In Jesuit Fr. Bill Cain's book The Diary of Jesus Christ, Jesus comments that a soldier rebuked him for singing Mary's "Magnificat." He said it was subversive, calling for everything to change: that hunger and inequality would be no more, the wealthy would lose and the poor gain, the power of overlords would evaporate. Jesus summed it up saying, "In short, treason to him; the Messiah to us."

Some 500 years before Mary sang her song, the prophet Malachi announced that the day of the Lord was coming — a day that would be very much like Mary's song. In today's Gospel, Jesus predicts that the Temple will be destroyed just like the treasures of the rich and supremacy of evildoers. Then he explains how the evildoers will try to defend themselves against the Gospel. 

Jesus goes further than Malachi or Mary in his proclamation. As we reach the climax of Luke's Gospel, Jesus talks about what Paul called the birth pangs (Romans 8:22) of the age to come. Malachi and Jesus expected the "day of the Lord" to come in tremendous turmoil. Truth would be obscured by imposters claiming to speak for God. Wars would break out and revolutions would happen inside peoples' homelands. Nature itself would seem to turn on Earth's creatures. Disease would rampage. No one would escape the disastrous plagues in store. 

Jesus added that the faithful would be as persecuted as was their Master. Tragically, we can put contemporary names on Jesus' predictions about the fate of the good and innocent. Kidnapped children from Ukraine and innocent people of color in our U.S. cities are being seized. Instead of being heard as voices of justice, defenders of the victims like California Sen. Alex Padilla are subject to detention and mistreatment. Russian Orthodox priests who refused to pray for Russian victory in Ukraine have been defrocked. In many places, Hispanic parishioners are fearful of attending Mass or reluctant to participate in other parish activities because of ICE raids. 

Facing all this, Jesus gives us the enigmatic advice: "Remember, you are not to prepare your defense beforehand, for I myself shall give you a wisdom in speaking." How many wish that they could say that in their hour of need, God gave them words that all their adversaries were "powerless to resist"? In the last chapters of the Gospels we see that not even Jesus overcame his adversaries with wisdom. "Not a hair on your head will be destroyed"? Aren't only the bald likely to believe that? Jesus says it will lead to your giving testimony.   

There's no doubt that innocent people are suffering. Yet, they are not ignored. Courageous people are standing up. Citizens patrol city streets watching for ICE and send out warnings to innocents in danger. Mayors have decreed that their police forces will not collaborate with masked agents whisking people away.

In July, at least 25 rabbis were arrested in South Dakota Sen. John Thune's office while lobbying for humanitarian aid to be allowed into Gaza. In September, according to the Associated Press, bishops and women religious spoke about immigration conflicts and "decried the Trump administration's hard-line policies for tearing apart families, inciting fear and upending American church life."

A draft document from the chair of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops' Subcommittee on African American Affairs defended diversity, equity and inclusion, saying, "Diversity reaches out to all people. … Equity is the truth of the justice of God applied to everyone. … Inclusion is living the law of the Lord as one." 

The bishop who wrote that may find himself in the good and holy company of those "hated by all." 

The disciples asked Jesus, "What sign will there be when all these things are about to happen?" Instead of taking up that question, Jesus simply said, "See that you not be deceived, for many will come in my name."  

The command, "be not deceived," means that we are to read the signs of our times and discern truth from deception, good from evil, actions that are life-giving from the death-dealing. Jesus' command implies that as we discern, our prayerful judgment on our era must lead to giving witness. The secret of this passage is that the very act of acting on behalf of love and truth opens the window to the wisdom that our adversaries will be powerless to resist or refute.  

These are messianic times, the day of the Lord is here and coming. As is true of everything in the Gospel, we cannot predict the details, much less the outcome. It is only by acting in concert with Jesus' mission that we will find ourselves in the place of wisdom, persecution and courage. There's no way to theorize ourselves into it.  

 Jesus said, "By your perseverance you will secure your lives." Shall we try it?

On Nov. 9, the Catholic Church celebrates the feast of the Dedication of the Basilica of St. John Lateran, the parish church of the popes, considered the mother church of Catholicism. The basilica's history began around 318 or 324 C.E. and was alternately destroyed and rebuilt until 1724. 

Although this is a major celebration in Rome, many of the faithful, especially in the Americas and Asia, might ask, "So what?" Maybe, rather than think of a cathedral that most of us will never enter, we might consider the meaning of our own experience of places of worship and what we experience as sacred space.

Not every space on Earth is the same, not for human beings. Our experiences and preferences lead us to favor certain places and avoid others. Places — with their smells, sounds, lighting and atmosphere — bring back memories, both joyful and not so. In some places we feel like strangers, in others, we're deeply at home and peaceful. Entering some spaces gives people a sense of the holy — just ask pilgrims who have been to Lourdes or to the Mormons' Sacred Grove in New York.

People of the Middle Ages built cathedrals to proclaim the greatness of Christianity's God. With towers pointing to heaven, their immense windows portrayed saints and sacred stories in brilliant light. The space inside tamed both city and forest into breathtaking order. The "smells and bells" transported people into a sense of transcendence. Mere humans could enter these places and feel both their insignificance and an awesome awareness of participating in something immeasurable. Temples, be they Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris or the centuries-old log church in Cahokia, Illinois, provide the faithful with religious experiences that engage all the senses, put them in touch with the past and remind them of where all is going. It happens for those who have eyes to see, ears to hear, and hands to be touched and blessed. 

In today's Liturgy of the Word, Ezekiel describes a fantastic, hopeful vision of a new temple for his exiled people. Every detail illustrated its vivifying power. As a dwelling place of God, all that flowed from it would nourish and cleanse such that even the water of the Dead Sea would become pure and refreshing. 

If Ezekiel's vision inspired Jesus, he found little reflection of it in the temple of his day. While the buying and selling were legitimate and necessary for worship, commerce seemed to have become an end in itself, eclipsing the experience of worship. In that, Jesus saw a living sacrilege undercutting the very purpose of that sacred space. His reaction sprang from his passion for leading others into a deep and mutual relationship with God and one another.  

If John's Gospel had not been written decades after Paul's ministry, we could consider today's selection from 1 Corinthians as a commentary on Jesus' final statement about destroying and raising up the temple. People considered the Jerusalem Temple, like churches, synagogues and mosques, as a place of encounter with God. Paul wanted the Corinthians to realize that, like Jesus, they themselves were now to serve that purpose. 

Paul asked them bluntly, "Do you not know that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?" If he asked the same of us today, with what depth of conviction could we say yes? With what depth of sincerity could we say that we believe the Spirit of God is actively present in our community of faith? These are questions that might prove fruitful for those of us who are not celebrating today in Rome.

"The temple of God, which you are, is holy!" Contemporary English doesn't communicate the word "you" quite as precisely as some other languages. In Spanish, one can say you with tú, vosotros, usted and ustedes. The first two (singular and plural) are spoken among loving equals, the others are more respectful or formal. When Paul says that "you are the temple," he's using the plural you. That means that we are the temple, not each on our own, but as a community, as church, as the body of Christ. (See 1 Corinthians 12.)  

What does this tell us? When Jesus spoke of "this temple," he implied that he himself incarnated the presence of God. That's generally not a problem for us to accept. But when we hear Paul tell us, "It's 'you,' " isn't this a call to collaborate? To discern together? To be concerned about our communal temple's upkeep? 

Take a look at the basilica we're commemorating today or picture the most magnificent church or space you know. It's overwhelming, majestic, beautiful, extraordinary. 

It's a dim shadow of what the Spirit wants to make of us.