Wasting our Life for God

Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

    Bishop Mengeling, God rest his soul, was the consummate story teller.  And his life had many, interesting stories.  One in particular I remember is his vocation story.  Bishop Mengeling’s father, Carl H. Mengeling, was Lutheran, while his mother, Augusta, was Catholic.  Both were German immigrants to the United States.  Young Carl Mengeling (the one who became the bishop of Lansing) attended public schools, but still heard God calling him to be a priest.  But to go to seminary, he needed his dad’s permission.  In the 1940s in the Mengeling household, Carl was mostly business.  He loved his family, but didn’t often show affection.  For that reason, young Carl was concerned about telling his Lutheran father that he wanted to be a Catholic priest and go to seminary.  But, somehow, he related, he found his nerve and one day, on the front porch, young Carl told his father, Carl, that he wanted to go to seminary and become a priest.  His father said, “Why would you want to waste your life like that?”  Young Carl, guided by the Holy Spirit, found the courage to say, “You wasted your life when you married mother, because you loved her and wanted to spend your entire life with her.”  Bishop Mengeling said he had never talked to his father that way.  But, as you know because he became our bishop, Carl the elder gave his blessing, and Carl the younger went to seminary, became a priest, welcomed his father into full communion with the Catholic Church, and then became our bishop in 1996.
    Are you willing to waste your life for God?  Christ says today that if we wish to save our life, we have to lose it.  Following Christ takes a commitment, and sometimes we may have commitment issues.  Society definitely is changing, and people are marrying at a younger age, but until recently, and still to an extent, many adults didn’t want to make the commitment to marry.  They wanted to have the perfect job first; the perfect house first (where, all too often they sinfully cohabited with their significant other).  Or, they had concerns that if they committed to one person, they might miss out on someone better or more compatible.  Or, they just wanted to sow their wild oats and live unchaste lives before committing to one person.  No matter the reason, people had commitment issues.
    And this fear of commitment can easily translate into our relationship with God.  The world promises us so many things–power, money, pleasure, fame–and we chase after it like a mirage in the desert.  We may even come so close, only to experience those fleeting things poof away or cascade through our fingers.  
    Even if we gained everything the world offered, this life is fleeting, and so Christ warns us not to gain the world but lose our soul.  And, in reality, we cannot serve two masters.  We can either commit to the world or to Christ.  But even a person who gains the entire world and lives to the age of 100 has a short time of pleasure, power, fame, and riches compared to the eternity of suffering when one rejects Christ for fleeting goals.  
    But, if we love God–Father, Son, and Holy Spirit–no sacrifice is too great.  Jeremiah, God’s suffering prophet, mentions how his love for God and speaking God’s word is like a fire in his heart which he cannot hold in.  He realizes that remaining faithful to God caused him suffering, but he couldn’t help but remain faithful because of his love for God.  Jeremiah experienced calumny, ostracizing, and even captivity in a muddy pit.  But God’s love enticed Jeremiah to stay faithful and proclaim God’s word, however unpopular that word proved to be.
    In the end, nothing else satisfies us other than God.  We return to the familiar quote from St. Augustine’s Confessions, “You have made us for yourself, O God, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”  That’s true on this side of eternity, but even more so after our death where our hearts are perfectly and eternally fulfilled in the presence of God, or are eternally restless in Hell, separated from our final end.  As King David said about God today in our psalm, “for you my flesh pines and my soul thirsts / like the earth, parched, lifeless and without water.”  

Statue of St. Peter from the Holy Land

    So are we willing to commit ourselves to God?  Peter, at the moment of the Gospel today, did not think Jesus should go through with what Jesus already knew was the will of God: to suffer and to die.  There was something else that Peter thought was more important than God’s will.  Later, he would change his heart, and even find himself willing to suffer for God, dying as a martyr while suffering crucifixion upside-down.  Maybe God won’t ask that of us, but God does us ask to give Him everything, to offer, as St. Paul said, our bodies to God as a living sacrifice, which really means offering all of who we are–body, mind, soul–to God, trusting that He is worth the price, and that He will not let our gift be offered in vain.  
    While Bishop Mengeling was not perfect and we should certainly continue to pray for the repose of his soul, I would dare say that he wasted his life for God.  Certainly, Bishop Mengeling loved God, and so no price was too much to pay, even when it meant giving up his own family as a priest, and even when it meant giving up his life to serve the Diocese of Lansing as our bishop.  In whatever vocation God calls you, are you willing to waste your life to serve God?

The Good Work in You

Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Sometimes a particular phrase has a way of taking our minds back to a specific point of time.  For example, whenever I hear or read the phrase we heard from the epistle–“May God who has begun the good work in you bring it to fulfillment”–I am taken back to the day of my ordination, when Bishop Boyea said those exact words to me after I made my promises to be the priest the Church calls me to be.  
    In many ways I looked at my ordination as an ending.  And after eight years of seminary formation, that’s probably not surprising.  It had seemed like forever since I started at St. John Vianney College Seminary immediately after high school in 2002, and it even seemed like a relatively long time since I had started Sacred Heart Major Seminary in 2006.  And while the first and most important goal of seminary is proper discernment of God’s call (or not), the farther along you get, the more you look forward to ordination to the priesthood.  That last year, as a transitional deacon, you’re looking at chalices, vestments, and trying to plan for the ordination reception, so ordination especially seems like the goal.
    But the words that are said before the man is ordained treat it, not as an ending, but as a beginning.  God has begun the good work, and we pray it finds its way to completion, on the day of Christ Jesus.  And, in retrospect and with the blessing of age and hopefully the acquisition of a bit more wisdom, ordination really is a beginning, more so than an ending.  And the years that follow really demonstrate how that good work is moving closer to or farther from completion.
    But the same is true for the other sacramental vocation, the vocation to Holy Matrimony.  Instead of eight years it’s around eight months or proximate preparation (sometimes more, sometimes less, based upon the date of engagement).  But there’s still all that planning and excitement for the “big day.”  Still, the big day is not the ending (though, and I’m sure the father’s of the bride are especially happy for this, it does end all the spending for the day of celebration).  The wedding day begins a lifelong commitment to the other, a good work, that finds its completion on the day when the bond of marriage is broken by death, by meeting the Lord.  That’s why we do marriage prep: to help the couple prepare, not so much for the wedding, but for married life and all the days that follow the wedding.
    But this is also true for all of Christ’s faithful.  When the priest baptizes us, a “good work” is begun, that will not find its completion until we meet the Lord, either at our death or at the end of time on the last day.  Either the parents or the one being baptized makes promises, just like a man makes promises on his ordination day, and a couple makes promises on their wedding day.  And every day that follows, God gives us all we need so that our “charity may more and more abound in knowledge and in all understanding.”  Our growth in holiness is really a growth in love of God and love of neighbor, as we understand better and better how God has made us for Himself, and how we can show that love to Him directly, as well as to our neighbor, with whom God identifies, especially the poor and outcast.  
    But so often we want to act like we should be a finished product.  We figure that, if we were truly holy, we would be done.  But the saints show us, time and time again, that we are never done growing in holiness.  Bishop Mengeling, who turns 94 on Tuesday, says frequently, “I’m not done yet!”  And he doesn’t just mean that he’s still alive.  He readily admits that he is still growing in holiness, and while continue growing for the rest of his life.  

    So don’t get too discouraged if you’re not there yet, if you’re not the saint that you want to be, and that God wants you to be.  Certainly, don’t give up or grow lazy and complacent.  But the work of your sanctification is a lifelong work.  It’s not something that you get to retire from once you reach a certain age, or have accomplished a certain number of achievements.  Even for me, if I make it to the age of seventy when I can become a senior priest, it’s not like I can stop living as a priest and give up my vocation.  No, I’ll continue it until death.  And for married couples, they can’t give up because their children have all grown, or when they’re retired from their jobs.  Marriage keeps going “until death do [you] part.”  
    The call of holiness is to daily give God what is His due, that is, everything.  Even while God gives us some authority over our actions, all things are from God and belong to Him.  Each day God calls us to render to Him everything that we have: our life, our family, our work, our leisure, everything.  Just because we offer it to Him doesn’t mean that He will take it from us.  Sometimes it’s simply that we are willing to offer what is most precious to God, like Abraham did with Isaac.  But it is a good work that continues throughout our life, until, like Christ, we offer our last breath to God as we commend our spirit into His hands.  May God, who has begun the good work in us, bring it to fulfillment on the day of Christ Jesus, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit is God, for ever and ever.  Amen.  

Adjusting Our Seating Chart

 Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  I saw a meme on Facebook that said something to the effect of: When I was 18, my father didn’t know anything.  When I turned 30, I was surprised to see how much he had learned in twelve years.  I later learned that this was based upon a quote by Mark Twain, who said: “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around.  But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”  No matter how you say it, they are both very clear examples of the hubris of youth.
    Today our Lord talks about humility in the Gospel.  He teaches us that everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and everyone who humbles himself will be exalted, using the example of a seating chart at a wedding.  Pride is one of the most ancient sins.  In fact, St. Thomas Aquinas says that Original Sin is truly a sin of pride, since Eve (and then Adam) seek to take the place of God and have what God told them they did not need.
    And how familiar is it that we feel we know everything when we are young!?  I remember in college seminary feeling like my classmates and I had the answers to all the Church’s problems.  I think I still felt that way in Major Seminary, and probably even in the first year or so of my priesthood.  The passage of time, the (hopeful) gaining of wisdom, and the increased responsibilities of being a pastor have tempered my own youthful hubris.  
    But pride does not necessarily cease as one takes more and more trips around the sun.  Pride is the temptation lurking like a roaring lion in the grass throughout our life, against which we need to be on guard.  
    Pride is the elevation of our self above others, up to and including God.  We end up making ourselves a false god, the one who determines all things, or around whom the universe needs to rotate.  Again, going back to Adam and Eve, they wanted to know good and evil even though God had told them they did not need to.  St. Thomas Aquinas calls this a coveting of a spiritual good above measure.  Satan’s own words tells Eve that she will be as God.  And into this temptation first Eve, and then Adam, fall.  
    In the parable of the wedding, the person is seeking the higher place, the place of greater honor, which is exactly the sin of pride.  The person, and how many times does this apply to us, thinks he is better than he truly is.  In response to this, our Lord invites the person to take the lower seat, so that, should that person be worthy of higher honors, another will recognize it.  Now, this isn’t some backwards way of achieving the goal of looking better than everyone else.  If we treat it that way, then we’re still falling into pride.
    Instead, our Lord invites us to humility, to think not that we are better or more worthy of honors than others.  Humility is not undervaluing ourselves, but valuing ourselves rightly.  We talk about false humility when we talk about not recognizing gifts or talents that we have.  Indeed, Christ condemns not using our talents and investing them in another parable.  But humility gives an estimation which is accurate, not inflated or deflated.  
    It is so easy to overvalue ourselves, or even to undervalue ourselves.  But if we had to choose the most likely, it is probably overvaluing ourselves.  We live in a world where the ego rules supreme.  I am always right.  My wishes and desires are the most important.  You need to agree with me.  We see this in our inability to dialogue with others, whether on a local or even a national and international scale.  If someone questions our point of view (whether it be our opinion or based upon facts we know), we immediately write that person off and no longer have anything to do with them.  We see it in school systems which no longer provide a wide-education of many disciplines (what we have called liberal arts), but where we only teach one thing to people, and that’s what they want to do.  Unfortunately, so many feel that if they are experts in one area of life, then they are experts in many or even all areas of life.  
    I have seen this happen first hand in the parishes in which I have served.  Every city where I have served as been the home to a university of college.  And there are people who are much smarter than I am when it comes to non-theological disciplines.  But those same people sometimes think that they are experts in the faith, when they haven’t actually studied the faith beyond a few articles from their favorite religious magazine each month.  
    And I can even struggle to avoid those same temptations from seminary days, to think that I know best how to run things on a diocesan, national, or even worldwide level.  Certainly, I have studied the faith.  And even as someone who has been pastor I have gained some very practical experience.  But I am not qualified to second-guess decisions that include information to which I am not privileged, nor do I have the charism to lead a local, national, or international church that is given to bishops at their ordination.  Does this mean that bishops always make the best decisions?  No, and good bishops, like our own, will admit that they make decisions based upon their own experience and the information that they have at the time.  We can certainly dialogue (either externally or internally) about whether or not we think that decision was wise and/or prudent.  But how often do we immediately jump to the conclusion that we know best and Bishop So-and-so or the Pope is automatically wrong?  We’re taking the head of the table at the wedding party, and it’s very likely that we’re going to get moved back a seat or 5.  We are exalting ourself, and so we will be humbled.  

Bishop Carl Mengeling

    Bishop Mengeling, our bishop emeritus, has said a few times that humility is a virtue that often requires others to help us.  Those are our humiliators (in a good way).  They remind us that we are not always right, and that we are not God or the best at everything we do.  They are the equivalent of the slave riding in the chariot of the great Roman general in his triumph through the streets of Rome whispering, “Memento mori,” “Remember you will die.”  Generally, we do need to go looking for our humiliators; they usually make themselves known.  In case you’re wondering, I have mine, and I’m pretty sure I don’t need any more, though I know I always have people ready to step in in case I short a humiliator or two.  
    But we shouldn’t be afraid of being humbled, as it helps us grow in holiness.  And as we are humbled, God looks upon us in love, and exalts us in His way, which, more often than not, is not the way we would be exalted.  Still, stay humble; don’t seek the place of honor or to put yourselves above others.  Humble yourself, that God the Father may raise you on high, where with the Son and the Holy Spirit, He reigns for ever and ever.  Amen. 

Three Words or Phrases

 Second Sunday of Easter
    Here’s an interesting experiment: thinking only to yourself (not out-loud), what three words would others use to describe you?  Again, this is a rhetorical question, but what words did you think others would use?  Are they different from the words that you would use to describe yourself?  Were there mostly positive or mostly negative?  
    This weekend, as we close out the Octave of Easter, there are three words that should describe every Catholic.  It may not (probably should not) be an exhaustive list, but these three words or phrases should describe every Catholic.  And these three words come from our celebration today.  Those three words or phrases are (in no particular order): a believer; concerned for others; merciful.
    The first reading, second reading, and Gospel all talk about believing.  To be a Catholic is to be a believer.  Bishop Mengeling loves to use this word.  But what do we believe?  At the heart, we believe that Jesus is who He says He is–the Son of God–and we trust in His words about how we are to live our lives.  Our belief is sometimes based upon observable realities, like St. Thomas seeing the risen Christ.  Sometimes our belief is not based on things that we can see.  But we are believers in the promises of God and the teachings of God, both as recorded in the Scriptures and as recorded in the teachings of the Magisterium, the teaching office of the Church entrusted to the Pope and the Bishops united with him on matters of faith and morals.
    Jesus claims everything in our life.  He claims our love, our obedience, our fidelity.  The only one who can do that is God.  So our belief that Jesus is God affects how we live.  If we feel that we can ignore Jesus when we disagree with Him, we’re not believers.  Fully believing in Jesus is a challenge to which maybe we don’t always live up, but it’s our goal.  It’s one thing to fail at a goal; it’s another altogether to have a different goal.  Our goal as Catholics should be to believe in Jesus, not just as a mental exercise, or a pious thought, but in ways that truly change the way we live.
    As an example of putting belief into action, our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles describes the first Catholics as being of one heart and one mind, not claiming any possessions as one’s own, and, in fact, selling property and putting the proceeds at the disposal of the Church for those in need.  This is where some might say, “See?!?  The first Catholics were socialists!  They owned everything in common!”  Wrong.  The first Christians weren’t socialists.  But they were concerned for others.  Rather than thinking about themselves, and because they believed in God, they thought about the needy as much or more than themselves.  And some on their own volition would decide to share what they have with the poor and live a life radically detached from ownership, relying on the each other to support themselves.  There is no evidence that the government or the Church instructed them to sell their house.  And some didn’t sell their homes, as this was where the first Christians would meet for early examples of Christian-style synagogue services, and perhaps even the Mass.  No one was compelled, but people freely gave.
    This is the witness that many of those in consecrated life still give.  They give up personal ownership of property and their own bank account to live as a brother or sister, monk or nun.  They rely on the community to care for their needs, so that they are more devoted to serving Jesus.  
    But before you sell your house to live with me in the rectory and let me take care of you with the money you donate, let me consider other ways to live as a man or woman concerned about others.  We all have a responsibility to care for ourselves and our families.  The Church teaches that the government should only get involved in providing for people’s needs where family and friends and local charities are unable.  But, while providing for our needs, we should also look to support those, to be the family and friends and local charity for those who, through no fault of their own, cannot provide for themselves.  People today are good at providing for programs.  But we are called, to the extent that we’re able, to help people out personally.  This is what Pope Francis means when he talks about serving the poor by being with them and looking into their eyes, and not simply letting an NGO (non-governmental organization) worry about the poor and needy.
  

  Lastly, the first Catholics were merciful.  Today, the Second Sunday of Easter, is also called Divine Mercy Sunday.  Pope St. John Paul II instituted this feast in order to help us all know of God’s mercy towards us.  Pope Francis declared a Year of Mercy in 2015.  The revelation to St. Thomas the Apostle of Jesus’ wounded hands, feet, and side, were really a revelation of His mercy, that He forgave us and did away with our sins when He shed His Blood on the cross.  Mercy does not pretend that a past offense did not occur.  Jesus did not pretend the wounds of His crucifixion were not there.  But rather than letting those wounds become an opportunity for vengeance on all those who led Him there, and all those who abandoned Him during His most needful hour, Jesus simply greets the apostles and disciples with the Hebrew word, “Shalom,” “Peace,” which means more than just non-conflict, but a wholeness and fullness of life.  
    Jesus earlier had told the parable of the unforgiving steward, and told us that we are to forgive as we are forgiven.  He also told us that the measure of forgiveness that we give to others is the measure that will be given to us.  Our reception of God’s mercy is the catalyst that allows us to be merciful to others, and that should most definitely be a hallmark of our life.  
    Certainly there are other aspects to being Catholic.  There are other qualities that should be present in our life.  But this week, let’s work on being a believer; concerned about others; and merciful!

You Look At Me

 Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    One of my many memories from college seminary was being able to watch “The Return of the King,” the last movie of the trilogy, “The Lord of the Rings,” on opening night.  I had read the books by J.R.R. Tolkien, and was excited to see the video representation of what I had read.  Years later, I found the same joy watching Peter Jackson’s version of “The Hobbit,” the prequel to “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy, which, unlike the book which is one volume, was released in three parts.
    One powerful scene from the third movie, “The Battle of the Five Armies” is when Bard, a peasant from Lake Town, is trying to defeat Smaug, the dragon who is spewing fire on the wooden town built upon the lake.  Bard has one arrow left, and his son, Bain, has come to help his dad fire the arrow.  Bard has to rest the arrow on his son’s shoulder, because the wind lance (a stationary bow for firing large javelin-like arrows) had broken.  Then Smaug the dragon taunts Bard and his son.  Smaug says, “What will you do now, bowman?  You are forsaken; no help will come!  […] Is that your child?  You cannot save him from the fire!  He. Will. Burn!”  Meanwhile, Bard says, “Stay still, son.  Stay still.” as Bard puts the arrow on his shoulder and starts to aim.  Smaug then taunts Bard again, “Tell me, wretch, how now shall you challenge me?  You have nothing left but your death!”  Bard’s son, Bain, is scared at the dragon’s voice, and starts to look back toward the dragon, but Bard says to him, “Bain.  Look at me.  You look at me.”
    As I read this Gospel earlier this week, that exchange between Bard and his son, Bain, came to my mind.  It is only when Peter takes his eyes off Jesus, perusing the strength and danger of the wind and the waves, that he starts to sink.  If Peter would have only kept his eyes on Jesus, Peter would have been fine.  
    And the same is true for us: if we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, like the myriad men and women saints who have gone before us of all races and states of life, we have nothing to fear; we can walk on water.  If our attention oscillates to the cares and tribulations of the world, we start to sink, maybe not physically, but emotionally and spiritually.
    This whole COVID deal has been a tempest of a storm for our State and our nation since March.  Schools closed, and some, like ours, whether directly tied to COVID or not, will not reopen this fall.  Families have unexpectedly lost loved ones.  Parents who work in hospitals have spent long hours, and even days, separated from children, as, especially in the early days, we didn’t want doctors and nurses to spread the virus to the other members of the family and had them quarantine.  Even now, I know people who have been shut up in their room for over a week because they tested positive for COVID, even while the other members of their family or their roommates did not, and so cannot visit them.  Many people have lost their jobs, temporarily or permanently, and, like schools, some businesses will not be able to reopen.  And I won’t even get into the politics of the pandemic.  It’s hard not to focus on all those things, and more.  But if we do, we’ll sink.  If we focus on all the negatives, we can easily fall into a depression, or start to doubt God’s love for us, or give in to our favorite sins that promise us comfort without really giving it to us.  
    Instead, we are called to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus.  It is as if Jesus is telling us, “Look at me.  You look at me.”  He knows the dragon is around us, and that there is destruction, but He is about to slay the firedrake, and His aim is perfect.  The dragon will certainly perish.  But will we go down with the dragon, or will we stay connected to Jesus?
    I don’t know what things are going to look like in September, December, or a year from now.  I don’t have a special gift of foresight that will allow me to tell you what changes are still in store for us, both the changes the come from our continuing fight of COVID and just the daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly changes that happen due to the regular cycles of life.  But I can say that, if we stay connected to Jesus, if we keep our eyes fixed on Him, we have nothing to fear, and we won’t succumb to the trials, but will conquer them.  
    I don’t know about you, but when I think about all the junk (or, to quote Bishop Mengeling, puke) that has happened in 2020, it does not put me in a good emotional or spiritual place.  Life seems dreary and a drudge, and doesn’t seem much worth it.  So why do we keep focusing on those things that are past, those things that have been bad, when we can’t do a thing about it?  Why do we fixate on things we missed or are still missing?  All that does is drain our batteries and sap our strength.  Instead of focusing on those things, read a consoling Bible passage, pray to Jesus or through the intercession of the saints, or make a visit to church.  
    Instead, focus on Jesus.  Keep your eyes trained on Him.  Don’t pay attention to the waves and the wind, because they just make you sink.  Gaze, instead, on Jesus, who lifts you from the cares of the storm, and keeps you safe in the harbor of his love.  Jesus calls us by name: “Look at me.  You look at me.”

Duc In Altum

Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

One of my favorite saints has always been St. Peter.  No, I don’t want to be pope (being a pastor is enough responsibility for me!), but I like St. Peter.  He’s one of the great apostles of Jesus, who always has great things to say, unless he’s putting his foot in his mouth (as he also often does).  He is, we might say, very relatable.  I’d like to believe that I have had great moments of faith and trust in God (even if great is a sliding scale), but I also know that I have had my own outbreaks of foot-in-mouth disease.

And since I like St. Peter so much, today’s Gospel is one of my favorites.  It’s St. Luke talking about how St. Peter was called by Jesus.  St. Peter (still going by Simon at this point) is fishing all night and catching nothing (side note: have you ever noticed that St. Peter is never able to catch fish on his own?!?).  Then Jesus, who, from all outside views, knows nothing about fishing, tells him to go out again, and put into deep waters.  St. Peter begrudgingly does this, and then catches so many fish that he has to call his partners, James and John (who also became apostles), to help him drag it in.  St. Peter realizes that he is in the presence of someone special, someone great, and makes a confession of his own sinfulness.  Jesus tells him not to be afraid, because he will be catching men from now on.

When others hear this story, they sometimes ask me how I came to follow Jesus as a priest.  And certainly, all of our readings focus on calls: on the call of Isaiah to be a prophet; the call of St. Paul to preach the Gospel as the last apostle; and, as I mentioned, the call of St. Peter to follow Jesus as one, and the chief, of His apostles.  

Some priests I know have amazing stories like St. Peter of Jesus doing something great and spectacular in their lives.  But for me, that’s not the case.  As an eighth grader, I started thinking about what I wanted to do as an adult (so that I could concentrate on the right classes in high school, get into a good college in a field in which I wanted, and then get a good job).  If it were up to me, I wanted to be a lawyer, and then maybe go into politics.  I wanted to be married, have a few kids, a couple of dogs, and have lots of money.  But I knew that if I were going to be happy, I had to do what God wanted me to do.  So I started praying to God each night, asking Him to let me know.  And I heard nothing.  

So I started to go to daily Mass a few times at Lansing Catholic High School, and it was there that a stranger asked me if I were going to be a priest.  And other classmates and teachers started to do the same thing.  And before long, I started to realize that maybe God was asking me to consider a vocation to the priesthood.  I started to learn more about Catholicism, and fell in love with the Church, as one falls in love with his girlfriend.  And I decided that I wanted to give my life to serve her, just as a man decides (and hopefully the woman agrees) that he wants to give his life to serve the woman he wants to be his wife.  I applied to the seminary in my senior year through the Diocese of Lansing, and was accepted for my freshman year of college.  Each year I asked God to make it painfully clear if He didn’t want me to continue on.  And each year, I was asked to come back and continue studying to become a priest.  It wasn’t always easy; there were times where I thought (with the assistance of a rather attractive female lab partner) that maybe the priesthood wasn’t for me; but God did and has sustained me in my vocation.  God’s providential care for me has been more in the day-to-day events of life, not so much in the spectacular, like St. Peter.

But God knows what we need in responding to His call.  Some people don’t need the dramatic moments.  Some people do.  The key is that we are listening for the call of Jesus, and we respond with courage to the call of Jesus.  Because Jesus says to anyone who wants to follow Him, “Put out into deep water.”  In Latin that phrase is Duc in altum, and it was used by Pope St. John Paul II as he began his Apostolic Letter on the new millennium in 2001.  It was also a favorite of Bishop Mengeling, who told us seminarians not to dangle our toes in the water, but to put out into deep water.

Any vocational call–ordained ministry, marriage, consecrated life–and even while discerning God’s call, takes courage.  It takes faith in God, and confidence that He will show you the way.  As a priest it takes courage to serve when a very small percentage have tainted the good name of the priesthood, and it takes courage to say yes to never having a wife and a biological family of your own.  As a consecrated man or woman it takes courage to promise to not have any personal bank accounts and to be obedient to the religious congregation’s superiors.  As a married man or woman, it takes courage to commit to only being with one person in the special friendship of marriage for your entire life, to only be physically intimate with that person as long as that person lives.  Any vocation, and, again, even when trying to find out what God wants us to do, takes the courage to put out into deep waters and trust that God will not abandon us in those waters.

Many of you already have discerned your vocation here.  But some of you have not.  Be courageous in answering the Lord’s call, whatever it is, in your life.  Some of you may have spectacular calls like St. Peter.  Some of you will have more quotidian or ordinary calls like me.  But don’t be afraid to answer it.  Duc in altum!

You're Killing Me, Smalls!

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Sometimes there are quotes from different things that we have read or seen that stick with us and come to mind.  In the move “The Sandlot,” there’s a line that often gets used among people of my age: “You’re killing me, Smalls!”  Or a series of books that I read called the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan includes a line from the protagonist that has stuck with me: “duty is heavier than a mountain; death lighter than a feather.”  When Alan Rickman, who played Severus Snape in the “Harry Potter” series died, his one word response to Dumbledore, “Always,” becomes an oft-mentioned word.  And, on a lighter note, anyone who has seen “The Lion King,” is sure to say, at least once in a while, “Hakuna Matata.”

Scripture is also a great place to find quotes that can and should stick with us.  Bishops, and popes often have mottos for their ministry.  Bishop Mengeling’s phrase was “He Must Increase,” which is from St. John the Baptist in the Gospel according to John, when John says, “He must increase; I must decrease” in reference to Jesus.  Bishop Boyea’s motto is “In manus tuas,” which is Latin for “Into your hands.”  This comes from Psalm 31, and says, “Into you hands, Lord, I commend my spirit.”  It was also the words that Jesus said as He was dying on the cross, and is part of a response that consecrated men and women, and those in holy orders say before they go to bed each night.  In seminary, we had a classmate who was joking about becoming a bishop.  We said that his motto should be, “And Jesus wept.”

Today in our readings, we have four Scripture passages that might stick with us.  From our first reading: “You duped me, O Lord, and I let myself be duped”; from the responsorial psalm: “My soul is thirsting for you, O Lord my God”; from our second reading we have two options: “offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, your spiritual worship” and “Do not conform yourselves to this age, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind”; and from our Gospel: “Get behind me, Satan!”

Each of these has its own context.  In the first reading, Jeremiah is fed up with God, because all Jeremiah has done is tell the people what God told him, and yet everyone hates him.  Jeremiah suffered greatly, because the people didn’t want to hear that they needed to change, or else they would be exiled by the Babylonians.  Jeremiah feels compelled to say what God wants him to say, because Jeremiah loves God, but that love of God leads to suffering, and Jeremiah feels like he was tricked, but he can’t stop speaking for God.

In our Psalm, the author talks about how he wants God, desires God, like parched earth for water, so he looks toward the sanctuary to see the power and glory of God.  This is a psalm that is said on every special celebration in the Church’s life by those in religious communities and holy orders, so it’s one that comes to my mind often.

Our second reading with its two passages are from St. Paul, who is urging the early Roman Christians to be faithful to Jesus Christ.  St. Paul encourages the Romans to not simply let Catholicism be a religion of the mind, where we think about holy things and quietly commune with God in our souls, but even to offer our bodies to God, as a form of worship, as a way of giving God praise, so that what we do with our bodies and our souls may both be acceptable to God, whom we worship.  The second phrase, though, guards the Romans against becoming to comfortable in a pagan society, and being modeled on the outside world.  Instead, St. Paul says that they should be transformed by the conversion of what they think is good, so that they might do what is good and pleasing and perfect to God.

Lastly, our Gospel, which sounds like a good admonition to get rid of temptations, is spoken to St. Peter.  This passage follows after the one we heard last week, where Jesus calls Peter blessed and the rock upon which Jesus will build His Church.  This week, after Peter says that Jesus should not suffer, die, and be raised, Jesus says to Peter, “‘Get behind me, Satan!  You are an obstacle to me.  You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.’”  Jesus insists to Peter and the other apostles that suffering is part of the plan of God for the redemption of humanity, because suffering is part of the human condition, and Jesus must take it all upon Himself in order to redeem the entire human condition.

There are other passages in Scripture that we can use.  Memorizing little bits of Scripture can help us as we go throughout our day, in good times and bad, to praise the Lord or ask for His help.  When we feel like nothing’s going right even though we try to do God’s will, we might say, “You duped me, O Lord, and I let myself be duped.”  When we feel like we need God to be present to us, we might say, “My soul is thirsting for you, O Lord my God.”  When we need to remember that being Catholic is not simply about the prayers we say in quiet, or the thoughts in our head, or that we should not let ourselves become like our fallen, hedonist culture, we might say, “offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, your spiritual worship” or “Do not conform yourselves to this age, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.”  When we are tempted by Satan in any way, or when we are afraid to follow God’s plan because it’s not the one that we want, we should say, “Get behind me, Satan!”  The Word of God can help us in any situation.  Let’s be familiar with it so that we can turn to Jesus, the Word of God, when we want to thank God and ask for His help, in times of sorrow and times of joy.

"Rebuild My Church"

Solemnity of the Dedication of St. Joseph Church

While praying at the Church of San Damiano, Francis of Assisi heard Christ speak to him from a crucifix, saying, “Francis, rebuild my church, which you can see is falling into ruin.”  Francis though that Jesus was speaking to him of the physical structure of the little church, and so he started to rebuild it, stone by stone.  But, gradually, Francis realized that Jesus meant that Francis was to rebuild not a physical structure, but the Church, the living stones of God’s temple.  

I tell that story, not because last week was the day which celebrates St. Francis on 4 October; not because our current supreme pontiff is named Francis, after St. Francis of Assisi.  I tell that story because, on this day on which we celebrate the dedication of this beautiful church, Jesus is asking us to do the same.  

Today, Jesus invites us to be rebuilt into the living stones of God’s temple in heaven.  To be honest, that’s a life-long process.  As Bishop Mengeling so often says, we’re not done yet.  We are not done being formed into those living stones until the day we die, and even then, many of us will likely still be shaped through the purification of Purgatory.  And although today is a day of rejoicing, as we look at the status of the Church, we could easily become depressed.  

While the Diocese of Lansing is doing ok, more priests are retiring or are at retirement age, than we are ordaining.  We need more men to respond to God’s call to follow Jesus as a priest and serve His people, especially through providing the Sacraments of the Eucharist and Penance, which, without priests, we do not have.  More and more families are not putting God as their first priority.  We see this through fewer couples getting married in the Church; fewer baptisms; fewer people attending Mass or practicing their faith in any way, shape, or form.  It leads so many parents and pastors to ask, “What did I do wrong?  What more was I supposed to do?”  Fewer and fewer people understand their faith and what the Church teaches.  There is confusion about marriage, about the Eucharist, about sin, even about who Jesus is and the necessity of Jesus and His Mystical Body, the Church, for salvation.  The Church, in so many ways, is in disrepair.  Before this vast undertaking, we can easily ask ourselves a question that St. Francis perhaps asked himself: what I can, an individual, do, to rebuild the Church?  The task is so great!

But Our God is a God of hope, not despair.  And so there is a way to respond to Jesus’ call to each of us to rebuild His Church.  And this divine renovation cannot happen by money; we cannot throw dollars at this problem.  The rebuilding happens with us being shaped into the living stone that God wants us to be.  The plan is the same as it was for St. Francis: become a saint.  That’s all it takes.  We tend to think of the saints as those who did extraordinary things.  And certainly there are some canonized saints who did amazing things.  But as St. Thérèse teaches us, we don’t have to do great things.  God does want us to do little things with great love.  Some God might call to do great things, but let’s all start where we can, by doing little things with great love.

The first way to respond to God’s invitation is to develop a relationship with Him.  Many of us know, at least a little, about Jesus.  But how many of us know Jesus?  You can know a lot about a person without knowing that person  The way that we start to get to know Jesus is not complicated.  Two practices suffice: daily prayer and going to Mass at least every Sunday and Holyday.  Mass is where we encounter God in a most intimate way through the Body and Blood of Jesus.  We receive God into us.  Why do we go to Mass?  Is it because of an obligation?  Is it because we want to hear good music?  Is it because we’re convinced that one of these Sundays Father Anthony is actually going to give a good homily?  Those are all things that might get us into the door, but those reasons won’t keep many of us going to Mass each Sunday and Holyday.  We go to Mass to worship God and to receive God into us.  Going to Mass for any other reason is like going to a football game for the band.  Bands are great!  I love the MSU Marching Band.  But you don’t drop the kind of money you would for a football game just for the band (though some band parents might).  The reason for going to a football game is to watch football.  All the other stuff is extra.  You have received season tickets, worth more money than all the gold in Fort Knox, to a preview of heaven and an encounter with God through sight, sound, smell, touch, and taste.  Going to Mass at least every Sunday and Holyday is a great way to start to become a saint.  Now I know that I’m preaching to the choir.  But we all know someone, maybe a friend, maybe a family member, who hasn’t been to Mass in a while.  Invite them to come back home.  Invite them to come to Mass with you.  

Daily prayer is another way to begin to become the saint that God wants us to be.  It is supposed to be the growth from our experience at Mass.  How often do you talk to your colleagues at work?  How often do you talk to your friends?  How often do you talk to your spouse or your children?  If you talk to God less than any of these people, or any others, there’s room for improvement.  The less you think you need to pray, the more you actually do.  And don’t forget to listen.  Conversations are two-way streets.

Those are two simple ways to start becoming the saint that God called each of you to be in baptism.  There are more.  But let’s start with the basics.  Then we can talk about reading Scripture regularly, sharing faith in small groups, going on yearly retreats or to the Women’s or Men’s Conferences.  There’s a lot of disrepair in the church right now.  We can easily despair.  But, if we become saints, in God’s way for us as an individual, just like St. Francis responded to God’s way for him to become a saint as an individual, then God’s church will be rebuilt.  There will be more good news.  And, most importantly, we’ll prepare ourselves to be ready to spend eternity in heaven with God, enveloped by His love with all the other people who were saints and helped to rebuild God’s church.  God is inviting you today: rebuild his Church!

The Puzzle of Salvation

Third Sunday of Easter

When I was in middle school, my best friend at the time, Jeff, had a puzzle for me to figure out.  It was a kind of a guessing game.  He said I had to guess the secret of the green glass door, by asking me if certain things were behind the green glass door.  He started off by giving me a few examples: Jeff was behind the green glass door; Anthony was not.  Neither cats nor dogs were behind the green glass door, but both trees and grass were.  I asked him all sorts of questions about whether certain persons, animals, and things were behind the green glass door, and it took me weeks to figure out the secret of the green glass door.  I won’t tell it to you, but don’t zone out of my homily to think about the green glass door!

St. Peter preaching

Peter in our first reading and Jesus in the Gospel are trying to give people the key to the puzzle of salvation.  Peter in the first reading is addressing the people who are listening to him after he and John had cured a crippled man at the temple.  They are all amazed and puzzled how these two fishermen could do such an amazing thing.  Peter points out that the man is healed by Jesus, who is the fulfillment of “‘what [God] had announced beforehand through the mouth of all the prophets.’”  Peter was explaining that Jesus is the fulfillment of God’s plan throughout the entire Old Testament, and that Jesus is the long-awaited Messiah, even though Jesus suffered and was put to death.  This idea that the Messiah was a suffering servant was in the Scriptures, especially the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah, but the Messiah was expected to bring suffering to those who oppressed the Jews, not suffer himself!  So Peter has to tell the Jews that following Jesus is the culmination of what it means to be a Jew, and that the healing of the crippled man bears witness to the power of the Risen Lord.

Peter knew this all too well at this point, because he had no idea throughout the life of Jesus before His crucifixion.  Right after Peter makes his affirmation that Jesus is the Christ (the Greek translation of the Hebrew word Messiah), and right after Jesus tells Peter that the Church will be built upon Peter, the Rock, Jesus announces His passion for the first time, and Peter says, “God forbid!”  Peter doesn’t understand.  And as Jesus prepares His disciples before the crucifixion, they have no idea.  Even after Jesus has been raised, he has to explain to the apostles that this was part of the plan of God.  Jesus says, “‘Thus it is written that the Christ would suffer and rise from the dead on the third day and that repentance, for the forgiveness of sins, would be preached in his name to all the nations, beginning from Jerusalem.’”  It takes a lot to help the apostles understand that the crucifixion was part of the plan just as the Resurrection was.  

We can often be in the same place as the apostles: confused.  How many times when suffering comes do we immediately go to: why me?  Or: what did I do wrong?  Or: why is God punishing me?  Our vision of what it means to follow Jesus is similar to the apostles and to the early Jews: if we follow God, everything is going to be hunky-dory (that’s a profound theological term, of course).  Sometimes we even hear it from religious leaders (hopefully not Catholic): if you follow Jesus, your life will be easy; if you give 10% of your income to the church, then you will never suffer from hard financial times; if you’re suffering then you must be doing something wrong.  That is, to quote Bishop Mengeling, puke!  

We often need to be reminded that suffering is part of individuals and groups that work against God, just as individuals worked to put Jesus to death.  Jesus Himself warned us that if they treat the Master that way, how else do we think they will treat the servants?  Suffering–and not just the natural suffering of bad weather and calamities–exists because the world is fallen and people can say no to God in radical ways that hurt us.  Suffering is not what God wants for us, but it is often part of His plan for us, not as a punishment or because God enjoys seeing us suffer, but because the cross and all the suffering in our life is the way to the Resurrection.  St. Rose of Lima said it this way: 

Our Lord and Savior lifted up his voice and said with incomparable majesty: “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.  Let them know that the gifts of grace increase as the struggles increase.  Let men take care not to stray and be deceived.  This is the only true stairway to paradise, and without the cross they can find no road to climb to heaven.”

What beautiful and profound words from one of the first saints from the Americas!

Suffering is not good.  It is not good that Jesus died on the cross for us.  It would have been better if we would have just accepted Him.  But God knew from all eternity that we would reject Him, and so the cross became the means for our salvation, and the way that the new life of the Resurrection was made possible.  Easter doesn’t mean that Good Friday was just a bad dream.  But Easter makes Good Friday bearable because we know that suffering and death are not the end, but that Christ has won for us new life where once there was only death.  Sometimes we need to be reminded of the puzzle of salvation.  But in the times of suffering, let us cling to the faith and hope of the Resurrection, as the fulfillment of God’s plan for His suffering people.  

Throw Your Life Away!!

Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            As a seminarian, it was not uncommon to hear people talk about certain seminarians, and say, “Why is so-and-so throwing his life away?  He has such great potential!”  Bishop Mengeling, when we were on retreat as seminarians, would sometimes use that phrase to remind us of what we were doing with a twist, that we were truly throwing our life away for the Lord, just as a married couple throws their life away for each other.

            We often don’t think of throwing our life away as a positive thing.  That’s not the phrase we use to celebrate big events like an ordination, or a wedding (though the phrase may be tossed around at bachelor or bachelorette parties, or by heartbroken girls who would rather have a seminarian as the father of their children instead of being a spiritual father).    It generally has a negative connotation, as if we are wasting some sort of potential.  And yet, in our Gospel, the Lord is very clear: “‘whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and that of the gospel will save it.’”  It is as if Jesus is saying, “If you try not to throw away your life, you will, but if you throw away your life for me, you will truly preserve it.”

            When a man and woman pledge themselves to each other as husband and wife; or when a man is called to be a priest and responds to that call; or when a man or a woman respond to the call to be consecrated for the sake of the Kingdom; all those people are throwing away their lives.  The married couple is promising to stop looking for someone better with whom to share their entire life and with whom to have children.  The priest is promising to devote his life first and foremost to God, so that he can serve His people.  The consecrated man or woman is promising to devote him or herself to Christ and be a witness of what life will be like in the Kingdom of Heaven, especially through witnessing the evangelical counsels of chastity, poverty, and obedience in imitation of Jesus who was chaste, poor, and obedient. 

They are throwing away other opportunities that could have come up in their life in the future.  The husbands are throwing away the possibility that they will meet another woman, and the wives are throwing away the possibility that they will meet another man, who will be a suitable partner, a lifelong companion, and the person with whom they want to share physical intimacy and raise children.  The priest is throwing away the possibility of marriage and having biological children of his own so that he can have deep intimacy with Christ and be the caretaker of His bride, the Church.  The consecrated man or woman is throwing away the possibility of being a father or a mother, and, in the case of men and women religious, is throwing away the accumulation of wealth and the ability to direct their lives how they want, and when they want, and where they want.

And yet, as proof of what Jesus says (in case we don’t take Him at His word), the happiest people I have met are those who have thrown away their lives and not looked back.  I see it in couples that have been married, for example, for 50 years, who have spent a lifetime together, struggling to make ends meet, to raise children, to live out their faith, and while things haven’t always been easy, they always, without fail, say to me that they would do the same all over again if they had the chance.  I see it in the consecrated men and women, like Judith Stegman, a consecrated virgin, or Sr. Dorothy, our Director of Campus Ministry, or Sr. Liz, our Director of Senior Ministry, in the joy that they have found in consecrating their lives to Christ.  And I also see the overwhelming majority of my brother priests, who, though they have left all to follow Christ and serve His people, are already receiving 100-fold for what they have left behind.

What concerns me a little is that our culture does not encourage us to throw everything away for marriage, or consecrated life, or priesthood.  Whether it’s middle or high school students, or the college students at MSU, or even adults, so many are afraid to make any commitment, just in case there’s something better around the corner.  As a culture, we are afraid of commitment because it means that we may have to give up the future goods that we think we might possibly get by holding out.  Even in marriage, there is a general societal view that, if things don’t work out, you can always break it off in case you find something or someone better.  We see it especially in couples living together while dating or engaged, pretending to live a married life with each other under the same roof, in the same bed, but free to call it off in case something better comes along.  Only in marriage is that decision to throw it all away for the other protected, because both spouses commit to that marital love for the entire duration of their lives.  And sadly, Jesus’ words ring true that those who try to save it all, end up losing it.  Some studies state that 67%, or 2 out of 3 couples that live together before marriage, end up divorcing, and that it’s often in the first decade of their marriage. 

Is throwing it all away easy?  Certainly not.  There are times when a couple, or a consecrated man or woman, or a priest, feels the weight of the cross.  There are times when disciples have to experience people who metaphorically beat their back, or pluck their beard, or spit on their face.  But, when we throw it away, with God’s help, when we lose our life for the Son of Man and the gospel, then we can say with the prophet Isaiah from our first reading, “The Lord God is my help, therefore I am not disgraced; I have set my face like flint, knowing that I shall not be put to shame…See, the Lord God is my help.”  When we lose our life for the sake of Jesus and the Gospel, it is then that we, in fact, find it, and save it for eternal life.

All of Me

Fourth Sunday of Easter

            As Americans, we tend to be very practical people.  After a salesman has told us all the benefits of their new product, all the great things it will do for us, the wonderful way that it will compliment our lifestyle, whatever the product may be, it always comes down to one simple question: how much?

            In today’s first reading, we hear St. Peter speak on behalf of the other Apostles, and proclaim, “‘Let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.’”  Then the reading skips ahead of the main body of his argument, 22 verses, in fact, and gets to the response of the Jews who were hearing him: “‘What are we to do, my brothers?’”  Apparently, the Jews who were hearing St. Peter were practical, too.  They wanted to know what they had to do to be saved.

            Some 2,000 years later, we’re still asking the same question: what do I really have to do?  What’s it cost me?  The answer is quite simple: nothing…and everything.

            Salvation costs us nothing because it is the free gift of God, the gift given to us by Jesus, Lord and Christ, the Greek way of expressing the Hebrew understanding of God and Messiah, at Easter.  This Jesus whom we crucified, to paraphrase St. Peter from the first reading, has, in turn, given us salvation.  And to continue to St. Peter’s words from the second reading, by Jesus’ wounds we are healed.  Even though we have wondered away like sheep, Jesus Christ has brought us back to Himself because He is our shepherd and the guardian of our souls.  Even though we freely chose sin, individual acts and lifestyles that are contrary to Divine Will, natural law, and reason, to use St. Thomas’ definition of sin, acts and lifestyles which draw us away from the eternal destiny of our souls to be in heaven with God, Jesus rescued us from sin and death so that, following His example, we could be happy with Jesus forever in heaven, the whole reason for our being.  And rather than having us pay the cost, Jesus paid the price for our sins with His blood.  We are free to say yes to the great gift of salvation offered to us by Christ.

Sheep grazing in Israel

            And yet, salvation costs us everything.  Because, as Jesus tells us today in the Gospel, He is the gate for the sheep, and anyone who tries to enter by any other means is a thief and a robber, who come only to steal, slaughter, and destroy.  But Jesus, the Good Shepherd, came so that we might have life, and have it more abundantly.  But to come through Jesus the Sheepgate means that we try to get in through no other means.  That we can only go through Him.  And Jesus doesn’t just want one hour from us every week.  He doesn’t just want the times that we’re at home before a meal praying.  He wants us all.  He wants our love, our attention, our actions.  He wants us when we’re children, when we’re teens, when we’re adults, and when we’re seniors.  He wants our friendships, our relationships, the totality of who we are as persons.  He wants our work and He wants our vacations.  He wants our health and our sickness.  All of it, Jesus tells us, must go through Him.  And if it cannot go through Him, then it is only stealing from us, slaughtering us, destroying us.

            For our God is a loving God, yes, but as we hear so many times from the Old Testament, our God is also a jealous God.  He does not want us flirting with sin, in any of its forms.  He wants all of our love and affection to be directed to Him.  God is jealous for us because He knows that the only way that we can truly be happy is by going through Him and uniting everything to him. 

            In our times there are so many temptations to leave God outside and to try to find happiness and joy through other gates.  We see and hear about many prominent Catholics who have not given everything to Jesus, but who have tried to separate aspects of their life and get them in by another route.  Too many prominent Catholics or Catholics we know personally will say or tell us by their actions that when it comes to marriage and the relationships therein, the Church, the Body of Christ, has no authority.  “It’s my body, and I’ll do as I please.”  Too many Catholics consider their first allegiance the Church when they enter the pew, but when they enter the polling place or the Legislative chambers that allegiance disappears.  Now, let me be clear, the Church endorses no candidate and no party.  But, we do promote the Gospel and ask Catholics to vote for those, according to a properly-formed conscience, who can best bring about the teachings of the Gospel, the teachings which bring us life, true liberty, and true happiness, especially for those who are marginalized in our society: infants in the womb, the poor, the elderly, and so many others, as well as Catholic Legislators to promote those Gospel values in their work of forming laws for the State and the country.

            We are all of us practical people.  We want to know the cost of salvation.  It is nothing and everything.  It is a free gift, offered to us in Christ that gives us true joy and true freedom.  It is a gift which, to accept it, means that we are constantly working at making sure that all of who we are passes through Christ, the Sheepgate.  If it cannot pass through Him, it will not bring joy or freedom, but sorrow and slavery.  Christ wants all of us.  Bishop Mengeling is well-known for using older songs in his homilies and talks, and, while I won’t sing the song, I think that our desire, our prayer could be expressed in the opening words of the oldie, but goodie, “All of Me.”  Because we should be saying to Christ, “All of me, why not take all of me?  Can’t you see I’m no good without you.”  Or, to use an even older version, we can use the words of St. Ignatius of Loyola’s Suscipe prayer:

                                                

                                                Receive, O Lord, all my liberty.

                                                Take my memory, my understanding, and my entire will.

                                                Whatsoever I have or posses Thou hast bestowed upon me;

                                                I give it all back to Thee

                                                and surrender it wholly to be governed by Thy Will.

                                                Give me love for Thee alone along with Thy grace,

                                                and I am rich enough and ask for nothing more.