Our Prayer Before God

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    In days gone by, some Catholic churches used to have a pew tax.  You would pay money to get a particular pew, or part of a pew, and it was your seat.  The most expensive pews were always the ones up front, closest to the Communion Rail, so that you could see as much as you could.  I think if we instituted a pew tax these days, the most expensive pews would be the ones in the back of the church, which people would pay more for so that they could get out earlier!
    The tax collector in today’s Gospel was at the back of the temple, but not because he wanted to get out earlier.  He chose the back because he didn’t feel worthy to approach God, because he was a sinner.  The Pharisee, on the other hand, is very confident that he is doing just fine, and, in fact, feels like he is doing much better than the tax collector. 
    As we approach November, the month in which we traditionally pray for the dead, we think of our loved ones who have died.  There’s a strange phenomenon that has taken hold in the church over the past 50 or years, and that’s making a funeral into a canonization.  You hear it in Words of Remembrance at the funeral home, and priests are sometimes the ones who perpetuate this practice in the homily: John Doe lived a good life and is in heaven now.  He did good things for the Church, loved his family, and worked hard.  He’s no longer in pain.
    To be clear, we should all hope that everyone who dies is in heaven.  We hope for the resurrection.  But what’s a bit odd is if we look toward those who are canonized saints, those whom the Church acknowledges are in heaven, they had a much different view of themselves.  The canonized saints were the first to say during their life, “I’m a sinner.  I have offended God.  My sins are an offense to God’s goodness, and I rely on His mercy.”  The people who are canonized saints were the first to tell people not to canonize them at their funeral, while those who maybe didn’t live such a heroically virtuous life are the first ones we talk about being in heaven.
    Again, our hope is that all God’s children are in heaven.  But is our attitude that of the Pharisee or the tax collector?  It was the Pharisee who said, “I go to church (temple), I pray often, I work hard, I donate to the church (temple), and I love my family.  I’m not a sinner like those other people!”  It was the tax collector who didn’t think he was worthy of the presence of God, and acknowledged how much he sinned.  Maybe the Pharisee didn’t do that many bad things; they weren’t known for big sins.  The tax collector, on the other hand, was seen as a traitor for collecting taxes for a foreign government.  And yet, the tax collector went home justified–in right relationship with God–whereas the Pharisee did not.
    I loved my grandmothers, now deceased, very much, and I had experienced a lot of love from them over my thirty-odd years of life.  Rarely, if ever, had I heard my grandmothers say a cross word; they lived a good life; they went to church.  But I still pray for them to be in heaven.  I have Masses said for them each year.  I hope that they’re in heaven, but I also know that, as much as I experienced perfection from them, they weren’t perfect, and in case they’re not in heaven, I want to do everything I can to help them to get there.  Do I think they’re in hell?  No.  But might they be in purgatory and in need of my prayers?  That could easily be the case, but even that is good, because the purification of purgatory only leads to heaven; it’s a one-way trip up.  And if they’re already in heaven, which I hope for, then I’m sure they’re sharing my prayers with someone else who needs it. 
    When there’s a tough goal, the temptation is to lower the bar so it’s more accessible.  But the great witness of the saints is that they were just like us, in so many ways, and yet they did live a saintly life; so it’s possible for each of us, we don’t have to lower the bar.  But even in their sanctity, they were acutely aware of their sins.  They didn’t paint over them, but acknowledged them and threw themselves on the mercy of God.  The temptation for us who maybe don’t live that heroically virtuous life is to pretend like we’re not sinners, we’re not that bad, because we’re not “greedy, dishonest, [or] adulterous” as the Pharisee said.  But if we aren’t living like a saint in the daily choices we make, at least we can do penance like a saint, and plead for the mercy of God.
    You already know this, maybe more acutely than others, but I’m not a saint.  I try to be, but I fail often, and often in the same ways.  I’m aiming for heaven, but I know that I don’t regularly hit the mark.  So even when I die, I’ll be buried in a purple vestment, as a way of saying that I need your prayers if I’m going to be welcomed into heaven.  I don’t have to make-up sins when I go to confession.  In my examination of conscience, they’re quite clear before my soul.  And so I try to go to confession every couple of weeks.  And every time I say Mass, in the silence after receiving Holy Communion, I make my own the prayer of the tax collector: “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.” 
    As we stand before God today at Mass, what is our prayer?  “God, I’m not that bad, I’m not a big sinner?”  Or “O God, be merciful to me a sinner”?

Praying to Win?

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    There is a story I heard once (and as the Irish say, don’t let the facts get in the way of a good story), that a Boston College coach approached Lou Holtz before a game and said, “Well, Lou, since we’re both Catholic Schools, at least we know that God doesn’t care who wins,” to which Lou Holtz responded, “But His Mother does.” 
    And this first reading is probably the perfect reading as we welcome back our Powers Catholic Varsity Soccer team to St. Pius X, after they became District Champions by beating Unionville-Sebewaing, and as they prepare for the Regional games.  I can just see Brent Zloto and Luke Mattar holding up my arms during the entire game!!  That’s definitely one reading of the passage from Exodus: as long as we do the right thing, or have the right spiritual leader  praying for us on the sidelines (holding hands up is the posture of prayer), then we’re going to win every game!  Granted, so far, it has worked that way for Districts.  But I can also remember a couple of games where I was cheering you on from the sidelines, and maybe the end result wasn’t exactly as we wanted. 
    So what’s the deal?!?  Jesus tells us to pray in our Gospel, and we have this example from the Book of Exodus of the power of prayer of the Israelites demolishing Amalek and his army when Moses prayed for them.  Shouldn’t this mean that if we just pray hard enough, then we’ll get what we want?
    I think we all know, deep in our hearts, that God doesn’t work this way.  We may think that if we pray, we will change God’s mind or alter His plan, but then if we think about it, and we think about all the bad things that happen around the world, does that mean that those people weren’t praying enough, or in the right way?
    In fact, prayer does not change God, but it does change us.  And prayer is very different from superstition.  Superstition is trying to use supernatural stuff to get our way, and as Catholics it’s easy to fall into superstition.  But superstition is forbidden by the first commandment, that tells us to not have any gods besides the one, true God.  And superstition is where we try to make ourselves God and determine nature according to our will.
    Prayer, on the other hand, yes, asks God to do something particular, but comes from the advantage that we do not always know what should happen.  In fact, we rarely know what is best even for ourselves.  Prayer always asks God to do what is best for us, which He does, as St. Paul says: all things work for the good of those who love God.  Prayer does not so much change God’s heart, as it does open our hearts up to the wider possibilities of good that God desires for us.
    So why does Jesus tell us to “pray always without becoming weary”?  Because sometimes we don’t know what is best for us, and often we need to continue to ask God in order to know God’s will for us.  Prayer is also an act of faith, and our persistence in prayer is a demonstration of our faith.  Look again at the Gospels: Jesus never heals anyone without their faith in Him.  And in some cities, it even says that Jesus did not work many miracles because of their lack of faith.  When we keep praying, as you are today, Chargers, it is a demonstration of your faith in God who wants what is best for you.  It is a way of saying, “God, I know that you love me and you want what is best for me, and I entrust my desires into your hands.” 
    So, do I pray for our sports teams in general, and right now for our varsity soccer team?  You bet I do!  I pray that you use your gifts and talents that God gave you; I pray for your health and safety; I pray that how you play glorifies God and honors Powers Catholic High School; and yes, I pray that we win.  Is that God’s will?  I hope so, but I entrust it to Him.  And I know that whatever God has planned for each of you will make your life the best that it can be, full of joy, peace, and love, even if that comes, as it always does, with challenges, frustration, sacrifice, and pain. 
    St. Paul advises St. Timothy and us today, to “be persistent whether it is convenient or inconvenient.”  To all of us, and especially our Powers Catholic Varsity Soccer team, with whom I am honored, truly honored, to stand on the sidelines with you and pray for you, have faith in God’s will for you.  Pray with faith that God will give you every good gift that you need.  Practice and pray with that confidence in the love and wisdom of God.

The Mass and Gratitude

Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time
   One of the cartoons I would watch growing up was “Scooby Doo.”  For those who aren’t very familiar with the series, it follows a group of friends along with a dog, Scooby Doo, who solves mysteries, especially when aided by Scooby snacks.  While I haven’t watched the show in some time, I seem to remember that there was always some twist at the end, where one of the people they encountered earlier in the episode ended up being dressed up as a monster or a ghost, trying to scare and intimidate someone for some reason.
    Today’s first reading and Gospel accounts would have seemed like such a twist to those who heard the story.  For the Jews hearing about Elisha, they would have been shocked that Naaman, a pagan, would have been healed by God, and then really shocked that he wanted land so that he could worship the true God, rather than his pagan gods, on the soil of the Promised Land.  And for the Jewish Christians hearing about how the ten lepers were healed, but only the Samaritan, the non-Jew, returned to thank Jesus, the shock would have likely been similar.  In neither of those cases was the result expected: pagans were not often considered as likely for conversion, and Samaritans were supposed to be a heretical mix of Judaism and paganism, so they weren’t thought of highly, either.
    And yet, that’s what happened.  When Naaman encountered God through the prophet Elisha and the healing that Elisha performed, Naaman tried to reward Elisha, but then asked simply to be able to worship the true God.  And when the Samaritan, whom Jesus healed of leprosy, realized what had been done, he returned to thank God, while the others simply went about their business. 
    Gratitude happens most easily when we encounter someone who offers us something that we want or need, and we realize the value of that which we received.  When a friend calls or texts to help us out in difficult times, we are grateful.  When we receive a gift for which we asked, or maybe even we didn’t ask for it, but wanted it and received it, we are grateful.  When a neighbor, colleague, or even a stranger does something that makes our life a little easier, even if it’s something as simple as holding a door or raking the leaves up in our yard, we are grateful. 
    But gratitude is a virtue, which means it is a practiced piece of our character, a disposition to act in a particular way based upon many occasions of acting that way.  Virtues take practice for them to become second-nature; they don’t start off that way in most cases.  And so you display gratitude even when you get underwear for Christmas, or when your birthday gift isn’t exactly that item you wanted, or even when the execution of assistance ends up making life more difficult.  In order to be thankful people, to have that virtue of gratitude, we have to give thanks.
    Throughout the month of October, our diocese has each parish count the number of people who attend Mass.  Since 2012, our average attendance at Mass as dropped from 876 people, to 395 people in 2018.  That’s a decrease of 55%.  There are certainly a lot of factors that go into it, but part of that decrease goes to why people go to Mass.  I hear it from both youth and adults: Mass is boring; I don’t like the music; I don’t like the preaching; it’s too long.  The common thread in all of those answers, and even more that I’m not mentioning, is that the self is the center of importance.  There is something about the Mass that doesn’t appeal to me, whatever it is. 
    But the Mass is an act of gratitude.  In fact, the word Eucharist comes from two Greek words which mean to give thanks well.  The Mass is our sacrifice of praise, offered to God, for what He has done for us in the past week.  It is our sacrifice, and yet is acceptable because we unite it to Christ’s perfect and acceptable sacrifice of praise that He offered on the cross.  The Mass is our opportunity to practice the virtue of gratitude, even when it’s difficult, which means that we’re growing in virtue.
    And the key to gratitude is that it’s not about me.  Being grateful is precisely about the other and what he or she has done.  Maybe we did get underwear for Christmas that we didn’t really want or need.  But we say thank you because the other person wanted to express their affection for us, and we want to acknowledge that goodness in the other person.  Maybe someone helped us out when we were having a rough day, or week, or month, or year, and we want to acknowledge the time they took out of their own schedule to focus on us.  Gratitude, if true, does not care about what I get out of it.  Its only concern is that the other is affirmed in the gift they gave.
    Why do fewer people go to Mass?  Because we’re ungrateful.  When we don’t acknowledge the gifts that God gives us throughout every moment of our life, of course we don’t care to take time to say thank you to God at Mass.  When, instead, we live in an awareness of just how much God gives us, then we should desire to say thank you to God.  And even when maybe we feel that urge to stay home, or watch a game, and skip Mass because it takes effort, we realize that we want to express to God just how grateful we are for what He has given us.
    It was certainly a plot twist, a surprise, when the two pagans were the ones who gave thanks to God after encountering His gift.  What is more surprising is when those who claim to follow Jesus don’t return each week to thank Him for the many gifts He has given us.  Don’t be ungrateful to God.  Give thanks to the Lord for the gifts He has given us in this sacrifice of thanksgiving of the Mass.
 

Where Do I Find God?

Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time
    Where do you find God?  A lot of people will talk about finding God in nature.  Maybe you find God in the lyrics of a song that, as the young people say, hits you right in the feels (that means it gave you an emotional response).  Hopefully, you find God in reading Scripture, and in the Mass and the Sacraments.  But there’s another unlikely place where we can find God.
    Maybe it’s strange to say, but can we find God in suffering?  Can we find God in pain and sorrow?  Can we find God in the down times of life?  Because on earth there is no place we can go where God is not.  And that includes even in the darkest times in life.
    Habakkuk the prophet is speaking for God not long before the Babylonian Exile in 587 BC.  Things are not going well for Judah.  Ever since King Solomon, most of the kings had been pretty bad, with a few shining exceptions.  Judah is on a downward trajectory away from the Lord.  And Habakkuk is crying for help, but God does not seem to be listening.  But God tells Habakkuk to be patient, and speak what God tells him, “For the vision still has its time, presses on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint.”  God promises something better for Habakkuk in the future, but He also reminds Habakkuk (in the sections we didn’t hear today) that He is in the midst of whatever happens, even if it seems dark and dismal.
    St. Paul in our second reading corresponds with St. Timothy for a second time, and reminds St. Timothy to hold fast to the gift of God that St. Timothy received in ordination when St. Paul laid hands St. Timothy.  St. Paul alludes to the fact that he is a prisoner.  He had been arrested and taken to Rome after the Jews tried to condemn St. Paul on trumped-up charges.  But because St. Paul was a Roman citizen, he could appeal to the emperor.  While the judgement was being decided (and we know that St. Paul was eventually beheaded by the Emperor Nero, so it didn’t turn out well).  But in the midst of that, and even the trial that Paul’s situation must have been for Timothy, St. Paul says not to give up, but “bear your share of hardship for the gospel with the strength that comes from God.”
    I think we often like to pretend that following God means an easy life.  We may tell ourselves that if we’re living like saints, then trouble won’t find us.  But that’s not the case.  Many people who have followed God have suffered.  Think of the myriad army of martyrs who suffered simply because they followed Jesus, starting with St. Stephen, all the way to the martyrs of the 20th and now 21st centuries.  Think of Mary, who never sinned at all.  And yet, in September we remember Our Lady of Sorrows and the seven sorrows of Mary, culminating in watching her Son and God die on the cross.
    But Jesus dying on the cross is exactly the good news that the world needs.  It doesn’t sound like good news, but when we go beyond the surface, we realize what a great thing the crucifixion is.  In Christianity, we profess God who entered into everything that is truly human.  And that includes suffering.  God loves us so much, that He even experience in Jesus the sorrow, pain, and darkness of human suffering.  He was abandoned, misunderstood, and experienced the death of his friends.  He was betrayed, unjustly incarcerated, and unjustly put to death in the most shameful way possible.  Jesus went to the darkest part of human existence, and redeemed it.  He didn’t take it away on earth, but met us there so that we would not be alone when we suffer. 
    That is truly news that does not disappoint, the vision that presses on to fulfillment.  No matter what pain and sorrow we are going through–from a hang nail, to a broken heart from a break-up, to a hospitalization, and even to the loss of a friend or family member through death–Jesus is there, and He does not leave us alone.
    In the midst of our sorrows and pain, we need to stir into flame the gift of faith that we received in baptism, that gift of trust in Jesus that He will never abandon us.  Life may not be a rose garden, but if we unite it to Jesus, then there’s no better place to be than with him.