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Anthony Gerber's blog
What Does Jesus Do?
I think it’s pretty safe to say that most of us have heard of the phrase “What would Jesus do” or have seen the bracelets with the WWJD on them. It’s a good slogan which we have probably echoed to our very selves as we struggle with making a tough decision: “What would Jesus do?”—would he go to Mass on Sunday or stay home? For some, it has even become a kind of catch-phrase for giving advice: “what would Jesus do?”—you have a problem? well, what would Jesus do?
The last time my whole family got together to celebrate a birthday, a few of my relatives started a conversation about God and the Church and Jesus. A couple of them were talking about “going to Church” and how they were too busy with errands to go to Sunday Mass. I was listening to what they had to say—there is usually more to a story than what meets the eye. They talked about how they knew that missing Mass (except for a very important reason—like being very sick) was a “sin”—but that was all (and by “all” I mean, it was just a sin). The word “sin” had no meaning for them. It was like driving five miles over the speed limit or parking in a handicapped spot—you probably shouldn’t do it, but occasionally you “have” to (so long as no one gets hurt), they say.
More Than I Believe
When I was growing up, I was a real snot. I fought with my sister every now and then, and the shouting would get really heated. If my mom was home (God help us!), she would ask me, being the older one, “Who started it?” I would then come up with some fantastic story about how I was innocent and perfect and the best son ever who would never EVER start a fight. EVER. At some point along the way, my sister—by now, red in the face—couldn’t take it anymore and she’d scream: “He’s LYING!!!” I was usually busted and sent to my room—and rightly so.
The Hook
This little ditty goes to all the parents and youth ministers out there.
Reading time: 7 minutes
Music and me go way back. Piano lessons in seventh grade… a pots-and-pans drum set on the kitchen floor when I was two… headphones when I was still in my mom’s belly. I’m sure all of this contributed to my love of music and to my recent habit of playing the “steering wheel drum set.” (Yes, I am the guy in the car behind you, playing a mad air-drum solo while you wait for the light to turn green). It’s a bad habit, I know—especially at 70 mph—but there is just something in the music…. something that is moving… something that makes me go, “yeah, this is sweet! Turn it up!” Begin mad air-drum solo.
Chasing the Moon
Have you ever seen a little child point up at the stars and the moon? The child just stares and is so completely awed. Last week, I saw my little nephew do this. He was gazing towards the heaven, his face radiating the last beams of the sunset, and he smiled so big, giggling as he stared into the beautiful sky. “Look!” he said to his daddy, “the moon!” My brother looked at his son: “Can you catch it?” Immediately, my nephew began running through the grass and the leaves, hoping to draw closer to the moon. “What are you doing, Evan?” my brother asked. His son turned around as he continued to run: “I’m chasing the moon!”
Loving Face to Face
“Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9)
When I read the story of the first family, God and Adam and Eve, I always find it interesting to hear God asking a question as if he didn’t know something. Adam and Eve had sinned and, in their shame, hid themselves from God. God is searching for them and, so it seems, he can’t find them. It makes me wonder: what’s going on?
The Brightest Star
Timon, ever wonder what those sparkly dots are up there?
Pumbaa, I don't wonder; I know.
Oh. What are they?
They're fireflies. Fireflies that, uh… got stuck up on that big
bluish-black thing.
Oh, gee. I always thought they were balls of gas burning billions of miles away…
And God said, “Let there be light” (Gen 1:3).
John Paul II Stood Up Too
"Here I am, Lord. Here I am. I come to do your will." (see Heb 10:7)
Do you remember when John Paul II visited St. Louis? It was a Tuesday and Wednesday in late January of 1999. The sun had broken through the clouds after days of miserable weather and it seemed as though the entire city had come out to meet the man many called “Great.” Perhaps you were there, lining the streets while you held a papal umbrella, awaiting the arrival of the pope-mobile. Perhaps you were at what-was-then the Kiel Center, where 20,000 youth were singing and praising to the greatest of Catholic jam-sessions ever to be held atop Blues’ ice. You may remember the electricity and anticipation in that building—which seemed too small at the time to contain any of the energy which the Holy Spirit was pouring upon us. You may remember it—or it may all just be a blur.
The Iron Man
“A great famine arose in that country, and he began to be in want. So [the Prodigal Son] went and … fed swine. And he would gladly have fed on the pods that the swine ate; and no one gave him anything.” (Luke 15:14-16)
Have you ever had the feeling that your cross was just too big—that you got yourself into so much trouble that no one could get you out or that Jesus overestimated how much you could carry? I hate that feeling. It makes me feel weak, burdened, and overwhelmed. In fact, I occasionally feel broken under the cross’s heavy weight. “Lord! I can’t do this! Help me!”
Diamonds on the Mount of Olives
“They each went to his own house, but Jesus went to the Mount of Olives” (Jn 7:53-8:1).
Ok, so you gave up cookies for Lent. Or you promised to pray every day. And as we’re nearing the end of these 40 days, I ask: how are you doing? Me—I want to bail out. I’ve already failed enough times, so I’m feeling discouraged. I’m starting to ask myself: why not just give up?
Well, today God reminded me of a story of why I shouldn’t:
Dead in 40 Days
“For God loved the world that he gave his only Son…” (Jn 3:16)
Seminarians receive many requests for prayers. And we are humbled and thankful that we should be entrusted to serve in this way. A while ago, one of these requests told the story of a family whose son was injured in Iraq.
He was confined to a hospital bed, many miles from home, and many months (perhaps even years) from returning to his family. He was in a very bad condition: he couldn’t walk, he couldn’t talk, and most of the time, he slept. But, his family loved him and would drive the many miles to see him, even though he usually didn’t respond. His family would stay at the hospital with him, oftentimes through the night. They would read to him, tell him about their day, and give him kisses. This was, after all, what a loving family does for its members: it loves no matter what. Even if that love isn’t immediately given back.
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