.

    Reply
  11. Claire Dion says

    November 22, 2017 at 8:18 AM

    Good morning Fr. G.,
    Having my morning coffee and reading this post. So much of this post has touched me. When I read ” I am, after all, in prison, and you are here at this moment with me” it surprised me. I never thought about being a reader of TSW and being with you. I feel blessed that I can be with you, I just wish I could give you a hug. There are so many of us TSW readers and I pray that gives you comfort.
    Jeff’s story is the story of many. Childhood trauma leading to addiction. Our Lord has placed him in your arms and into our prayers. Please tell Jeff that Claire cares about him.
    Tomorrow I will thank God for the gift of Fr G and Max. Happy Thanksgiving to you and all my fellow TSW readers.

    Reply
  12. Clare says

    November 22, 2017 at 7:22 AM

    Thanks for sharing this with us, Fr Gordon. I too have seen Christ – its a moment I will never forget – and I knew at the time that it was He. I volunteer with the St Vincent de Paul Society and I have been helping this woman – providing food and all sorts of advocacy. Her big smile hides a life time of tragedy. I remember this one time when she was telling me a bit about her life and the trauma she had endured and she looked up at me with this look – and I knew it was Him. Unmistakable……. I’ll never forget it….. I will keep Jeff in my prayers along with you and Max. God bless!

    Reply
  13. Fr Stuart MacDonald says

    November 22, 2017 at 6:41 AM

    Dear Fr Gordon

    Such precious gems you give us. “But truth stripped of all context often ends up not being the truth at all.” “But this is not Jeff’s confession.”

    Father, I cannot but marvel at your fidelity and humility. Fidelity to carrying out your priestly ministry under circumstances that I cannot even begin to fathom. Humility in sharing with us your own confession.

    The truth, with context, is that the world and the diocese have tried to strip you of all that is good and holy; but, the gates of those hells shall never prevail. The Kingdom of God has broken forth across the world of the internet and into that dungeon ofprison through you!, priest of God. I think, Father, you show us what the Church refers to as heroic virtue.

    I beg a memento in your prayers.

    Fr Stuart

    Reply
    • Helen says

      November 23, 2017 at 1:57 AM

      Fr Stuart, you speak so humble and eloquently, to Fr. Gordon, as if you recognize the Spirit in him. I appreciate reading your words. You are both a blessed gift of God. Quite often, you help me to find my feelings. Thank you for your gift and words.

      God bless you.

      Reply
  14. Helen says

    November 22, 2017 at 6:23 AM

    WHOA FR. GORDON! What a heart breaking, convicting, and happy ending story. I pray to God that I will brand Jeff in my own heart, asking for the insight, wisdom and grace to recognize the Jeffs in my own path. This IS a story that WE ALL NEED to read and learn from.

    Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Let me, please, thank you, a day in advance, for showing us, once again, how to hear that sweet, small voice in our hearts. Oh, and Fr. Gordon, please don’t feel ashamed because you didn’t recognize Jesus in that poor, wanting face. Most of us, I believe, do not recognize our salvation when it is staring us in the face.

    God bless you, Max, Jeff and all of your circle of friends, who for our own sake, all of the Jeffs that you will see coming and going. Surely, our Lord is so very pleased with YOUR humility.

    Always a fan, and a blessed one at that. Thank YOU.

    Helen

    Reply
  15. Philip Nachazel says

    November 22, 2017 at 6:11 AM

    Father.
    You are making a difference.
    In the lives of the men who see you and those who can only read your testimony.
    This Thanksgiving may your heart be filled to overflowing with God’s peace. Shared with all who can’t believe that they are worthy of forgiveness.

    Reply

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