Power: Two Presidents, Two Kings, and One Cross

This weekend our nation celebrates Independence Day. It is an appropriate time to reflect on a subject that has shaped not only the history of our country but the history of humanity itself—power.

In the Gospel for the Sixth Sunday after Pentecost (Matthew 9:1–8), Jesus heals a paralytic. At first glance, the miracle appears to be the center of the story. Yet Matthew concludes with an observation that deserves our attention:

"Now when the multitudes saw it, they marveled and glorified God, who had given such power to men." (Matthew 9:8)

Power. Authority. Influence.

These are words that have fascinated mankind from the very beginning.

Power is often defined as the ability to act, to produce an effect, or to exercise authority over others. It can be used to build, to protect, to heal—or to dominate and destroy. History is filled with examples of both.

The first temptation in Scripture was, in many ways, a temptation of power.

In the Garden of Eden, the serpent promised Adam and Eve something they did not possess:

"For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil." (Genesis 3:5)

The promise sounded irresistible. The result was devastating.

Sin has always worked this way. It takes our deepest desires—even good ones—and twists them into something self-serving. We grasp for what we believe will satisfy us, only to discover that it leaves us farther from God than before.

The Old Testament repeats this pattern again and again.

After the death of King David, Solomon immediately begins consolidating his kingdom, eliminating rivals and securing his position (see 1 Kings 2). Although God had blessed him with extraordinary wisdom, Solomon gradually allowed power, wealth, and pleasure to capture his heart.

Scripture ultimately gives its verdict:

"The LORD was angry with Solomon, because his heart had turned away from the LORD."

Power itself was never the problem. The condition of the heart was.

Then the story takes an extraordinary turn.

Jesus enters the wilderness—the very desolation that humanity inherited because of Adam's fall. There He encounters the same ancient tempter.

Once again, the devil offers power.

"To you I will give all this authority and their glory... If you, then, will worship me, it shall all be yours." (Luke 4:6–7)

Unlike Adam, however, Jesus refuses.

He will not seize power apart from the Father's will.

After His Resurrection, Jesus declares:

"All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me." (Matthew 28:18)

Notice the difference.

Adam reached for power.

Jesus received authority from the Father.

That difference changes everything.

Perhaps nowhere is Christ's understanding of power expressed more beautifully than in St. Paul's words to the Philippians:

"...though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant... he humbled himself and became obedient unto death—even death on a cross." (Philippians 2:6–8)

Every kingdom of this world is built by grasping.

Christ establishes His Kingdom by giving Himself away.

His throne is a Cross.

His crown is made of thorns.

His victory comes through self-emptying love.

That is the mystery we encounter every time we come before the altar. God's power is revealed not through domination but through sacrificial love. In the Eucharist, Christ continues to reach down and transform His people, making us more like Himself and less captive to ourselves.

As we celebrate Independence Day, I cannot help but think of two American presidents whose lives reveal very different understandings of power.

When the Revolutionary War ended, George Washington voluntarily laid down his sword and returned to private life. Later, after serving two terms as President, he again surrendered power peacefully, establishing a tradition that became one of the greatest strengths of our republic. Washington understood that authority is a trust, not a possession.

Lyndon Johnson viewed power differently. He famously remarked, "Power is where power goes." Throughout his remarkable political career, he sought positions where influence could be exercised and decisions could be made. His great biographer, Robert Caro, captured an enduring truth about Johnson when he wrote:

"Power doesn't always corrupt. Power always reveals."

History gives us two men entrusted with great authority. One became a model of relinquishing power. The other demonstrated both the extraordinary possibilities and profound dangers that accompany the pursuit of it.

Their stories invite us to ask an uncomfortable but necessary question.

What does power reveal about us?

Most of us will never lead nations, command armies, or occupy public office. Yet each of us possesses influence somewhere—in our homes, our marriages, our workplaces, our friendships, and our parish communities.

How do we use it?

Do we insist on having the last word, or do we seek peace?

Do we manipulate others to get our own way, or do we serve them?

Are we quick to defend ourselves, or are we willing to say, "I was wrong"?

The Christian answer is found in Christ Himself.

The path to true greatness is not the pursuit of power but the willingness to empty ourselves in love. The more we surrender ourselves to Christ, the more His life becomes visible in ours.

St. Paul reminds us of this in the Epistle:

"Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord." (Romans 12:10–11)

The world teaches us to grasp.

Christ teaches us to give.

The world tells us to climb.

Christ invites us to kneel.

And in that surrender, we discover the only power that truly lasts—the transforming power of the love of God.

The Verdict – Onscreen Transformation

 

I have always enjoyed watching older movies. Perhaps it is because many of them were willing to take their time, allowing characters to grow and stories to unfold. One of my favorites is The Verdict. Released in 1982, it stars Paul Newman in what many critics consider the finest performance of his career.

Newman plays Frank Galvin, an alcoholic lawyer in Boston whose life has fallen apart. Once a promising attorney, he has become little more than an ambulance chaser, visiting funeral homes in search of easy cases that can be settled out of court for a quick payday. His addiction to alcohol and his love of money have slowly become the center around which his life revolves.

A friend brings Frank a medical malpractice case involving a young woman named Deborah Ann Kaye. Admitted to the hospital to give birth, she was given the wrong anesthetic and left in a permanent coma. The lawsuit is against two prominent doctors, the hospital, and the Catholic Archdiocese of Boston, which owns the hospital.

The Church's attorneys offer Frank and the family $210,000 to settle the case quietly. To Frank, it is everything he has been looking for—easy money, little work, and another opportunity to continue living the life he has always lived.

Then something unexpected happens.

Frank visits Deborah Ann Kaye in the hospital. As he stands beside her bed, he begins taking Polaroid photographs for the case. Those who remember Polaroid cameras know that the image does not appear immediately. It slowly develops before your eyes.

Frank looks at the photograph.

Then he looks at Deborah.

Back to the photograph.

Back to the woman lying silently before him.

With each passing moment, something changes—not in the picture, but in Frank himself.

At first she is simply another client, another lawsuit, another dollar sign. But as the photograph develops, so does Frank's heart. For the first time he truly sees her, not as a means to enrich himself, but as a human being whose life has been forever changed by the negligence of others.

It is one of the most powerful scenes I have ever watched. There is no dialogue. Paul Newman says nothing. Yet his eyes tell the entire story. We watch a man who has spent years living for himself suddenly awaken to the dignity of another person.

From that moment on, Frank is no longer the same man.

He returns to the bishop's office and refuses the settlement, saying:

"That poor girl went in and put her trust in the hands of two men who took her life… She has no family, she has no home, she has no friends, and everyone who should care for her: her doctors, and you and me, has been bought off to look the other way. We have been paid to look the other way. I came to take your money… I can't take it. If I take it. If I take that money I'm lost. If I take it I'm just going to be a rich ambulance chaser. I can't do it. Can you understand?"

Those words reveal something remarkable. Frank has not simply decided to reject the money. He has recognized that accepting it would cost him something far greater than a legal case. It would cost him his soul.

The transformation of Frank Galvin reminds me that conversion often begins, not with dramatic miracles, but with learning to see.

How often do we look at people without really seeing them? How often do we measure others by what they can do for us, how they inconvenience us, or how they fit into our plans? Like Frank, we can become trapped in routines that slowly harden our hearts. We become comfortable. We become self-focused. We begin to live without noticing how far we have drifted from the people God is calling us to love.

Then, by His grace, God gives us a moment.

Sometimes it comes through suffering.

Sometimes through another person.

Sometimes in the quiet realization that we are not becoming the men and women He created us to be.

Those moments are gifts.

The question is whether we will recognize them.

Frank Galvin's transformation began when he finally saw another human being as God sees her. Our own transformation begins in much the same way. When Christ opens our eyes to the dignity of others, He is also opening our eyes to the condition of our own hearts.

May we have the courage, when those moments come, to respond as Frank finally did—to leave behind the life we have settled for and begin living the life God has always desired for us.

What Does It Really Mean to Put Christ First

One of the most challenging statements Jesus ever made is found in the Gospel of Matthew:

"Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me... Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it." (Matthew 10:37-39)

At first glance, these words can sound almost shocking. Is Jesus telling us to love our families less? Certainly not. Throughout Scripture we are commanded to honor our father and mother, to love our spouse, and to care for our children.

What Christ is teaching is something much deeper: God must always come first.

When we love God above everything else, every other relationship finds its proper place. But when anything—even something good—takes the place that belongs to God alone, our lives begin to lose their proper order.

This has been humanity's struggle from the very beginning.

In the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve enjoyed perfect communion with God. They walked with Him without fear or shame as a man walks with his friend we are told. But when they chose to trust the serpent rather than the Creator, everything changed. They hid from God. They blamed one another. God looks for them and he finds them not alone but hiding in the tree of Knowledge along with the serpent. Fear replaced peace, and shame replaced innocence.

Sin did far more than break a commandment—it fractured the most important relationship they had.

St. Paul explains the heart of every sin when he writes:

"They exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshiped and served the creature rather than the Creator." (Romans 1:25)

That exchange still happens today. We may not bow before carved idols, but we often place other things ahead of God: our careers, our comfort, our possessions, our ambitions, our reputation, even our families. None of these things are evil in themselves, but they become idols whenever they occupy the place reserved for God alone.

The story of Cain continues this lesson. Before Cain murders his brother, God warns him:

"Sin is lurking at the door; its desire is for you, but you must master it." (Genesis 4:7)

Sin is never content to remain small. Left unchecked, it grows. It seeks to master us. What begins as jealousy becomes hatred. Pride becomes self-righteousness. Greed becomes slavery. Every sin begins by drawing our hearts a little farther away from God. The sins we commit also wound the people we love the most. Sin is never just personal; its effects are always felt by others.

The good news is that Christ did not simply come to forgive our sins—He came to free us from their power.

In his letter to the Romans, St. Paul reminds us what happened at our Baptism. We were united to Christ in His death and resurrection. Our old self was crucified with Him so that we might walk in newness of life.

His conclusion is both simple and profound:

"Consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus." (Romans 6:11)

This is the Christian life. We are no longer called to live as slaves to sin. Through Christ, we have been given a new identity.

Finally, after His resurrection, Jesus asks Peter a question that echoes through every generation:

"Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?" (John 21:15)

Notice that Jesus doesn't simply ask, "Do you love Me?" He asks, "Do you love Me more than these?"

Peter had to leave behind his boats, his nets, his old way of life, and even his failures in order to follow Christ completely.

The same question is asked of each of us.

Do you love Me more than your success?

More than your comfort?

More than your possessions?

More than your fears?

More than your sins and addictions? 

More than anything else that competes for your heart?

Every disciple must answer that question.

The Christian life is not merely about avoiding sin. It is about ordering our lives rightly. When Christ is first, everything else finds its proper place. Our families are loved more faithfully. Our work becomes an offering to God. Our possessions become tools rather than masters. Even our crosses become opportunities to draw closer to Christ.

Each day we are invited to remember who we became in Baptism: people who have died with Christ and now live for Him.

May we learn to place Him first—not because He asks for less love toward others, but because only when He is first can we truly love everyone else as we were created to love them.

The Kingdom of God Is at Hand

Just what is a kingdom?

For those of us living in the modern world, this can be a difficult question to answer. When we hear the word kingdom, we often picture kings and queens dressed in beautiful robes, wearing crowns of gold. We imagine grand processions through crowded streets or medieval castles filled with knights and servants.

But is this what Jesus means when He proclaims, "The kingdom of God is at hand"?

The short answer is no.

So what does Jesus mean? More importantly, what does His kingdom have to do with our lives today? How does the Kingdom of God become present in our hearts?

A good place to begin is with another promise from the Old Testament. In the seventh chapter of Second Samuel, the Lord speaks to King David:

"When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your fathers, I will raise up your offspring after you... and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever." (2 Samuel 7:12-13)

One thing should immediately stand out: this is something God is going to accomplish. The kingdom is not man's achievement but God's gift. It is His plan, not ours.

By the time Jesus came, however, many people misunderstood what that promise meant. They longed for a king who would overthrow Rome, restore Israel's political power, and drive the pagan occupiers from the Promised Land.

But Jesus did none of those things.

He raised no army.

He sought no political office.

He led no revolt.

Instead, He proclaimed the Kingdom in an entirely unexpected way.

He healed the sick.

He forgave sinners.

He cast out demons.

He welcomed the outcast.

He restored broken lives.

Wherever Jesus went, the Kingdom of God broke into the world. His kingdom came not through force or violence but through love, mercy, sacrifice, and ultimately the Cross. Above all, He establishes His Kingdom through His death and resurrection.

There is another remarkable feature of this kingdom. Consider the people Jesus calls to Himself. They are not kings or governors. They are fishermen, tax collectors, laborers, and ordinary men and women. The Son of the Carpenter is not interested in a person's wealth, influence, education, or social standing.

He simply says,

"Follow me."

That invitation has never changed.

Christ still calls ordinary people into His Kingdom. He asks us to place Him above every earthly loyalty and to allow His will to shape every part of our lives.

Perhaps this is why we pray in the Lord's Prayer:

"Thy kingdom come."

Those words are far more personal than we often realize. We are asking God to reign in us before He reigns through us.

"Lord, rule my heart. Rule my mind. Shape my desires. Make me, by Your grace, into the person You created me to be."

That is the Kingdom Jesus came to establish.

The question, then, is not whether Christ is King.

The question is whether we recognize Him as our King.

Are we looking for an earthly ruler who will give us everything we want? Or are we willing to follow the King who gives us what we truly need?

That question naturally leads us to Jesus' next words:

"Repent and believe in the gospel."

For it is through repentance that we turn away from ourselves and begin to live under the gracious rule of God's Kingdom.

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The Time Is Fulfilled

Time is an important thing in all our lives. Many of us feel as if we never have enough of it. We rush from one task to another, trying to catch up, only to discover that time keeps moving forward whether we are ready or not.

The famous Pink Floyd song Time captures this struggle:

"And you run, and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking racing around to come up behind you again..."  

The song expresses something deeply human. Time seems to move faster as we grow older. The years pass quickly, plans remain unfinished, and we wonder where the time has gone.

Yet Scripture offers a different perspective. The Book of Ecclesiastes reminds us:

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven..." (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

The biblical view of time is not one of randomness or chaos. Time unfolds according to God's purpose. There is a season for every event and a moment appointed by God for every work He intends to accomplish.

At the end of my last post, I asked an important question: What "time" is Jesus speaking about when He says, "The time is fulfilled"?

To answer that question, we must look at the promises God made long before the birth of Christ.

The first great promise comes in God's call of Abraham:

"And in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed." (Genesis 12:3)

This promise marks a turning point in the story of salvation. Following the Fall, humanity had wandered further and further from God. Yet in Abraham, God begins His plan to restore what had been lost. Through Abraham's descendants, blessing would come not merely to one nation, but to the whole world.

The centuries passed. Abraham died. His descendants became slaves in Egypt. God raised up Moses to lead them out of bondage and gave them His Law. Yet even Moses pointed beyond himself to another figure who was still to come:

"I will raise up for them a prophet like you from among their brethren; and I will put my words in his mouth." (Deuteronomy 18:18)

At the end of Deuteronomy, we read:

"And there has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face." (Deuteronomy 34:10)

Israel lived in expectation of this promised prophet. The people waited for one who would speak God's word with perfect authority and who would know God in an intimacy unlike any prophet before him.

The prophets continued to nurture this hope. Isaiah spoke of a coming age when God would visit His people, establish His kingdom, and bring salvation to the nations. Generation after generation waited for God's appointed time.

In his masterpiece Jesus of Nazareth, Pope Benedict XVI writes:

"Israel is allowed to hope for a new Moses, who has yet to appear, but who will be raised up at the appropriate hour."

The phrase "at the appropriate hour" is important. God's promises are never forgotten. They unfold according to His perfect timing.

This is what Jesus is announcing in Mark 1:15.

"The time is fulfilled."

The promise to Abraham has reached its fulfillment. The prophet greater than Moses has arrived. The hopes of the prophets are becoming reality. What generations longed to see is now present in the person of Jesus Christ.

This mattered two thousand years ago, and it matters just as much today.

The challenge for us is not simply to understand God's timing in history. The challenge is to recognize God's work in our own lives.

Do we make time for Him?

Do we allow Him to speak to our hearts?

Do we seek to know Christ, not merely as a historical figure, but as the living Lord?

The time was fulfilled when Christ came into the world. Yet every day presents us with another opportunity to respond to Him. God's time has arrived. The question is whether we are willing to receive it.

The Time Is Fulfilled: Beginning a Journey Through Mark

How should one approach the Gospel of Mark?

For me, the first thing that has always stood out is its pace. The often-repeated word "immediately" says it all. Jesus and His disciples are constantly on the move, and Jesus is always doing something. Mark does not give us the long sermons and discourses found in Matthew, Luke, or John. Instead, he paints a vivid picture of Jesus through movement and action.

But how does this sense of urgency shape our faith and our understanding of Mark's message?

I often think of the Passover and God's instructions to the people of Israel on the night of their deliverance:

"In this manner you shall eat it: with your belt fastened, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand. And you shall eat it in haste. It is the Lord's Passover." (Exodus 12:11)

There is something of that same urgency in Mark's Gospel. The Christian life is not meant to be stagnant. It is a life in motion—a heart moving ever closer to God, a life increasingly shaped by love, repentance, and faith.

In the Apostles' Creed, we profess that Christ will come to judge "the living and the dead." An older translation speaks of "the quick and the dead," where quick means alive and active. Mark presents us with that same image of discipleship: a faith that is alive, moving, and responding to the call of God.

So where should we begin our study of Mark?

I believe the first recorded words of Jesus in this Gospel provide the perfect starting point:

"The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel." (Mark 1:15)

In this single verse, several of the great themes of Mark's Gospel come rushing together: fulfillment, kingdom, repentance, faith, and good news.

What are we to make of these words? What is Jesus revealing about Himself and His mission? What does He want us to understand about God's work in the world?

These themes will guide our journey through Mark's Gospel, and they raise several important questions:

1. What "time" is Jesus speaking about? If something has been fulfilled, then a promise must have come before it.
2. What does Jesus mean by the "kingdom of God"? How does it relate to the promises God made to Israel?
3. Why are repentance and faith the proper response to the good news of the Gospel?

These questions will serve as our guide in the weeks ahead as we walk through the Gospel of Mark together. My hope is that this study will not only deepen our understanding of Scripture but also strengthen our faith and encourage us to follow Christ more faithfully in our daily lives.

The Gospel of Mark moves quickly, and so does the call of Christ. The kingdom is at hand. The time is fulfilled. The invitation remains the same today as it was on the shores of Galilee:

Repent and believe in the Gospel.

Follow Me

 

Second Sunday after Pentecost (2026)
Epistle: Romans 2:10-16
Gospel: Matthew 4:18-23

In this week's Gospel, we hear our Lord's famous call to His first disciples: "Follow me." It is a call not only to Peter, Andrew, James, and John, but also to each one of us. It is an invitation to leave behind the cares of the world, to let go of whatever is holding us back, and to truly follow Jesus.

This is what the Sundays after Pentecost are all about: growing and maturing as fruitful disciples of Christ. It is one reason why the Roman Church wears green during this season—to symbolize the spiritual growth that should be taking place within each of us.

"Follow me." What a simple command from Jesus, yet one that takes most of us a lifetime to fully put into practice.

We are told that Peter and his brother Andrew immediately left behind their nets and their former way of life to follow Jesus. Then we hear something even more startling: James and John immediately left their boat and even their father to follow Him as well. All four men turned their lives upside down to walk with Christ and become the first disciples of our Lord.

Could it really have been that easy? Could James and John truly have left their father behind to follow this man from Nazareth?

The Gospel says yes, but it would be a mistake to think that discipleship is easy.

In today's Epistle, St. Paul gives us an important clue about what it really means to follow Jesus. He tells the Romans—and us—that discipleship is a matter of both the heart and our actions:

"For it is not the hearers of the law who are righteous before God, but the doers of the law who will be justified... They show that what the law requires is written on their hearts."

How often have we thought about doing something, only to abandon it because our hearts were never truly in it? Think about a new diet, an exercise program, or any significant life change. If our hearts are not invested, we will likely fail.

To become "doers" rather than merely hearers, we must first embrace the truth in our hearts. Someone can encourage us repeatedly, but unless we decide to act and commit ourselves fully, nothing will change.

The same is true in our relationship with God.

We can talk about following Jesus and walking with Him, but if our hearts are not fully engaged, we are merely putting on a show. We are meeting Christ halfway. One foot remains in the boat, still tangled in the nets and concerns of this world.

Here we discover one of the hardest parts of discipleship: getting completely out of the boat.

Think about Peter himself. He left the boat that day on the Sea of Galilee, but it took him a lifetime to truly leave the nets behind. In Peter, we see ourselves. He was eager and courageous, yet he stumbled and denied Jesus three times.

How often do we do the same?

Yet Peter's story does not end in failure. He repents and returns to the Lord. When Jesus asks him, "Do you love me?" Peter responds, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you" (John 21:15).

This question provides the key to today's Gospel. Jesus asks Peter, "Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?" It is often our love of "these"—our possessions, comforts, sins, attachments, and addictions—that prevents us from following Christ with our whole hearts.

To become faithful disciples, we must gradually let go of these things and place Christ first.

The disciples did not leave everything behind simply because they were strong enough to do so. They left because they encountered in Jesus a love greater than anything they were leaving behind. The same grace that called them is available to us today.

Let us not be afraid to step out of our boats and walk with Jesus. He is calling each of us. All we have to do is listen and answer His call with our whole hearts.