This week’s readings ask us to face reality.
We can’t save our life.
We 
can only spend it.
Use it up.
We can’t hoard it in a pile somewhere or put 
it in a bank,
then pull it out to use it later.
It’s gone.
Today’s 
gospel has Jesus presenting us with that very paradox,
first in a metaphor 
about a grain of wheat
and then more straightforwardly:
if we try to save 
our life, we lose it.
If we give our life away, we save 
it.
__________________________________________
The scholars of the Jesus 
Seminar tell us
that the grain of wheat imagery
has deep roots in our 
Christian tradition;
they observe that the idea of losing your life if you 
love it
and saving it if you hate it
was most probably part of the oral 
tradition about Jesus
and that the evangelist later added the context
to 
Christianize it for his community.
The scholars paraphrase what Jesus meant 
like this:
I’m a human being, just like all humans,
a child of Adam and 
Eve.
If I love my life, I lose it because it is only for me.
But if I give 
up my life, I will save it
because I will have used it to serve God and 
others.
That fits exactly with what we know Jesus said
about the greatest 
commandment when he recited the Shema:
Hear, O Israel, God is One.
And you 
shall love God
with your whole heart, and your whole soul.
And, he said, 
the second commandment is like it:
Love your neighbor as 
yourself.
__________________________________________
We know that Jesus 
prayed.
Over and over the evangelists weave their stories around that 
fact.
He goes off to pray alone.
Praying on the mountain.
Telling his 
disciples not to “multiply words like the pagans do”
and teaching them how to 
pray.
And after Jesus prayed, he acted.
He didn’t sit around and try to 
save his life;
he spent it living out the inspiration of his prayer.
He 
gave his life away doing 
that.
__________________________________________
I was down at Claver 
House Tuesday, St. Patrick’s Day,
and Mark was commenting
that almost 
three months of 2015 are gone
and he hadn’t done a thing.
I just shook my 
head and said, “Yeah.”
Commiserated with him.
He felt that way, for 
sure.
But I know that he tends his grandkids
after his daughter leaves for 
work
and makes sure they have breakfast and get to school.
And I know he 
has shoveled the walk
for an even more elderly neighbor all winter
and 
that he’ll be mowing her lawn all summer.
And he’ll be there when the 
grandkids get home,
greeting them at the door and asking about their 
day.
He keeps an eye out on the neighborhood.
He’s my age, retired on a 
fixed and limited income,
but he’s the go-to guy who fixes people’s cars for 
them,
and fiddles with their toasters and table lamps
to get them going 
again.
He doesn’t take money for it—
tells them to pass along a good deed 
when they can.
Mark is spending his life for his family and his 
neighbors,
using it up for them.
He gives his life away, and as a result 
he saves it.
__________________________________________
Kelly was there 
Tuesday, too.
Her home situation isn’t particularly happy.
She gets a 
small disability check once a month
and manages to live on it.
As usual, 
she stopped through Claver House for breakfast
on her way to volunteer at her 
church’s daycare center.
She had baked a green cake
and bought some green 
candy at the Dollar Store
so she could treat the kids after she read to 
them.
She could save her time and energy and money,
but she 
doesn’t.
She gives it away, and as a result she saves 
it.
__________________________________________
That first reading from 
Jeremiah tells us
why Mark and Kelly do that,
and why each of you do 
that.
It’s the new covenant,
written on their hearts…
written on the 
hearts of all of God’s people…
written on your hearts
through the 
experiences and reflection and prayer
of your 
lifetime.
__________________________________________
Dorothy Day once 
said,
“Don’t make me a saint;
don’t put me on a shelf.”
If we pray and 
then go about trying to get ahead,
trying to save our time and energy for 
ourselves,
we put ourselves on a shelf.
It’s like the eggs my hens 
lay.
If I try to save them, I lose them.
They get old and 
rotten.
Nothing stinks like a rotten egg.
But if I don’t save them,
if 
I use them up or give them away,
they produce good 
things.
__________________________________________
So each of us has to 
make choice—
give up our lives by doing good for others
and loving and 
serving our neighbors…
or sit like chickens on a bunch of rotten 
eggs.
-- 
Holy Spirit Catholic Community
Saturdays at 4:30 
p.m.
Sundays at 5:30 p.m.
at 3925 West Central Avenue (Washington 
Church)
www.holyspirittoledo.org
Rev. Dr. Bev Bingle, 
Pastor
 
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