Faith or Money?

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            My dad’s trade is business.  As long as I have known him, my dad has been running the financial operations of a company: first Friedland Industries, a recycling/scrap processing company in Lansing, and now the operations manager for St. Jude parish in DeWitt.  And yet, I would also say that my dad, like so many parents, is also a de facto teacher.  He never went to school to get a teaching certificate, but he’s taught me a lot about what he knows, especially finances.  Whether it was not buying Gushers because they were too expensive and too extravagant, or cutting out coupons for our regular grocery needs; or when I was getting ready to leave for college and he was teaching me the importance of building credit, and how to apply for and properly use a credit card; or when he would make sure that I didn’t spend more than I have, my dad taught me how to use money well.  And it has paid off for me when I lease a car, or when I’m deciding how I want to invest my money to save up for retirement (if I’m ever allowed to retire).

            Whether we like business or not, most of us are very particular about how we spend our money, especially if we are adults.  And we try to teach the next generation the same lesson.  I even found myself this summer, after I returned from school, talking to a Lansing Catholic alumnus about the importance of a credit card, as long as it is used responsibly.  We tend to treat money as a precious commodity, because without it we don’t have a roof over our head, clothes on our back, and food in our bellies. 

            In our Gospel today, Jesus invites us to treat our life in God with the same cunning as we treat our money.  He commends the dishonest steward for making sure that he was taken care of, even after he found out that he was being fired for squandering the master’s property.  This parable comes right on the heels on the parables we heard last week, and they’re in the context of Jesus speaking to the Scribes and Pharisees who were upset with Jesus spending so much time with sinners and tax collectors.

            And Jesus tells the Scribes and Pharisees that the sinners and tax collectors are to be commended, not because of what they have done in the past, but because of how they are changing their life when confronted with their sins.  They are honest enough to realize that their life is not godly, and so they decide they better take faith and religion quite seriously.  Just as the master in the parable was impressed by the dishonest steward making sure he was taken care of after his employment had ended, so Jesus was impressed, not by the sins of those who were following him, but by how seriously they were taking Jesus’ call to conversion, to turn away from sin and be faithful to Him.

            Our culture does not deal with sin very seriously.  How many times have we seen on TV, whether from a politician, or a rock star, or an athlete, “I am sorry if…” or “I apologize if…”?  That is not the message of someone who realizes the severity of the offense.  That’s someone who is not really concerned and just wants to get away with whatever was done.  That’s not the message of repentance.  That’s the message of excuse.

            If we are to be commended, then we have to face our sin head on, and make changes.  We have to truly turn away from our sin and give it the gravity it deserves, especially those grave sins which destroy our relationship with God and make us His enemies, rather than His beloved sons and daughters.  A lot of times people face their sins near the time of death.  When faced with mortality, and recognizing that a judgment is coming, people get very practical about how to make sure they’re not going to suffer.  But, as Jesus said so often, “Stay awake!  For you do not know the day nor the hour.”  We don’t know when our time to be judged will come upon us.  And, to quote Francis Cardinal George, “Jesus is merciful, but he is not stupid.”  

When faced with our sin, and this doesn’t only happen on our deathbed, what is our response?  Are we like the sinners and tax collectors of the Gospel who leave behind their past evils in order to follow Jesus?  Do we do all we can to make sure we are spiritually taken care of, just as the dishonest steward did all he could to make sure he was materially taken care of, or do we figure we’ve got time to keep living it up, and we can always repent later?  Do we treat our spiritual life as seriously as we treat our financial life?

If we do, then God is not just a three-letter word.  Our faith is not restricted to these walls.  It is something that changes the decisions we make.  It guides the way we vote.  It guides what we watch in the theater, on TV, and what we listen to.  It changes the way that we spend our time so that we are giving of our time and talents so that they’re not just used for our work to earn us money, but are used for the benefit of our Catholic family to show our acceptance of God’s grace and love.  It even changes the way we handle our finances: which charities we give to; how much we spend on niceties; how much we give to the Church.  We realize that, just because we don’t personally benefit from the Undergraduate Retreat, Alternative Spring Break, our Catholic schools, Senior Ministry; Youth Ministry; etc., does not mean that we do not volunteer our time or the things we do well, and even our money to these worthy causes. 

Jesus today confronts us with our sins, not to beat us up, but to give us the opportunity to make the changes so that we are taken care of spiritually in the life to come.  Make the change so that you will not be left outside of the gate, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth, but will be welcomed to the wedding feast of the Lamb in the banquet hall of heaven.

The Old Rugged Cross

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

            Sometimes, in writing a homily, an idea just pops into your head by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and He makes a theme known.  As I read over the readings for today on this past Monday, in preparation for writing the homily, there were so many things that I could preach on: from the first reading I saw the theme of the wisdom of God as opposed to the wisdom of the world; from the second reading I saw the theme of the fraternity of Christianity which excludes no one, not even, from St. Paul’s times, slaves who were considered property; from the Gospel I saw them theme of the cost of discipleship and whether one is strong enough to follow Jesus.  So I was wondering in which direction the Holy Spirit wanted me to go.

Then, on Wednesday, as I was driving in my car, I was listening to my iTunes, and I just felt drawn to listen to songs from an album called “How Great Thou Art: Gospel Favorites Live from the Grand Ole Opry.”  And I was driving a song came on which focused my attention for this week.  And that song was “The Old Rugged Cross.”  To me it became clear that the Holy Spirit wanted me to preach about the cross.

We don’t often think of the cross as beautiful.  It was the worst punishment that the Romans had devised to torture prisoners and foreigners.  It was so harsh that it was only applied to those who were not citizens of Rome.  And yet, Jesus says today, “‘Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.’”  Whoever does not carry his own ignominious symbol of defeat, cannot be a follower of Jesus.  That’s not the sort of thing you do to gain a large following.  No one wants to daydream about hanging, naked as the day you were born, in front of soldiers who are jeering at you, while your arms and legs are attached to the cross by nails.  No one wants to aim for being suspended on a rough piece of wood, the weight of your own body causing your lungs to slowly fill with fluid until you can no longer even breath.  And yet, as Christians, that is what we are called to do.

In the song, “The Old Rugged Cross,” the second half of the refrain goes, “I will cling to the old rugged cross and exchange it someday for a crown.”  It so easy to try to forget the cross part, and go straight for the crown.  Who doesn’t want to share in glory?!?  Who doesn’t want the reward?!?  And yet, the only way to do that is through the old, rugged cross.  St. Rose of Lima, the first canonized saint of the Americas, whose memorial we celebrated on 23 August adeptly related an experience of the Lord, who said to her, “‘Let all men know that grace comes after tribulation.  Let them know that without the burden of afflictions it is impossible to reach the height of grace…This is the only true stairway to paradise, and without the cross they can find no road to climb to heaven.’”  If we wish to go to heaven, then we must not only know the cross, but embrace and cling to it.  It may seem harsh, but it was the only way that our Master showed us, who only gained the resurrection after his crucifixion.

It’s also very easy to give the cross lip service.  We’ve become so used to it that we think we can utter beautiful platitudes about carrying our cross.  But when the cross comes into our lives, do we cling to it, embrace it?  Some crosses are big.  I think of the families in our parish who have miscarried, or who have lost a child shortly after birth.  What a cross.  Those families have certainly experienced the dying of Jesus in their lives, and, as much as they have united it to Jesus, will also experience the resurrection of Jesus.  Some crosses are small.  I think of those who talk about co-workers who get on their nerves; family members who always seem to be in trouble or looking for help; drivers who cut you off; the plans that fell through; the professor with whom you don’t see eye to eye; and the list goes on.  Those are also crosses, and more often than not I don’t think we embrace them.  We tend not to thank God for annoying co-workers, bad drivers, ruined plans.  And yet, that is the cross the Lord is presenting to us to carry.  That is what we should embrace.  St. Thérèse of Lisieux is a perfect example of this.  There were a few sisters in her convent who annoyed her to no end (I’m sure Sr. Dorothy and Sr. Liz have never experienced this): one with the sounds she made during prayer; another with her attitude.  What did she do?  She willed to love them and smile to them.  There was food that was prepared that she could not stand, but she smiled every time it was placed in front of her, because she saw in it the cross that the Lord had given her.  And, she smiled so much at that cross, that while she was dying with Tuberculosis, the sisters made some especially for her, thinking that it was her favorite!

To embrace the cross seems foolish.  St. Paul himself says, “but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are called, Jews and Greeks alike, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.  For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom.”  Isn’t that what our first reading is all about: the wisdom of God? God gave us His counsel, His wisdom, in Jesus, who teaches us to take up our cross and follow Him, so that we who share in Jesus’ suffering and death might also share in His resurrection.  May our words and our very lives be the second half of that refrain from “The Old Rugged Cross”: “I will cling to the old rugged cross, and exchange it someday for a crown.”

"Father, Mass is boring..."

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

            There are few things more disappointing to a priest than the words, “Father, I think Mass is boring.  I prefer going to my friend’s church because it’s more exciting and they have better music.”  These words generally come out of the mouths of teens, because they generally speak their mind, whether you like it or not.  But, if I had to guess, I would say that many adults feel this way too, they just have become familiar enough with the rules of decorum not to say it, at least, not to the priest’s face.

            Saying that Mass is boring betrays that one does not know what’s really going on at Mass.  Many of us come because we have always come.  Many come because we don’t want to commit a mortal sin of missing Mass on a Sunday or Holyday.  If you’re a minor, you may come simply because it’s one of the expectations for those who are provided with free room and board by mom and dad.  But do we know what we are doing when we come here?  Do we know the privilege we have?

            In our second reading from the Letter to the Hebrews, the author tells us that we

have approached Mount Zion and the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and countless angels in festal gathering, and the assembly of the firstborn enrolled in heaven, and God the judge of all, and the spirits of the just made perfect, and Jesus, the mediator of the new covenant, and the sprinkled blood which speaks more eloquently than that of Abel.

He is talking about the worship of the Church, and contrasting it with the ways the Israelites worshipped at Mount Sinai, when God revealed Himself, and it was so terrible (causing terror)—with a mountain that could not be touched, blazing fire, gloomy darkness, storm, trumpet blast, and a voice speaking from the clouds—that they begged the Lord not to reveal Himself to them in such a way, but to speak through Moses from that point on.

            As we gather here, in this Church, to celebrate Mass, we are being drawn up to heaven.  The stained glass, the high ceilings, the occasional incense, the candles, the bells, the gold, the special vestments, the occasional sprinkling rite—all of this is meant to tell our senses that we have left earth and have entered into a new reality.  We, at this Mass, have entered into the halfway point between   With angels bowing down in worship, with the saints, our Catholic brothers and sisters who have shown us in countless ways what it means to be a faithful disciple of Jesus, we hear God’s Word proclaimed to us, the Word that brings life, the Word that saves us from sin, the Word that tells us how to live so as to not stay in the halfway point, but to truly enter in to what was promised to us in Baptism: the Kingdom of Heaven.  We are able to see the miraculous, as Bread and Wine become, not as a corporate game of imagination, but in reality, the Body and Blood, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ.  What the angels do not even dare to gaze upon, we hold in our hands or receive on our tongues and Christ becomes one with us.  Our God so loves us that He will not remain separate but pierces the veil between heaven and earth and draws us up to Himself so that we can have communion—union with—Him.  And because of that, our music is different, our words are different.  This is no common place, this is not just another building.  This is sacred space, dedicated to God, and where we are drawn up in anticipation of what heaven will be like, when we are all worshipping God in love before the throne and the Lamb, as the Book of Revelation tells us.

earth and heaven.

            And how do I know that at least some do not understand?  I can tell because, if this Sunday is like other Sundays, or weddings, or funerals, some here are probably chewing gum as I speak.  Some here probably brought in coffee to the Church, or have not observed the fast for one hour before the reception of Holy Communion.  Some here were probably reading the bulletin during the proclamation of the Word of God.  And because some here in coming weeks will just drop the kids off for religious ed and your children will only rejoin you more than halfway through Mass, and they will never fulfill their Sunday obligation.  And that’s just those who are here.  There are so many, including even parents who sacrifice to send their children to our parish school, who won’t even come on Sundays.  This betrays the fact that there is ignorance about what’s going on.  “Father, you don’t know me.  You don’t know my circumstances.  You can’t judge me!”  I certainly cannot judge your soul; that is only for God to do.  I cannot judge your culpability: perhaps you’ve never heard this before; perhaps you have forgotten; perhaps we priests have not done all we can to form you in understanding what the Mass is.  But I can call all of us together, as the Body of Christ, to feel shame for the fact that we have the most precious gift here, and at times we treat it like going to a movie theater, or a play, or a concert.  We treat it just like another weekly event on our calendar that we need to attend for whatever reason.

            Right now in Egypt there are families who are risking their lives, in no exaggeration of that phrase, to go to Mass, because it is likely that radicals could blow up or try to set fire to their church.  Right now in China there are groups of Catholics that gather in secret locations for Mass because if the government finds out that they are more faithful to the Pope than to the Communist government they could go to jail, be tortured, or just “disappear.”  Right now there are many places in the US that see a priest once every month, or even once every few months, and that is the only time they are able to receive Holy Communion.

Our first reading and our Gospel both remind us to be humble.  Let us be humble enough to recognize that we somtimes don’t understand what we are doing, or don’t show the proper appreciation for the great gift that we have in being able to gather each Sunday as the People of God and join in the worship of the angels and saints in heaven as we hear the Word of God and receive that same Word of God, Jesus, in the Eucharist.  And then let us work at being formed to be receptive to the Mass through the many great books that are out there on the Mass, through adult formation sessions, and more, rather than asking the Mass to be formed according to our desires.  Because, brothers and sisters, right now, at this moment, we are participating in the halfway point between heaven and earth.  We are worshipping God and the Lamb, as angels bow down in adoration around this altar as Christ is made present.  We are surrounded by the saints who are filling this room to capacity, joining with us in our worship of God.  We are preparing to receive “Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and the sprinkled blood that speaks more eloquently than that of Abel.”