Tony Lusvardi, S.J.

Lent’s moment of choice

Homily for Friday of the Fifth Week of Lent

Jesus crowned with thorns, 18th century, Molave wood, San Augustin Museum, Manila

We have reached the final days of Lent. Five weeks ago, this penitential season began with an emphasis on prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. The austere sign of ashes reminded us of our mortality and challenged us to conversion. Prayer, fasting, and almsgiving are the classic means of conversion. Perhaps we have examined our lives, sought to grow in certain virtues, and made personal resolutions. And perhaps now, at the end of these five weeks of Lent, we realize that we have grown—or that we have not been very faithful to our resolutions. Or, more likely, we find that the results have been mixed: some growth, some failure.

In any case, we have reached a new moment. You may have noticed that, in this week’s liturgy, we have stopped using the Lenten prefaces at the beginning of the Eucharistic prayer and have begun to use the Passion preface. And today’s readings strongly orient us toward the Passion. Jeremiah speaks of slander and betrayal, and we naturally think of the sufferings that the Lord will face within a week. In the Gospel, opposition to Jesus grows, becoming increasingly violent, and his identity becomes clearer. It is no longer possible to maintain a moderate position toward him. It is no longer possible to respect him simply as a good teacher, a prophet, or a philosopher with interesting ideas: he is either the Son of God or a blasphemer. Everyone must choose.

This is the moment in Lent when we forget ourselves. Even our desire for conversion takes a back seat, because our attention is focused entirely on Jesus. Perhaps at this very moment, even our unsuccessful resolutions and failures help us understand how much we need a Savior. We are leaving the time of resolutions and moral growth and entering the time of the Savior. This time is his. It is the time of the Son of God, the time of the One who is greater than John and all the prophets, the time of our only Lord and only Savior. Thanks to our efforts—or perhaps despite our efforts—we have arrived here, at this moment. But this is the time of Jesus.

Readings: Jeremiah 20:10-13, John 10:31-42

Original: Italian

Gregorian University Chapel

2025

Freedom and Life: the two guiding lights of Lent

Homily for Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Baptism of St. Augustine (copy), Tito Troya, San Augstin Museum (Manila0

In these two readings, we see the two points of the compass for our Lenten journey. These points are also the two sides of the sacrament of baptism, to which this journey is directed.

The first reading speaks of freedom from evil: freedom from war and oppression; the end of exile in a devastated land; liberation from captivity, darkness, hunger, thirst, and abandonment. The joy that the prophet Isaiah expresses comes from the defeat of these evils that oppress us. The ascetic dimension of Lent is motivated by the desire to be freed from the forces that hold us captive: sin and selfishness.

But the purpose of Lent is not empty freedom. Rather, it is a freedom that allows us to live in a new relationship with the Lord. In the Gospel, Jesus emphasizes his relationship with the Father. And we, at the end of this Lenten journey, hope to renew the gift that was given to us in baptism: the gift of a new relationship with the Father, the gift of being reborn as his adopted children, the gift of the Spirit of Jesus who transforms us. Jesus speaks of intimacy with God.

Hurrah for monogamy!

Cupid aims his arrow! From “Venus, Mars, and Cupid,” Guercino, 1633

Late last year, the Vatican’s Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith issued Una Caro a document praising monogamy. Monogamy is indeed a praiseworthy institution and not one to be taken for granted these days when everything seems up for grabs. In my seminar on marriage last semester, a student brought to my attention the story of a Protestant pastor in Berlin blessing a “marriage” of four men. And I know from the discussions about marriage in my introduction to the sacraments class at the Gregorian University that polygamy remains a real pastoral challenge in many parts of the globe.

I was happy to be able to review Una caro in the latest issue of La Civiltà Cattolica, adding some insights from recent sociological studies on marriage by Brad Wilcox, Mark Regnerus, and the Belgian sexologist Thérèse Hargot. These sort of studies cannot substitute for a theology of marriage, but they do provide an invaluable supplement to it, if for no other reason than that they help to dispel some of the myths used to deride the Christian vision of marriage.

Prophets of doom or prophets of truth?

Homily for Wednesday of the Second Week of Lent (translated from Italian).

When I was little, I liked a series of children’s books and cartoons called “Winnie the Pooh.” In this series there was a character called Eeyore—in Italian I think it’s “Ih-Oh”—a gray donkey who talks sadly and sl-ow-ly. Poor Eeyore is always pessimistic and depressed. Eeyore is not a bad character; he is just a melancholic person—or, rather, a melancholic donkey.

I think Eeyore would like today’s readings. The prophet Jeremiah is a prophet of doom. The message he receives from God to tell the citizens of Jerusalem is pessimistic. Destruction will come to the holy city, Jeremiah says. The king of Jerusalem and his advisors do not want to hear this message, so they find a more optimistic prophet, Hananiah, and plot to throw Jeremiah into a pit.

Jesus’ words today are also, in a way, words of doom. He repeats the prophecy of his crucifixion, which the disciples consistently try to avoid. Here, instead of listening to him, they immediately turn to church politics—who will have the highest position.

Bishop Erik Varden on beauty, chastity, and the contemporary world

As is traditional for the First Week of Lent, the Pope and the Roman Curia will spend several days making their annual spiritual exercises. This year’s retreat is being preached by Bishop Erik Varden of Trondeim, Norway. Some readers might know Bishop Varden already from his wonderful blog Coram Fratribus. A convert and then a Trappist monk, Bishop Varden has a gift for communication comparable to our own great Robert Barron, though with his own unique style.

At a mere 51 years old, Bishop Varden also represents something of a turning of the page in the life of the Church. I’ve written before (here and here) that the zealous and youthful Church I encountered in Scandinavia hints at what fidelity and evangelization must look like in an increasingly secularized world. Bishop Varden–articulate, orthodox, cultured, and creative–seems to understand how to respond to our twenty-first century reality.

Last year I read Bishop Varden’s profound book Chastity: Reconciliation of the Senses, and I thought this week would be a good opportunity to share a few of its many insights…

Ash Wednesday homily

Chiesa di S. Maria dell’Orazione e Morte, Rome

Last year’s (brief) homily for Ash Wednesday. Original Italian.

In the readings with which we begin Lent today, we see two sides to this season of conversion. There is a public side. In the first reading, Joel calls the people to gather together, to declare a public fast, and to renew their worship. In the second reading, too, we are called to public witness: we are “ambassadors” of Christ, says St. Paul.

It might seem that there is a certain tension between these readings and the Gospel, which exhorts us to perform pious practices in private. However, there is no contradiction, because both of these aspects are part of the mission of a Christian in this world. The Gospel is a warning against hypocrisy, against the temptation to try to gain something—even if only the esteem of others—through our religious observances. All our practices—almsgiving, fasting, prayer—must be directed to the glory of God and not to our own glory.

During this season of Lent, let us seek above all purity of heart, integrity of public conduct, and an interior life consistent with the great call to follow the Lord Jesus as his disciples.

Readings: Joel 2:12-18; 2 Cor 5:20-6:2; Matt 6:1-6, 16-18

(Original: Italian)

Gregorian University Chapel

2025

Staying salty in an indifferent sea: Homily for the 5th Sunday of Ordinary Time

Homily for the Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A).

After the Christmas break another Jesuit in our community returned to Rome after having had corrective eye surgery. The surgery went so well that for a week after he returned, he wore sunglasses at all times of day, even indoors; of course, we gave him a hard time about imagining that he had become a movie star. What happened was that, with his vision corrected, at first his pupils were letting in too much light—so much light that he couldn’t see. For our eyes to work, we need light, but we also need contrasts. Some parts of our field of vision must be lighter or darker than others, otherwise we’ll end up falling down the stairs and running into walls.

If there is no light, of course, we cannot see. But too much light can blind us too. In the Biblical world, before electric lighting, the risk of darkness was almost always greater than having too much light. In the Bible the metaphor of light is usually good, though occasionally the light of God is overwhelming—think of Jesus appearing to St. Paul on the road to Damascus. Paul is knocked over and blinded by the vision. If we were to be hit right now with heaven’s light in all its purity, we would probably be paralyzed too. In order to experience that light, we need to grow, to be re-formed—the same way my confrere’s eyes had to convert after surgery and our own eyes have to adjust when we step outside at midday. We might, in fact, say that God’s light shines even on those in hell, and that their darkness is the result of eyes grown used to the shadows, forever unwilling to adjust to the daylight. However, this world in which we live right now contains both light and darkness. In order to navigate in this world, we need to be able to recognize the contrasts.

Doubting Caravaggio’s Doubting Thomas

The Incredulity of St. Thomas, Caravaggio (1602-7)

Readers of this blog will know that one of the delights of living in the center of Rome is that a Caravaggio is never more than a stroll away. I’ve written about the great spiritual insight in Caravaggio’s Matthew cycle in the Church of San Luigi dei Francesi. Last year, I reflected in The Catholic Thing on why Caravaggio so resonates with contemporary viewers after visiting an extraordinary exhibit of his work in Palazzo Barberini.

At the tail end of the Jubilee I caught another extraordinary exhibit, albeit of just one Caravaggio, at Sant’Agnese in Agone. The work, The Incredulity of St. Thomas (1602-7), was on loan from a private collection in Florence. It’s a work full of drama and humanity and shows Thomas wide-eyed while inserting his index finger into the Risen Lord’s side. Jesus himself is utterly serene as he guides the doubting apostle’s hand toward his torso. (A nice detail is that the Lord’s face seems a bit sunburned, while his body is not.) Two other apostles look on over Thomas’s shoulder with both concentration and astonishment.

Pope Leo on what happens when words lose their meaning

We are now in the middle of the exam period at the Gregorian University. For me, that means a seemingly endless stack of papers to read and evaluate. My students know that I am prone to harp on the importance of clarity in writing. (When your professor has to read 500 pages of student writing, it’s really in your own interest not to make his job any harder than it has to be!) My students have heard repeatedly the advice I once received from a great philosophy professor at Loyola Chicago (Dr. Jacqueline Scott, who taught Nietzsche): always define your terms.

You can imagine my joy then to read the same advice (more or less) from no less an authority than Pope Leo XIV. His speech to the Vatican Diplomatic Corps from earlier this month is extremely interesting and among the most important of his papacy thus far. I found his reflections on language especially insightful and necessary, and they reawakened all my old writing teacher instincts. Muddled writing often means muddled thinking. And today’s public discourse is… well, let’s just say “muddled” is euphemistic. The ubiquitous use of “they” as a singular pronoun, for example, I find nothing short of barbaric. Not quite as bad as the guillotine, but close.

Here are a few of Leo’s words on the uses and misuses of language, though the whole speech is worthwhile. It wouldn’t be the worst side effect if a few Vatican documents got a bit shorter as a result… just saying.

“[I ]n order to engage in dialogue, there needs to be agreement on the words and concepts that are used. Rediscovering the meaning of words is perhaps one of the primary challenges of our time. When words lose their connection to reality, and reality itself becomes debatable and ultimately incommunicable, we become like the two people to whom Saint Augustine refers, who are forced to stay together without either of them knowing the other’s language. He observes that, “Dumb animals, even those of different species, understand each other more easily than these two individuals. For even though they are both human beings, their common nature is no help to friendliness when they are prevented by diversity of language from conveying their sentiments to one another; so that a man would more readily converse with his dog than with a foreigner!”

Today, the meaning of words is ever more fluid, and the concepts they represent are increasingly ambiguous. Language is no longer the preferred means by which human beings come to know and encounter one another. Moreover, in the contortions of semantic ambiguity, language is becoming more and more a weapon with which to deceive, or to strike and offend opponents. We need words once again to express distinct and clear realities unequivocally. Only in this way can authentic dialogue resume without misunderstandings. This should happen in our homes and public spaces, in politics, in the media and on social media. It should likewise occur in the context of international relations and multilateralism, so that the latter can regain the strength needed for undertaking its role of encounter and mediation. This is indeed necessary for preventing conflicts, and for ensuring that no one is tempted to prevail over others with the mindset of force, whether verbal, physical or military.
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Get Married: A review

A couple of years ago I taught a seminar on the sacrament of marriage, using Mark Regnerus’s excellent book The Future of Christian Marriage, which I reviewed for the Homiletic and Pastoral Review. I taught the same seminar again this past semester and reviewed another recent contribution to the subject, Brad Wilcox’s Get Married: Why Americans Must Defy the Elites, Forge Strong Families, and Save Civilization (Broadside Books, 2024). You can read the review below or visit HRP and read it again!

Marriage is among the most important social justice issues of our day. Classic Catholic social teaching—think Leo XIII in Rerum Novarum—has long recognized the connection between social well-being and a family life built on marriage. As Brad Wilcox points out in Get Married: Why Americans Must Defy the Elites, Forge Strong Families, and Save Civilization, “questions of marriage and family” are better predictors of positive or negative social outcomes than “race, education, and government spending” (xiv). Yet even in Catholic circles, questions of marriage and sexual ethics are often treated not as issues of pressing social concern, but as matters of private morality—or dismissed as “cultural issues.”

Such dismissiveness has little theological basis. And Wilcox—a professor of sociology and the director of the National Marriage Project at the University of Virginia—demonstrates that it is even harder to justify from a sociological point of view. Marriage is good both for society as a whole—a higher percentage of married parents correlates with lower child poverty (73)—and for individuals, both men and women, who report higher rates of happiness, find more meaning in their lives, and are less lonely than their unmarried—and childless—peers (51-52, 115, 121).