Changing our World

Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time/Third Sunday after Pentecost
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].  I doubt anyone would argue that the world is not as good as it used to be.  In my own life time (I was born in 1983), the world seems to have become more violent, more antagonistic, less concerned about one’s neighbor.  Certainly, the world wasn’t perfect in my youth.  And yet we have made some amazing strides in protecting innocent babies in the womb.  In 1983, the rate of abortions was 28 per 1,000 women.  In 2023 it was 15.9 per 1,000.  The US was involved in wars and was the victim of terrorist attacks even in the 80s and 90s.  But it seemed less prevalent, less sustained.  While parents still had to be careful in protecting their children in public, I can remember riding my bicycle to school in 5th and 6th grade, traveling the 4.5 miles each way without worrying that some creep would pick me up and traffic me.
    What changed?  There are too many factors to create an exhaustive list, but certainly one thing that has changed is how Catholics participate in their faith.  There are even factors within this factor.  Most didn’t know it at the time, but the Church was suffering through a sexual abuse crisis that certainly turned a number of people away from living their faith.  Catholic schools had teachers who openly opposed Catholic teaching, and CCD didn’t so much mean the Confraternity of Catholic Doctrine as Cut, Color, and Draw.  Catholics didn’t know their faith and were settling for dribble, not only in the classroom, but also liturgically, where sisters would dress up in leotards and prance up the aisle at Mass with streamers.  In the early 1980s, Catholic weekly Mass attendance was in the mid-30% range.  By 2023, again with numerous drivers of this stat, weekly Mass attendance had dropped to somewhere around 20%.  

    Doesn’t everyone feel good on this Sunday morning?  Probably not the most uplifting start to a homily.  But do we just mope around and bemoan the bad numbers?  What can we do to change, not only our Church, but also the world?  To quote King Théoden of Rohan from The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers: “What can men do against such reckless hate?”  
    In order to change the world, we need committed, serious Catholics.  What changed the Roman Empire from a greedy, violent, debaucherous society into a place where basilicas could be built, universities could develop, and peace could generally exist (though, to be honest, no time in Church history has ever been perfect)?  Committed, serious Catholics who lived in the way Christ taught them and shared that way of life with others.  In the Gospel of Matthew [that we heard today] Christ not only chooses His twelve Apostles who will lead His Church, but says that, “‘The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few; so ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for his harvest.’”  Christ wants more people to share the Gospel and to live the Gospel so that all can come to salvation.  There are never enough; we always need more.  You are the ones Christ wants to share the Gospel.  Not just me as a priest.  Not just professional missionaries in remote parts of the world.  Christ wants us all to work at His harvest of collecting souls, souls who know that this life is not as it should be and who seek happiness but do not find it in power, fame, or money.  Without cost we have received the Gospel; without cost we are to give the Gospel.

    And I know this is a change.  We didn’t know it at the time, but the cultural Catholicism that had pervaded the Church for decades in the United State, and probably for centuries before that in Europe was fading.  And now, you have to choose to be Catholic and live according to the teachings of Christ and His Church; it doesn’t happen without some effort and struggle.  No longer do we just have kids and make sure they’re baptized.  We have to raise them in the faith purposefully, and invite others to join the faith through word and deed.  In the Gospel of Luke [that we heard today], our Lord talks about how we should search out the one lost sheep, rather than be content with the ninety-nine who are safe.  He talks about how we should seek out the lost coin, upturning everything to find it.  Do we have that approach to living our faith and sharing our faith?
    We traditionally talk about Confirmation making one a soldier of Christ.  It would be odd for a soldier not to fight when the battle is right in front of him.  We should approach non-believers as the lost sheep or a lost coin.  Now, this doesn’t mean we need to be weird or creepy about sharing the Gospel.  But it does mean we do our best to live in a way that others notice the difference following Christ makes in our life.  And when we have opportunities, like something very good that happened to someone, or even something bad that happened to someone, we should be ready, as St. Peter says in his first epistle, to give a reason for our hope in Christ.  I work with Troopers who don’t always believe, and even some who never have practiced a religion.  It’s not every day, but there are times when they ask me about why I believe what I do.  They’re not looking for a doctoral dissertation, but just the basics, that every Catholic should know.  And if you don’t know, don’t be afraid to tell them that you’ll find out, or maybe even find out together over coffee or a beer or bourbon.  
    What will change the world to be a better place to raise a family, to work, to recreate, and generally to live?  People who follow Christ, who provides the key not only to happiness in the next life, but even joy in this life.  We may not always see the change, but by understanding our faith and by living our faith, we can change the world.  The harvest is abundant, but those who are willing to seek out the lost sheep are few.  Tell the Lord that you’re ready to work in His field and find the lost sheep that He wants you to find and bring back to good pastures.  Be the soldier of Christ God called you to be through Confirmation.  “Go and announce the Gospel of the Lord” [who with the Father and the Holy Spirit is God, for ever and ever.  Amen].

What Humility Is and Isn't

Third Sunday after Pentecost

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  St. Peter today advises us to be humble.  A simple exhortation.  A difficult execution, for a variety of reasons, including a lack of understanding of in what humility consists, as well as a deeply-ingrained American habit of self-sufficiency.  Difficult also because humility goes hand-in-hand with the Incarnation, and so the devil tries to keep us from humility at all costs.
    First, what humility is not: humility is not ignoring gifts or talents that we have, or pretending that gifts or talents are not good.  That is false humility, and it is actually pride, because we become the judges of what is good or a gift, rather than receiving gifts with open hands from our loving Father.  I think in an effort to avoid pride, it can be so easy to say, and mean, when someone gives us a compliment, “Oh, I’m not that good,” or “it really isn’t that much.”  Someone has recognized something good in you, which reflects back to the goodness of God who made us.  There is nothing wrong with acknowledging that gift, especially if we acknowledge God who gave us that gift.  Christ Himself said, “‘Your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.’” 
    At the same time we cannot claim that our gifts are entirely up to us.  Bragging or making sure that others know about our gifts, whether they want to know or not, goes against the virtue of humility.  There’s nothing wrong with using our gifts and talents, and if someone compliments us on them, we can certainly thank the other person for their kind words, while acknowledging that God is the source of every good gift, but we go beyond what we should when we want to make sure that others know exactly what we’re good at, or talk about our achievements and successes without others desiring to know what they might be. 
    But humility comes from humus, meaning ground or dirt, and understands that God is God and we are not.  Not that God would ever say this, but when I think about the rude awakening to the fact that we are not God, the phrase that comes to mind comes with my mother’s voice: “I brought you into this world, I can take you out.”  Again, not God’s voice there, but there exists a reality that God does not need us for anything, and the world existed just fine without us.  The fact that God chose to have us in the world is due only to His love and providence, which is pure gift.  We could not earn a spot in the world.  Each Lent we especially focus on this, as we hear in Latin, “Remember, O man, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  Humility recognizes, as hard as the temptation wants to exert itself again and again, that we are not God or master of our own destiny or the universe.  Adam and Eve precisely failed on this point, as they wanted to be like God on their own terms, not His, and disobeyed His command to not eat the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
    Which brings up another way of living a humble life: recognizing our need for a savior.  Intellectually, we probably all agree that we need to be saved.  But do we act like it?  Or do we act like we save ourselves?  I think this is a particularly dangerous temptation for Catholics.  We have so many things that we do, so many prayers and pious acts and sacrifices that we take upon ourselves.  And those are good, and can help us to accept God’s grace and love.  But those prayers and pious acts and sacrifices don’t save us.  God saves us. 
    Humility can also be tough when we live a pretty good life.  We start to approach life as if we have it all figured out.  But if that’s the case, then why would we need God?  If we don’t need saving, then we don’t need a Savior.  And if we don’t need a Savior, then why did Jesus bother dying on the cross?  Or course, even if we are not the worst sinners, we need a savior.  And not just for years past, but at each moment of our life. 
    This doesn’t mean that we make up sins in our confession.  We may well avoid all mortal sins; praise God!  And maybe we’re not even that cognizant of many venial sins.  But certainly there are ways that we can grow in our relationship with God.  The saints are great examples of this.  As they grow in holiness, it’s not that they make up sins, or make sins out of things that are not.  But the recognize even smaller affronts to God that maybe they never noticed before.  They are sensitive to the little ways in which they draw back from divine guidance or control, and seek absolution for those things.  The saints, though from an outside view sin very infrequently, if at all, know deeply, in the very marrow of their bones, that they need a savior each moment of their lives.  And they know that any success that they have in following God and living any virtue is due only to God’s gracious love and life being poured into their hearts. 
    The humble man or woman lets God come after him or her like a shepherd seeks after a sheep or like the woman searching after her lost coin.  A person living humility knows that he or she is lost without God, and begs that he or she might stay with the fold, but if not, be found as soon as possible. 
    If you think you’re doing well with humility, I would encourage you to pray the Litany of Humility.  Does any of it bristle you?  If so, it might be a part of your life that needs deeper conversion.  I know that I am still very much working on humility.  I like self-dependency.  I get uncomfortable when others compliment me.  But praised be God who has given me gifts, and who lets me see the ways in which I still need to grow in allowing His grace to transform me to be a better disciples.  To Him be glory and dominion for ever and ever: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

How God Offers Mercy

 Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    There is a kind of parable told about a man whose house was in the path of a flood.  The waters were starting to cover the roads, and a patrol car came by to take him to safety.  “No thanks,” he said, “God will save me!”  The water kept rising, until it was up to his porch.  A rescue boat came by to take him to safety.  “No thanks,” he said, “God will save me!”  The waters kept rising, until it was up to his roof.  A helicopter hovered over his house and offered to take him to safety.  “No thanks,” he said, “God will save me!”  The waters kept rising, and the man drowned.  Standing before the judgment seat of God, the man asked the Almighty why He didn’t do anything to save him.  God said, “I sent you the patrol car, the rescue boat, and the helicopter to save you.  You didn’t want my help.”  
    God is merciful.  We hear it again and again in our readings.  Our first reading mentions the mercy of God after Moses pleads for the people.  The verses of our responsorial psalm is the prayer King David wrote after he realized he had sinned greatly by committing adultery with Bathsheba and then having her husband, Uriah, killed in battle.  St. Paul recounts in our second reading how God treated him mercifully, even though he was a blasphemer and arrogant.  And in our Gospel, Jesus speaks about how the mercy of God goes out, seeking the lost to return him to wholeness, in three parables of His own.
    God is merciful.  But do we accept how He sends His mercy?  God’s mercy was shown in a most perfect way in the Incarnation.  Jesus revealed the mercy of God.  And yet, we rejected Him.  The very people God had chosen to be His own; the people who had the prophets, telling the people about the savior God would send them; the people who knew God’s revelation from Genesis to Malachi; many could not accept God’s merciful presence in the Incarnation because it was not the way they wanted to receive God’s mercy.  And so Mercy Incarnate took upon Himself the justice that should have been meted out to us because of our sins.  As Isaiah prophesied about Jesus: “He was spurned and avoided by men, a man of suffering, knowing pain, Like one from whom you turn your face, spurned, and we held him in no esteem.  […] We thought of him as stricken, struck down by God and afflicted.”

    How does God offer us His mercy?  He offers it through the Sacrament of Penance.  This is the ordinary way that God forgives sins.  Can He forgive in other ways?  Certainly; He is God.  But God told His apostles that they would have the power to loose and bind, the power to release people from their sins.  Why would God give a power if He didn’t intend that power to be exercised?  
    The Church has discerned two ways in which a person may be sorry: perfect and imperfect contrition.  Perfect contrition is when sorrow for sin “arises from a love by which God is loved above all else.”  That is, we recognize how our sins have offended our God and our relationship with Him, not because of any effects it may have on us, but simply because it is contrary to who God is, and “breaks the heart” of the Beloved.  Imperfect contrition is when sorrow for sin is “born of the consideration of sin’s ugliness or the fear of eternal damnation and the other penalties threatening the sinner.”  In other words, imperfect contrition is more so the sorrow that comes from knowing that we will, eventually, get caught, and have to pay the price for our sins.  As I reflect on my life I would like to hope that I am moving towards perfect contrition when I sin, but I am often at least partially sorry simply because I don’t want to suffer the consequences of my sins.
    In the Sacrament of Penance, God transforms our imperfect contrition into perfect contrition so that we might be forgiven.  But through the Sacrament of Penance, God also reconciles us with the Church and with each other, which is why confession to a priest is necessary.  Standing alone in our home or in the woods, we can certainly ask God for forgiveness.  But each sin, no matter how private or personal, also affects the other members of the Body of Christ, to whom we are connected by Baptism.  So we also need to ask forgiveness from them, and the priest is authorized by God to act in the name of the entire Body, including the head (Jesus Christ, who, as God, is the only one who can forgive sins) and the other members.  
    This way of receiving God’s mercy is not as popular now as it has been.  But do we seek this ordinary way of being forgiven by God?  Or do we reject it like some of the Chosen People rejected the Incarnation?  God is seeking us out through the Sacrament of Penance.  He is looking for us while we are still a long way out, so that He can run to us and restore us to our status and sons and daughters in the Son of God.  But are we like the man in the parable at the beginning of the homily today: convinced God will save us, but not open to the way that He wants to do so?  If it’s been a while since you’ve been to confession: do not be afraid.  The confession of your sins is merely the means by which God conveys His mercy.  Let God save you in the way He has chosen.

Seeking the Lost

 Third Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  I think that we all have had moments like the woman who lost her coin.  It may not have been for money, but I’m willing to be we have all had those times when we are looking for something, we can’t find it, and our mind won’t rest until we do find it.  So we tear the house apart looking for our lost item.  I would remind you that St. Anthony of Padua is a great resource when we have lost something.
    How amazing is it that our God tells us that He is like that woman, searching for us like she searches for a lost coin?!  Of course, unlike coins, we can move ourselves away.  I suppose the metaphor for us would be more like searching for a small frog that likes hopping around the house.  After all, it’s not like we get put somewhere and just stay there.  When we’re lost, it’s because we’ve walked away from God.
    But God keeps coming after us.  He never gives up on us.  Even if we try to run far away from Him, He is always right there behind us, beckoning us back, like a parent of a toddler whose child tries to run away, while the parent never lets the toddler out of his sight or reach.  This devotion to us makes sense only with the logic of love, in the same way that a shepherd going after one lost sheep and leaves the ninety-nine.  The math doesn’t add up, unless one is calculating with love.
    But, as we are called to be those disciples, that is meant to be our mentality, too.  As followers of Christ, God calls us to go after the lost sheep who have wandered away, or even the sheep who have not been part of Christ’s flock, but whom God desires to be one of His own.  This is one way that we live out the spiritual works of mercy: to counsel the doubtful, instruct the ignorant, and admonish the sinner.  
    When we do this, it must be with love.  God is love, and so if we wish to draw others to Him, we will only be successful to the degree that we counsel, instruct, and admonish with love.  To tell someone that it’s stupid to question the faith, or to condemn someone’s ignorance, or to yell at someone for something wrong that he or she has done does is not to seek after a lost sheep, but to hunt for one with a rifle; is to trash a house while searching for the lost coin.  
    I know that sounds obvious, but when we love the faith and treasure our relationship with God, as I know we do, it can seem painful to us when that is rejected.  It’s like parents who are so hurt when a child rejects what they say that they discipline in anger, rather than out of love.  Sometimes disciplining in anger, not is love, is not even intended, but it happens.  And so, when we know we’re going to talk to someone who disagrees with us on the faith, or is questioning something near and dear to us, or maybe has left a life of virtue for a life of sin, we should pray for that gentleness of Christ, and to show our love, even when correction is necessary.
    When we counsel the doubtful, instruct the ignorant, and admonish the sinner, we also imitate God when we not only acknowledge, but respect, a person’s free will.  Love never forces itself on another.  It always respects the other person’s freedom.  As Bonnie Rait sang, “I can’t make you love me if you don’t.”  We cannot force another person to see the light.  This is especially frustrating, and I know I have metaphorically banged my head on the wall when there’s someone who doesn’t see how their actions are leading them away from God, or hurting themselves, or, most often, some form of both.  It’s especially hard when it’s someone who is close to us, perhaps a family member or dear friend, who doesn’t see the lies that they’re buying.  

    The analogy that comes to mind is fromthe movie “The Return of the King,” when Samwise, Frodo, and Gollum are climbing the stairs of Cirith Ungol.  Gollum has been poisoning Frodo’s mind to suggest that Sam will try to take the One Ring away and will hurt Frodo.  Gollum then, while Frodo and Sam are sleeping, throws away their food supply, and when Sam awakes to see this happening, starts attacking Gollum.  But Frodo takes Gollum’s side, and sends Sam, who has been nothing but loyal to Frodo, away.  Sin darkens our minds, and doesn’t let us see clearly the pain that we are causing.  And often we don’t see that until we’re snapped out of it through recognizing how bad things have gotten, just as Frodo finally realizes that Sam has been his friend and the one who has truly helped him when Gollum leads Frodo into the lair of the giant spider-like creature, Shelob, so that Shelob can kill Frodo and Gollum can take the ring.  
    Because God desires the lost with a great passion, that should be our passion, too.  As we hear about all the fallen-away Catholics, think of the great numbers our parish could swell to if we were able to bring back even a percentage of those who have strayed.  Pray for those who are away, especially if you’re going to talk to them later.  Pray to both your own and the other person’s guardian angel to protect the conversation from any outside diabolical influence.  Pray for that love of God to be communicated in what you say and how you say it.  Pray to be as convincing as possible, while also respecting the other person’s freedom.  And then pray afterwards that the words you have spoken will be confirmed by the Holy Spirit and that the same Holy Spirit will open that person’s heart to the truth and love of God.  In that way, we will be like our God, who desires not the death of the sinner, but that he repent and live.  In that way we will be like the one who searches for us when we sin, God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Sin-Conversion-Forgiveness

 Fourth Sunday of Lent

    Right now we’re in the midst of the NCAA basketball tournament, often called March Madness.  The hard work of 68 teams throughout the regular season is put to the test, as they compete against the best teams in the nation, not just in their conferences.  In the end, one team will hold up the trophy, the physical sign that they are the best in the country.  It would certainly be easier if a team didn’t have to win the six games of the tournament to be crowned champion, but that trophy would mean a lot less, because it would not have come through hard work, good execution, and sometimes a little bit of luck.
    Just as there is a progression through March Madness, so there is a progression that we hear in the Gospel today about forgiveness as we heard the all-too-familiar parable of the Prodigal Son.  The main point of the parable is the mercy of the father, which Jesus uses to teach us about the mercy of our Heavenly Father.  But we also see how this whole process of sin, conversion, and forgiveness takes place, until the celebration in the father’s house at the son’s return.  
    Of course, the first part of this story is sin.  The son demands what is “his,” which isn’t really his yet.  He doesn’t want to depend on the father for what he needs.  When we sin, we don’t rely on our heavenly Father.  We take what we feel is ours, and we spend it on “dissipation.”  We think that we can make it on our own without God’s help.  In fact, when we separate ourselves from God, we notice how little we have, and how much like a famine it is.  If we don’t recognize how bad things are, we go from bad to worse, until we are surrounded by the mud of sin upon sin, and even hungry for the scraps that the pigs are eating, which is bad enough from our point of view, but even worse from the point of view of a Jew, to whom pigs are ritually unclean animals.
    The next part of the process in conversion is sometimes the hardest part: we recognize how bad things are.  Alcoholics Anonymous will talk about the necessity of hitting bottom before one can truly find sobriety.  The same is true with sin.  We can only truly seek conversion if we realize that we need help, and that we cannot take care of ourselves.  In the parable, Jesus refers to it as the son “coming to his senses.”  With so many sins, we tell ourselves it’s not so bad, it’s not really doing a lot of harm, and so we continue on.  Of course, when we do that, we keep ourselves away from the Father’s house.  We don’t find the way home, and we don’t really move much to get there.
    But if we do recognize the evil of our sins and the horrible effects they have on us, then we start back towards the Father.  Both the recognition of sin, and then the movement back to the Father are only possible because of God’s grace, to which we start to open ourselves.  Nothing that we can do that is good happens without God first making it possible.  As we open ourselves to being sorry for our sins, and leaving them behind, we start back to the Father’s house.  
    Part of this is being open and honest about our sins: that we chose them.  As a society, we are good at making excuses.  We’re never guilty for anything; it was always someone’s else’s fault.  Maybe it was our upbringing, or some external factor, or really anything, as long as we don’t have to take responsibility.  We don’t even know how to take responsibility in our apologies: “If I hurt you, then I’m sorry.”  A true contrition acknowledges that we have sinned, that we have done wrong, and that we have disobeyed and offended our heavenly Father.  In order to truly have the conversion that will heal us, we need to acknowledge our own role in sinning.  
    But, having come to our senses, recognized how bad things are, and started back to the Father to apologize for our sins, our loving Father runs out to meet us.  God doesn’t dangle forgiveness at the end of a line for us to try and catch, like the tricks we play with dogs and their toys as we hide it behind our backs, or keep swinging it back and forth, just out of the grasp of their mouths.  God runs to us to embrace us in love.  In the days of Jesus, no man would have run, not only because it showed a lack of dignity, but also because it was physically hard to do in sandals and a tunic.  And yet, that is what God does for us.  He cannot contain Himself and His love for us.  He cannot wait even the few extra minutes it will take for us to get to Him.  He runs to us.  

    And as He embraces us, He makes us His sons and daughters, though we are not deserving of that title.  We wasted our filial dignity, and spent it away.  But God gives it back to us, and then celebrates for and with us.  And he spares no expense.  He puts a robe around us, which is his love and our protection from the outside elements; a ring on our finger, which symbolizes our authority in the house of our Father again; and sandals on our feet to keep the dirt of sin from attaching itself to us.  
    The celebration is worth it.  But there are no shortcuts to forgiveness.  We cannot find the celebration at coming back to the Father’s house if we stay in the mire and the mud of our sins.  We cannot receive the robe, ring, sandals, and fattened calf if we do not acknowledge that we had earlier squandered our inheritance of eternal life and offended our Father, whose only desire for us is that we stay in His house and enjoy what He has set before us.  If we do wander away, though, the good news is that the love of the Father will welcome us back when we have repented and started back to Him.  If we don’t have the good sense of staying in the Father’s house, let’s at least have the good sense to come back after we’ve been away.

Admitting We're Wrong

Fourth Sunday of Lent

This is one of those parables that we’ve heard a thousand times.  If you think it’s hard to listen to it in the pews, imagine trying to preach on it from the ambo!  What can I say that has not already been said?  And yet, the Word of God cannot be exhausted.  If we think we know everything about this parable, then we are missing something.  There’s always a perspective or insight we have missed, even if what I’m preaching on may not be something that you missed.

But what I want to focus on today is the reaction of the Prodigal (which means wasteful) Son after his life goes down the toilet.  His reaction is that life is better with his father, even though it means returning to the father no longer as a son, but as a hired worker.  And so he starts back, and we hear about the mercy that the father wastes on his son (some have also called this the parable of the Prodigal Father).

The first step to receiving mercy is to recognize how we have wandered away from our heavenly Father’s house, how we have used our inheritance of reason and free will and wasted it on bad choices.  This is only possible by God’s grace, so God, even in our recognition of our guilt, is already at work at us to show us mercy.  But we have to cooperate with God’s mercy to recognize in truth where we have strayed.  

That’s no easy thing; especially in our culture.  No one is guilty of anything these days.  There was always a reason a person did something that eliminates all culpability for one’s actions and the consequences.  And while certainly circumstances can lessen our culpability for freely chosen actions, at the end of the day we need to return to being a people who can admit when we have done wrong; not because our upbringing was too hard or too soft; not because we suffer from affluenza; not because this group or that is out to get us; but because we chose with our free will to do something wrong.  

That sounds pretty tough.  And it doesn’t sound exciting or merciful.  But mercy can only be received by us when we realize we need mercy.  It was the Pharisees who didn’t think they needed mercy.  The adulterers, the sinners, the cheats, they all knew they needed Jesus to show them mercy.  They did not hide from their deeds.  Instead, they saw in Jesus that the recognition of their bad choices and decisions made them the exact people that Jesus came to save.  

As we examine our conscience, God helps us to know that we are sinners.  He doesn’t do this to beat us up, but to open us up to be saved by His mercy.  I often tell people that going to confession is like going to the doctor.  If we don’t tell the doctor our symptoms, he cannot cure us.  Now, God already knows what we have done, but by admitting to it, by vocalizing the sins we have committed, especially the grave sins, we let God in with His mercy, which He will not force upon us.  Think about it: who is in more danger: the person with chest pains and shortness of breath who figures he can deal with it on his own and it’s probably nothing, or the person with the same symptoms who knows something is not right and it needs to be addressed?  

Admitting that I am wrong seems to make us weak.  We have the right to remain silent, which has good legal effects, but which, if it creeps into our spiritual life, leads to certain imprisonment.  The one who admits his faults is the one who is free; the one who denies that they even exist is trapped by them.  Mercy is for the strong.  Only the weak person will say, “I did nothing wrong; it wasn’t my fault.”  The strong person can admit that he has done wrong, knowing that, in admitting his guilt, the Father runs to meet him to bestow every good gift upon him.  

St. Paul reminds us that all of us have been given the mission of being ambassadors of God’s mercy.  We do this by sharing with others the mercy we first received from God.  Think about someone who has hurt you, and pray for God’s mercy to come upon them.  Maybe they won’t come to apologize, but maybe they will.  In either case, as we pray for mercy for others, we participate in God reconciling the world.  And that is a great way to apply this parable to our own lives, and live in this Jubilee Year of Mercy.

My Favorite Sacrament

Fourth Sunday of Lent

            When people ask me what my favorite sacrament is, I don’t think they’re generally surprised to hear me say the Eucharist.  Vatican II teaches us that the Eucharist is meant to be the source and summit of Christian life, the beginning of our life in Christ, whence we get the strength to live as disciples, and the goal of the Christian life, that we have intimate communion with God.  For priests even more so, the Eucharist is the key to the priesthood, as the priest acts in the person of Christ the Head, offering himself to the Father represented by the bread and the wine which become the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ.

            I think they are more surprised when I say that there is another sacrament that is tied for first with the Eucharist, and that sacrament is Reconciliation.  But it’s true.  While I was, in some ways, prepared for the joy of celebrating the Mass and bringing about, in an unbloody manner, the sacrifice of Christ on the cross through the Eucharist, I have to say I was not prepared for what a gift celebrating the Sacrament of Reconciliation would be.

            At this point I have to make a disclaimer: I don’t love to celebrate Reconciliation as a confessor because I get to hear all your dirty little secrets of the things you’ve done wrong.  What I love is the fact that I get to take part in an intimate moment between the penitent and God and get to grant that penitent the forgiveness of their sins in the name of Christ, and bring them back to the road to heaven.  It is an experience of humility (because it takes true humility to tell God, not that we have made a mistake, but that we freely chose to go against His will) and an experience of love.  I treasure the “ministry of reconciliation” as St. Paul says in our second reading, that God has entrusted to me.  I am in awe of the fact that, though I continue to need to confess my sins (being a priest doesn’t mean that I suddenly stop sinning), God has chosen me to grant that forgiveness to His beloved sons and daughters so that they can, once more, be prepared for heaven.

            Our Gospel passage is all too familiar to us today.  We likely hear it every year, at least once.  But it is so powerful, if we let it speak to us!  We can put ourselves in the place of the prodigal son, the son who wastes his inheritance on dissipate living, and then who goes broke, and has to work as a swineherd (one of the worst jobs that a Jew could have), and would love just to eat the pigs’ food.  We can put ourselves in the place of the son who recognizes that he needs to return to the Father, if for no other reason than just to work as a slave so that he can eat.  And we can put ourselves in the place of the son who is embraced by the Father who has run out to meet him.  We can put ourselves in the place of the son, because that is what happens in reconciliation.

            “All men have sinned,” says St. Paul in his letter to the Romans, “and are deprived of the glory of God.”  We all tell God that we know better, that we’d rather control our own lives and do our own thing.  It’s the ancient sin of pride, which leads to so many other sins.  We squander the inheritance of grace that we received in baptism, when we were made sons and daughters in the Son of God.  And when we do that, we squander it quickly, and we find that we are living a trashy life, amidst slops that are meant for the pigs.  But God does not abandon us.  He gives us grace, we use the term prevenient grace, to lead us back to Him, to consider that the “threshold of the house of God” is better than the “tents of the wicked,” as Psalm 84 says.  Even just being close to union is God is better than living with evil.  And so we start on our way back.  But before we can even get out the words of our apology, to try to argue our case for being a slave rather than the heir that we were, the Father embraces us and says to us

“Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  Take the fattened calf and slaughter it.  Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.”

God doesn’t rub in our face the wrong we have done, but celebrates that we have returned to our Father’s house, and that we are back to life in grace.

            There is nothing quite like the experience of welcoming someone back to the love of God in reconciliation.  Often, those who have been away from the Church for some time or those who feel the heavy weight of sin are brought to tears.  I am not ashamed to say that from time to time I am brought to tears as the love of God flows through me and I rejoice in the fact that the penitent was lost and now is found, was dead and is now alive by the grace of God.

            I want to invite each of you today, whether it’s been a week or a lifetime, to come experience this great sacrament of God’s mercy, and to start a habit of making regular confessions.  There’s no sin that can permanently keep you from the love of God, unless you give that sin that power.  God will forgive all sins, if we come to Him in sorrow, sincerely at least wanting to stop.  Whether it’s lying; impatience; stealing; adultery; viewing pornography and the sin that often accompanies it; sex outside of marriage; contracepting; murder; abortion; missing Mass; pride; or whatever other sins we may struggle with, God wants to put a robe of love around you and put the ring that signifies your place in God’s household on your finger.  Maybe it’s only been a few days since you last went to confession.  Maybe it’s been forty years since you last went to confession.  In either case, we priests are glad to give you the assurance of God’s mercy.  We have a great confession schedule between St. Thomas and St. John, and we even have a communal penance service with individual confession & absolution next Sunday, 17 March at 2 p.m. at St. Thomas in case you want to go to a priest from out of town (though recall that we can’t tell anyone else your sins, nor can we treat you any differently based upon your confession).  Don’t stay stuck in the pigs’ slop.  Come back to the Father’s house.  Let God love you and forgive you.  “Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.”

Gospel Standards

Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            One of the nice things to have in any educational setting or profession is standards.  You want to make sure that there are controls to ensure that a person is reaching the expectations of the job, or actualizing the potential that he or she has inside.  We have standardized tests for school to make sure that kids are learning the right material and are competitive with other students across the country and the world.  We have standards for the members of the Armed Forces as they go through Basic Training to make sure that they can physically, mentally, and emotionally endure the trials of being a solider.  We have standards for businesses to make sure that a good product is being delivered and that people are doing all they can to help the company succeed.

For the past few weeks we’ve been hearing tough words from Jesus: “‘Strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter, but will not be strong enough’”; “‘when you are invited, go and take the lowest place’”; “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother…he cannot be my disciple.  Whoever does not carry his own cross…cannot be my disciple…anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.’”  These are very high standards for us as Catholics.  Hearing these readings should have caused each one of us to take stock of how we are responding to the great riches of being Catholic and having a life in Christ.  Some of us, hearing these words seriously and taking them to heart, may have even started to question practices in our lives, or maybe even our eternal salvation.

And the reason why we hear these tough words from the Word of God is to cause us to soberly realize that salvation, while a free gift, calls for a great response from each one of us, not a mediocre retort.  Faced with this realization that a great response is needed, the temptation can be to try and lower the bar so we can reach it.  After all, in the name of compassion, or what we understand as compassion, we so often loosen our standards if no one can reach it, sometimes even if the standard is what is needed.

But Jesus does not lower the bar.  He does not loosen the standard.  Instead, He shows mercy.  He forgives us when we do not meet the standard set for us.  Take, for example, what St. Paul tells us in the second reading.  Jesus does not lower the bar and decide that all those who murder Christians can get into heaven, since some people who want to go to heaven are murdering Christians, and after all, we’re all basically good.  Rather, he forgives those who have murdered so that they can witness to God’s mercy.  St. Paul himself says, “I was once a blasphemer and a persecutor and arrogant, but I have been mercifully treated.  […] Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.  Of these I am the foremost.  But for that reason I was mercifully treated, so that in me, as the foremost, Christ Jesus might display all his patience as an example.”  St. Paul does not explain away what he has done, nor does he excuse his actions, but relies upon the mercy of God so that St. Paul can share that mercy with others and be a living witness of God’s mercy.

Sheep in the Judean countryside

And God’s mercy is so great, that to some it looks foolish.  If we examine the first parable in today’s Gospel, we see how “foolish” and “wasteful” is God’s mercy.  God is like the shepherd who leaves 99 sheep to find one that has wandered off.  Losing one sheep out of 100 is not bad odds.  And leaving the other sheep which do not wander to find one that does could endanger the 99 safe sheep.  But God is not satisfied with the 99.  He wants the one, wandering sheep to return to the fold.  He is not happy with 99% of His flock being safe and sound.  He wants 100% of his sheep to be safe.

That is how great God’s mercy is: that there is more rejoicing for one sinner who has returned than for 99 righteous people who never left.  That is how much God wants to share His mercy with us: to the point of appearing foolish or wasteful.

Often, we do not live up to the standards set before us by Jesus in the Gospel.  We don’t turn the other cheek, or love our enemies, or pray for those who persecute us.  We all struggle with particular sins, some minor, some major.  Rather than saying, “It’s ok to do this sin or that sin; I’m only human,” we should rather turn to God for mercy to be forgiven of the sins that draw us away or separate us from God, and strive again for those high standards by the grace of God. 

And the way we do this is to return, again and again, to the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  In this way we respond to God’s grace so that we can be found, and lead the choirs of angels and saints in heaven to rejoice for us sinners who have repented.  Maybe we only usually go twice a year during Advent and Lent.  Let’s make an effort to go four times a year.  Maybe we go every other month.  Let’s try to go every month.  Maybe we go every two weeks.  Let’s stay faithful to that practice so that we can receive the great mercy of God, and be living witnesses of the mercy that God wants to show every one of us.  Between St. Thomas and St. Johns, Reconciliation is available at least every other day each week.  What a great opportunity it is for us to have God and the heavenly host rejoice over us. 

Maybe we’re a major sinner like St. Paul who needs major conversion.  Or maybe we just struggle with the same minor sins every month.  God is waiting to forgive us and show us His mercy in the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  May we first receive mercy, and then spread the Good News of how deep God’s love and mercy is for us to those we know who are in need of God’s mercy.