Motivation Matters

Quinquagesima

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Motivation matters.  When I first started exercising five or so years back, I did it because my friends exercised.  Then I continued to work out because I wasn’t super pleased with the way my body looked, and wanted bigger arm and chest muscles and more toned abs.  And while I still like working out with friends when I can, and while I am still working on growing muscles a little and trying to get away from the “dad bod” look, what really motivates me right now is that I know working out helps me be the best person I can be, as well as reduces stress and releases endorphins.  Working out is part of a healthy lifestyle: anima sana in corpore sana (asics).  
    As we get ready for Lent (and buckle-up: it’s here on Wednesday), we likely have a number of practices we want to take on for penance.  Maybe it’s eating less of a certain type of food, or maybe adding extra prayers to our daily prayer routine, or maybe donating time or money to the poor more.  These, in addition to our usual Lenten practices of fasting on Ash Wednesday, the Lenten Ember Days, and Good Friday, as well as abstaining from meat on Ash Wednesday, the Lenten Ember Days, and Fridays should bring us closer to God and put to death the old, sinful man in us who acts more like a toddler and wants immediate gratification always.
    But why do we do these things?  Does the Church want us to earn our salvation?  We can’t.  Does the Church want us to go on a diet?  Maybe it would be a healthy practice, but our food penances have nothing to do with our waistline.  What motivates us to take on penances, not only during Lent, but throughout the year?
    The Apostle tells us today that our motivation should be that special type of love we call charity: the love the mirrors, to the best of our ability, the love of God.  No matter what we do, St. Paul says, even if it looks like it is a powerful demonstration of God’s grace in us, if we do it without love, we gain nothing.  Love, he tells us, has to motivate our every action.
    And charity, as a special type of love, does not spring from thinking of ourselves first.  When we think of ourselves first we are like Olympic athletes who train only so that they can get an award and beef up their athletic resume or brag that they stand as the best in the world.  So many times when we do penances we may rely on selfish motivations, even if they are clothed in generosity or piety.  When we act out of the desire to have something for ourselves, we do not demonstrate charity.  We are then like the hypocrites that our Lord will condemn on Ash Wednesday who fast and give alms in order to be seen.  Instead, God calls us to act out of charity, out of the desire simply to please the Beloved, God Himself, no matter what it could mean for us, or even if we gained nothing at all.  True love doesn’t do something good so that I can get something good back.  True love does what the beloved wants simply because the beloved wants it, without thought of repayment.
    Truth be told, we all probably struggle with mixed motives.  Even our best acts probably do not find their entire root in charity, but are commingled with a little selfishness.  All too often, we are blind to our selfishness and hidden motives that infect all our deeds.  And so we, like the blind man our Lord encountered near Jericho, need to cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!”  And maybe our selfishness, our pride, our vainglory tells us not to cry out to Jesus, because we’re good enough, or it’s close enough.  But we need to persist and cry out again and again, “Son of David, have pity on me!”  We need to ask the Lord to help us to see ourselves and see our mixed motives, and then ask that the Savior send His grace to purify our motives and change our self-interested love into true charity, the love which seeks only to please God.
    Will we ever fully be there?  Probably not on this side of eternity.  We will always see ourselves dimly, as in a mirror.  But if we keep crying out for God’s help to love as He loves to the best of our ability, then we will see God face to face one day, where our love will truly be selfless, will truly mirror the charity of God.  
    In this last Sunday before Lent, we should all examine our Lenten practices in the light of, “how does this help me grow in charity?”  We don’t have to do them perfectly in charity, but we should strive to do them as perfectly in charity as we can.  May we not take on penances in order to look holy, or to seem to others to be pious or ascetic, or even because we hope to get something good out of it, but may our penances help us grow more deeply in love with the one who saves us: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Making Room for God

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    One of the challenges, primarily for kids for also for adults, is what to get and what to leave at Thanksgiving dinner.  There are so many good foods that you start putting a healthy amount of the foods you like on your plate, but then you realize your plate is full and you’re only halfway through all the food that’s available.  And that’s just for the main meal; I’m not even considering dessert!
    The Pharisee in the parable that Jesus told today was full, but not with turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy.  He was full of himself.  As he prays, he didn’t even really engage in a conversation with God.  It was more of a monologue about how great he was, especially in comparison with the sinful tax collector standing at the back of the temple.  While seemingly making time for God by going to the temple to pray, the Pharisee didn’t really make room for God, and perhaps only went to the temple because it was expected of him and he had to keep up appearances.
    As followers of Christ, we have recognized a need for God, but do we actually make room for Him?  In our own lives that might start just with making time for God.  That might seem strange to say for people who set aside time on a Sunday morning to go to Mass.  But beyond just this time at Mass, do we make time for God in our life?  
    How easy it can be to go throughout a day and not make time to for prayer.  Maybe it’s work, or getting kids ready for school or teaching them in the home and trying to keep them from harming themselves or other siblings, and then making some sort of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and just wanting to relax after a long day.  Prayer can be hard for families, and often does not happen, either as much or at all, unless it is scheduled.  Of course, prayer for the laity will look differently than prayer for priests, because they are different vocations.  You may not have 40 uninterrupted minutes for anything.  But do you do your best to make time for God, and not simply let God get the leftovers of your time and attention?  Maybe it’s only a few short minutes after you get up but before the kids have stirred from their beds.  Maybe it’s at the beginning of your lunch hour when you say the Angelus at noon.  Maybe it’s before each meal.  Maybe it’s 15 minutes as a couple after the kids are in bed, rather than just watching mindless tv.  
    Making room for God also acknowledges a truth that can easily escape our mind: we need God.  More than food; more than water; even more than oxygen, we need God.  We depend on God for every good thing.  And yet, how often do we go through a day not even calling God to mind.  The reason why God especially hears the widow and orphan, as we heard from the Book of Sirach this morning, is because they know they need Him.  Widows and orphans, unless they had family, relied on the generosity of strangers.  And I’m not sure that people exhibited more generosity in Biblical times than they do now.  When you struggle to find food, clothing, and shelter, suddenly what meme is breaking the Internet, or which celebrity is divorcing, or even whether or not the Lions are going to win suddenly takes a back seat.  It becomes much more natural to cry out to someone who can help, and God especially hears those prayers, out of His love for His children.  

    The tax collector from the Gospel also knew his need for God, though not for the necessities of life.  He acknowledged what was true for both him and the Pharisee, that he was a sinner.  He knew he couldn’t fix or absolve himself for the ways he had disobeyed God.  So he recognized his need for God’s mercy and asked for it.  And God, Jesus tells us, answered that prayer.  It can be easy to fill up our lives with fleeting things so that we pretend that we’re self-sufficient, or so that we pretend our sins don’t matter, and we miss out on receiving the good things God wants to give us, including His mercy, because we’re so full of ourselves.
    So as you consider each day as an empty thanksgiving plate, how much room are you leaving for God?  Or are you filling it up with so many other things that when you come to God, you’re like, “I’ll get that when I come back for seconds”?  God will not force Himself upon us.  We need Him, but if we don’t acknowledge that need, He will not impress Himself upon us, until the end of our life when we will be judged on how we made time for God.  Start with portioning out a healthy serving of God each day, rather than hoping you have room for Him at the end of the meal.  If you make time for God, not only will you receive the choicest foods and wines, but you will not hunger or thirst what what truly satisfies your heart!

Getting the Right Message

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Perchik from "Fiddler on the Roof"

    Sometimes you can get the wrong message from a story.  In the musical “Fiddler on the Roof,” which I just mentioned two weeks ago, there is a scene where a student, Perchik, from the university in Kyiv, is teaching Tevye’s daughters how to read from Biblical stories.  One day he says, “Now after Jacob had worked for Laban for seven years, do you know what happened?  Laban fooled him and gave him his ugly daughter, Leah.  So to marry Rachel, Jacob was forced to work another seven years.  So you see, children, the Bible clearly teaches us you can never trust an employer.”  Not perhaps the message God tries to convey through the account of the patriarch Jacob in the Book of Genesis.
    I feel like the first reading and Gospel passage that we heard today can also be misinterpreted if we don’t approach it well.  From the first reading we might think that we just have to do the right thing and keep the right action up in order to win, as the Israelites win whenever Moses’ hands are raised.  From the Gospel we might think that if we pester God enough by asking him again and again, like the widow from the parable, then God will give us whatever we want.  But I don’t think either of those are what God wants to communicate to us.
    Because the first approach is basically magic.  Magic seeks to control the physical and/or spiritual world by our own efforts.  If I say the right words or do the right things, certain actions have to follow, as if they’re in causal relationship like adding baking soda to vinegar.  I can manipulate the results if I do the prescribed actions.  Magic is an offense against the first commandment, because we seek to take control rather than let God be in control.  
    The second approach is arrogance and pride.  If we ask God for something and we don’t get it, clearly God must have a different plan.  To presume that we know better than God is the ancient vice of price, seeking to elevate us over and against God, rather than submitting to His will and Divine Providence.  God is not a parent that we, like a toddler, can wear down if we just keep pestering Him, so that we eventually get what we want.

    Instead, the message, or at least a message, that God wants to communicate is a phrase my spiritual director says to me almost every time we meet: patient perseverance.  In our relationship with God, we need to approach God with confidence that He hears our prayers, even if they’re not answered immediately, and as long as they are truly what God wants.  St. Monica had to pray around 30 years before her son, Augustine, received the Sacrament of Holy Baptism from St. Ambrose.  God certainly wanted St. Augustine to become an adopted son of God in Jesus Christ and a member of the Church and have original sin washed away, but Monica had to persevere in asking God for that gift.  St. Augustine also had to be open to that gift, as conversion requires the free response to God’s grace that is given for conversion.
    We put forward our best work according to what we believe is God’s will.  We ask God to bless our work, whether it be an earthly or a spiritual endeavor.  But then we have to wait for God to grant it, all the while asking for it to happen, if it is God’s will.  It’s like the distiller who puts together what he thinks is a good mash bill, based upon what he thinks people want to drink.  He ferments the grains with the yeast, purifies the distillate to remove any harmful impurities, then puts it in a barrel to age in a good location in the rick house.  He waits for years, maybe four, eight, ten, twelve, or even twenty or twenty-three, praying that his hard work pays off and produces a tasty bourbon that people will enjoy.  But there is a certain freedom in patience, commending the endeavor to God’s providence.
    All too often, though we don’t begin by asking for God’s input as to whether we should even start something.  I know in my own life I can struggle because I have something I want to do, and I don’t ask God if it’s part of His plans, and then sometimes get frustrated when it turns out they’re not part of His plans, and I don’t find the success I wanted.  Before we begin any action, especially any new undertaking, we should ask God if this is part of His will.
    If we sense that God wants something to happen, that’s when we patiently persevere.  We continue to pray to God to give success to the work of our hands, to paraphrase Psalm 90.  And we wait until God answers that prayer in some way, shape, or form.  We don’t meddle, as if somehow our work can outdo the plan of God.  We don’t act like a toddler and keep asking, “Can I have it?  Please?  Please?  Please?  Please?”, hoping to wear God down.  We patiently, persistently bring our request before the throne of grace and lay it before the feet of God for Him to decide how and when to grant our prayers.  And we do it as a child who trusts his or her father.      Don’t misunderstand the readings we had today, as Perchik did with the story of Jacob, Leah, and Rachel.  Don’t pretend that we are in control and God has to do what we want if we just say the right words or do the right thing.  Let God be God, submit to His will and Divine Providence, and trust that what needs to happen will happen, according to the plan of our loving Father.  

The Jesus Prayer

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Over the years that I have been a priest, I have come to love and appreciate the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom that Eastern Catholics and Eastern Orthodox use for most of their Divine Liturgies (what we call the Mass).  It’s interesting that, based on my research, the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, the Divine Liturgy of St. Basil the Great, and our own Roman Canon likely find their roots sometime in the fourth century or so.  From time to time I am able to attend in choir an Orthodox Divine Liturgy and have developed friendships with the local Orthodox priests here in Genesee County.  We know we don’t agree on everything, but we celebrate our millennium of shared faith and help each other understand the millennium that we’ve been separated.
    One of the hallmark prayers in the Orthodox prayer tradition is from our Gospel today.  They call it the Jesus Prayer, and it is simply the words, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.”  This is the prayer that they encourage people to pray throughout the day, to make it part of their very life.  I have even heard some priests connect it to breathing, so that on the breath in the person says, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God,” and on the breath out the person says, “have mercy on me a sinner.”  The idea is that, if practiced enough, especially while simply breathing, it becomes a part of each person’s day, and helps us to do what St. Paul admonished: “pray without ceasing.”  
    The first part of the prayer is connected to the epistle.  St. Paul told us today that no one can say Jesus is Lord except by the Holy Spirit.  This beautiful prayer includes all three Divine Persons: the Lord, who is Son of God the Father, which proclamation is only possible by the power of the Holy Spirit.  Now, obviously, any person can say the words, “Jesus is Lord,” but to truly mean it; to truly recognize that Christ is God and that His way of life is normative for me because He is my Creator; that kind of faith and obedience can only happen as a gift from the Holy Spirit.  We cannot have that surrender of our lives without God giving us the grace to do it first.  And then, while we do need to cooperate, it is only God’s grace which allows us to bring that act of faith that He inspired to competition.  This is what we mean when we say that our life in Christ is all grace.  

    The second part of the prayer, “have mercy on me a sinner,” is the words of the tax collector in today’s Gospel.  The man knew who he was.  As a tax collector, not only was it his job to collect money for the Roman government, who oppressed the Jews and who advocated the worship of false gods, but, in order to make a decent living, he had to exact more money from his own people than what Rome really wanted.  Tax collectors, the word publican is also used, were notoriously hated for their exaction of money from their own people.  The very call of St. Matthew by the Savior probably scandalized many people at first, and maybe even some of the apostles took time before they warmed up to him.  
    In any case, this tax collector was reaching out to God for mercy.  We don’t know if he left his job after this prayer.  We don’t know if he changed his life.  But we do know that, at this moment, he knew he needed the mercy of God, and so he cried out to it from the back row.  And our Lord said that his prayer was answered.
    When it comes to receiving God’s mercy, are we willing to humbly come before God and acknowledge that we are sinners?  Each of us has a need for forgiveness from God.  Even the saints, who rose to the heights of perfection during their lives, knew that they needed God’s mercy.  Do we take that second step (the first being God’s nudge in our hearts to even ask for mercy) and actually make that prayer our own?  
    We might wonder what good it would do because we don’t know how we can move away from that sin.  And certainly, to receive God’s forgiveness, we do have to have a firm purpose of amendment to not sin in that way again.  But just because we think we might sin again doesn’t mean that we can’t want not to give into that sin in the future.  When I was a young boy I didn’t want to antagonize my sisters in the future as I went to confession, but it was probably going to happen again.  Sometimes all we can muster up is that act of hope that, if God gives me enough grace, I might be able to never fall into that sin again, and that’s what I want.  But that little opening to the grace of God can be all that’s needed to truly start making progress in rooting sin out of our lives.
    I am also aware that I may be unaware of certain sins in my life.  That’s why, when I go to confession, I include the words, “and for any other sins that I cannot recall, or any sins from my past.”  And each Mass after I purify the vessels, I add the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me a sinner.”  The Eucharist cleanses us of venial sins.  And this prayer, the prayer of the tax collector, can also, if said honestly and devoutly, can cleanse us of venial sins, because when we say that prayer in earnest, God will justify us as He justified the tax collector.  
    I pray that you will make that prayer your own as well.  Maybe you will say it once a day.  Maybe you will work on incorporating it into each moment so that, as you breathe in and out, it flows naturally out of you like a breath.  But this prayer has value and can change our lives if we are open to the mercy God wants to give to us when we call upon Him: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

LOVE

Quinquagesima

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Yesterday at our Mardi Gras Dinner Dance, the focus of the music was not just celebrating before Lent began, but love.  There were love songs everywhere, and different descriptions of love.  Whether the dances were upbeat, or whether it was a chance to slow down, most of the music had to deal with love.
    There are a great many love songs, both past and present, in the genre of country music and the genre of pop or lite-rock.  Songs express movements of the heart that words sometimes cannot adequately convey.  Songs like “All for Love” by Rod Stewart; or “Through the Years” by Kenny Rogers; songs like “At Last” by Etta James; or “I Just Called to Say I Love You” by Stevie Wonder.  There’s even the classic song entitled “LOVE” which many crooners have sung, or the more recent “Love Story” by Taylor Swift.
    In all these songs, love is described as some kind of reaction in the individual, a rush of warm, gooey goodness, a delight in the other.  It is, often something that another does to the self, an affirmation of goodness.  And even St. Thomas describes love (as often quoted by Bishop Robert Barron) as willing the good of the other.  But St. Paul the Apostle also describes love in the epistle we heard today, and while I’m not sure you could quite put it to a pop tune or a country melody, because it is the Word of God, it should guide how we understand love in our daily lives, more so than any secular music does.
    This Pauline hymn of love talks about the actions that love accomplishes.  One loves by demonstrating patience and kindness.  Love does not allow envy to enter in, nor seeks ambition over the other.  Love does not lead to anger, nor to evil, nor joy in sin, but, rather, rejoices in the truth.  Love “bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.  Love never fails.”  You could have everything in the world, but if you don’t have love you have nothing, and this even includes spiritual gifts like speaking in tongues or prophesying and the ability to move mountains.  Love is not about me but about thee.  
    And as we come to this Quinquagesima Sunday, this last Sunday before we enter into Lent, we see the love of our Lord as He prepares for the Passion ahead of him.  He takes His special friends, His Apostles, and speaks to them aside from everyone else to let them know that they are going to Jerusalem so that the Son of Man can suffer and die.  Love draws our Lord to a task harder than we could ever imagine, not because of how painful it was physically, but because in Christ, it is not just a human going to suffer who suffers each day, but Life itself who was going to die, Holiness Incarnate who would take upon Himself the sins, not just of those around Him, but from every time and place, from the foundation of the world until its final consummation at the end of time.  We suffer and we go from being to non-being because we know that we are finite and we will have a limit on this earth.  Christ was the creator of the heavens and the earth, the eternal Logos whom the heavens and earth cannot contain, yet who went down to the depths of hell in order to save us from eternal damnation.  

    That is love.  It is not just the way you look at me; the only one I see; the very, very extraordinary, or even more than anyone that you adore.  It is so valuing the other that no cost is too high to pay for the good of the other.  Love means there’s no mountain high enough, no valley low enough, no river wide enough to keep us from sacrificing ourselves for the good of the beloved.  It goes beyond delight or physical attraction.  Love goes beyond the way another makes us feel, as good as that can be.  Love means doing whatever it takes for the other person’s benefit, with the highest benefit being, of course, eternal salvation.
    When we think about young love, we do think about the strong flames of passion, the silly and extravagant gestures of a couple who cannot help but smile at each other when they come into each other’s presence.  And that is good, and there is a time for that.  But loves proves itself, proves whether it is merely delight and infatuation, when there smiles do not readily come, but tears are shed because of struggle and suffering.  There is a young couple I know who was dating during COVID.  I knew that the young man was moving towards love for the young woman when the young woman contracted COVID, and he chose to be with her so that she would have someone to care for her, and would not be alone, though it meant the possibility of contracting the virus himself and not being able to see his family because he, too, would have to be quarantined.
    Love is staying up long nights to help a spouse study for an important exam, even though one has to be at work the next morning at 6 a.m.  Love is the mother who holds out her hand to catch the vomit from a sick child.  Love is working at a job that is neither exciting nor fulfilling, but knowing that the work will provide a roof, food, and clothing for the family.  I think grandparents are often beautiful examples of love, because, in many cases, the fires that we identify with young love, are not as strong, and yet the heat of that love is kept in white-hot coals.  Have you ever noticed how a couple who has been married for a long time can just sit with each other, perhaps holding hands, and simply delight in each other’s presence?  That kind of love is the result of each spouse knowing that he or she has sacrificed over the years for the good of the other, and the appreciation of the other for that sacrifice.  
    As we prepare to enter into Lent, we recall, once more, the love that God had for us, the love that emptied itself first by becoming man, and then by sacrificing that Incarnation on the altar of the cross so that, by His immolation, we would gain wholeness; by His Death we would gain life.  May God open our eyes to see clearly the great gift we were given in our Lord’s Passion and Death, so that we may also merit to be with the Beloved of our souls in the kingdom of heaven, where God is all in all: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Magic Eye

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    When I was in grade school, one of the more popular items at our annual Book Fair were books that were called Magic Eyes.  On each page there was a picture, but if you stared at it a certain way, a different, 3-D image would seem to pop off the page.  As I say it, it doesn’t really sound that interesting, especially with the fact that you can now have virtual reality goggles.  But in elementary school in the early ‘90s, it was pretty cool.
    What God sees and what we see can be as different as the Magic Eye books.  Our view is often limited to the externals: how someone combs his hair; what kind of clothes she wears; skin and facial features; etc.  But what God sees goes much deeper than that.
    As Jesus told the parable about the Pharisee and the tax-collector (sometimes called the Publican), He is not only talking about how to pray (the publican) and how not to pray (the Pharisee), but He’s also making a point that had been made several times before in Scripture, that appearances can deceive.  The Pharisee seems to have it all together: he doesn’t commit major sins, he gives to the temple and synagogue, and he doesn’t cooperate with the pagan Romans.  The Publican, on the other hand, seems very downcast, and won’t even raise his eyes to heaven.  He simply, quietly, asks God for mercy from the back row.  And yet, it is the Publican who is justified (put into right relationship with God), not the Pharisee.
    This point had been made in the first book of Samuel, as the prophet Samuel seeks a new king of Israel to replace Saul, who had disobeyed God.  Samuel goes to the house of Jesse, and sees some studly looking men.  And yet, God does not choose any of them.  Instead, God chooses David, the youngest, not as much to behold, who is out tending the sheep, to be the new king of Israel.  Or, think back to to Book of Job.  Job does everything right, so much so, that God brags about Job.  But then Satan asks to take away Job’s prosperity, and then even his health, because Satan is convinced that Job will walk away from God if his good fortune were taken away.  God allows Satan, in the story, to do anything, other than kill Job, which Satan does.  Job loses everything, and his luck is so bad, his own wife says, “Curse God and die” (what a lovely woman!).  Job’s friends come, and try to convince him that he must have done something wrong, so he should repent, and then God will give Job good stuff and health again.  But Job maintains his innocence, all-the-while still trusting God.  In both those stories, and many more, physical strength and material blessings do not mean that God loves you more, nor does lack of goods mean that God hates you. 
    In fact, as we heard from the Book of Sirach, God “hears the cry of the oppressed…is not deaf to the wail of the orphan, nor to the widow.”  Those people seemed like God wasn’t on their side.  If you’re oppressed, you don’t have control of your own freedom.  If you are an orphan, you have no parents to take care of you, and there was no welfare state or foster homes to make sure you were taken care of properly.  If you were a widow, your husband, who made money to feed you, was dead, and you had to rely on the generosity of your children and other family.  In other words, these were all people who had very little, if anything.  And yet, God hears their cries. 
    Even St. Paul is an example of how what looks like failure can actually be success in the eyes of God.  St. Paul did found many churches, groups of believers in Jesus, but none of them were particularly large communities, and they almost always seemed to have problems.  St. Paul writes this second epistle to St. Timothy from house arrest, and is about to die for preaching the Gospel.  He references in another letter how many of his co-workers abandoned him.  And yet, he is sure that “the crown of righteousness awaits” him, because he has, “competed well;…finished the race;…kept the faith.” 
    So how do we measure success?  When do we think God favors us?  Is it when things go well?  Or is it when we have struggles?  In truth, God can favor us in either set of circumstances.  We may have come to church this morning and are on cloud nine because we just received a promotion, or our grandkids just made honor roll.  Or we may be struggling in marriage, doing everything we can to pay the bills and buy food with a meager salary.  God loves us either way.  He hears our prayers when we come to Him in humility, recognizing that whatever we have is from Him: a gift of good things; or the allowance of suffering to strengthen us and bring us closer to Him.
    How, too, do we view others?  Do we see the externals and presume that the person who appears to do well is blessed by God?  Do we presume that the dirty, homeless person must have done something wrong, and we should avoid him or her?  Or do we look deeper, trying to see Christ in every person, regardless of affluence or poverty?
    [Eric, you have chosen a beautiful time to join the Catholic Church.  Unlike decades past, we have lost a lot of clout politically.  Unlike before, what we hold as truths to be revealed by God regarding the dignity of the human person, from natural birth through natural death; the importance of work and using God’s gifts and talents for the building up of society; the definition of marriage given to us by God; that our bodies are good and tell us something factual about ourselves, which cannot be changed by desire or surgery; that the family is the building block of society and should not be infringed by the government; these things are now no longer popular or widely held.  People are leaving the Catholic Church in droves.  This is a beautiful time because God often works best when things seem to be stacked against us.  And you are choosing to witness to what God has revealed through his one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. 
    It will call for great determination to live out that faith.  It may even lead to suffering.  But again, what the world sees as failure–sticking to God when the rest of the world seems to be abandoning Him for more palatable beliefs–is often success, and what the world sees as success is often failure.  And your one voice today, professing your faith with us, will be joined the myriad voices throughout the millennia who have professed that same faith, unbroken and untarnished, though many have sought to destroy it and change it throughout its history. 
    Do not be afraid to live as a Catholic, in all that the word Catholic entails.  Do not be afraid of seeming to be a failure to others by professing an ancient faith that critiques so much of what modern man seems to hold dear.  You may not do it perfectly, none of us do, but if you persevere in doing what you can to follow Christ, no matter how your life looks from the outside, you will merit to hear the words we all hope to hear one day: “Well done, good and faithful servant.  Come, share your Master’s joy.”  

Fasting and Abstinence (Precept #4)

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  So, continuing our walk through the Precepts of the Church, I will admit that today’s Gospel could easily have also dealt with our necessity to confess at least once per year.  But I chose that precept last week.  So, since the Gospel spoke about the Pharisee talking about his fasting and his pious works, let’s focus on Precept number 4: You shall observe the days of fasting and abstinence established by the Church.  A bit of a stretch?  Yes, but just go with it for our purposes.

    It may seem odd to focus on this, since our Lord says that the Pharisee who bragged to God about his fasting was not the one who went home justified.  So, one might think that we shouldn’t focus on fasting.  But the problem wasn’t the fasting.  The problem was that he thought it made him better than the others, a sign of spiritual pride.
    Fasting, St. Thomas Aquinas states, has a threefold purpose: to control lust, to allow the mind to go more towards heavenly things, and to make satisfaction for sins.  It also gives us solidarity with the poor, who go without food, not by choice, but by their lack of due resources.  We can fast from food, but also from other goods, like the internet, social media, television, music, etc.  Fasting from food is required two days out of the year: Ash Wednesday and Good Friday.  On those days, according to current norms, one is to eat one normal size meal, and two meals which, when added together equal or are less than the one normal meal.  Of course, one can always eat less.
    Abstinence, in the way the precept of the Church speaks, concerns not eating meat.  Included in the understanding of meat is the meat of mammals and poultry.  Not included is fish and reptiles.  Of course, there are exceptions.  The Archdiocese of Detroit still holds on to an old dispensation that allows the eating of muskrat on Fridays (muskrat stew instead of fried fish).  Beavers and capybaras are also fair game on Fridays.  

Muskrat

    The Church still holds that every Friday is a day of penance, and that one can observe it by abstaining from meat.  However, in 1966, the US Bishops removed the penalty of sin from eating meat on Friday, and allowed for other penances, other than abstinence from meat, though they did still place abstinence from meat in first place.  But Fridays are still days of penance, and, when possible, abstaining from meat is a great way of observing the penitential days.
    Of course, some would say that fish can be rather luxurious, and not help us keep solidarity with the poor.  Or some enjoy seafood, and so would find it odd to give up meat to enjoy a nice lobster tail.  But, as I started to give up meat on Fridays, what I noticed is that, it wasn’t so much about what I was eating, but training my will by what I couldn’t eat.  Given my fallen humanity, a juicy steak never seems so appealing as on a Friday.  But I’m reminding my body that just because it has a desire does not mean I have to give in to that desire, which of course helps us beyond simply the food we eat.  
    But it’s also not just the action; the intent is also key.  Do we abstain in order to unite our suffering (or at least the pain of saying no to our fallen will) to Christ on the cross?  Do we utilize these days of penance as ways that we express sorrow for the sins we have committed?  Or, is it self-justification–trying to save ourselves by our good works–an approach, St. Paul reminds us, does not work.  Fasting and abstinence are, at face value, about what we eat or don’t eat.  But the deeper level is meant to draw us closer to Christ who sacrificed His sacred flesh for us on the cross, which is why we abstain on Fridays.  
    Fasting and abstinence is also meant to move our mind to heavenly things.  Look at the Gospel again: the Pharisee did not have his mind on heaven.  He was so focused on what he was doing, that he wasn’t even really praying, which presumes desiring union with God, rather than focusing on the self.  The tax collector, who maybe didn’t fast as much, recognized he was in need of forgiveness because he had sinned, but did not seek justification from his own deeds, but from God, and so went home justified.  So for us who fast, we still need to remember that we fast because we need to refocus on God, and we need mercy for our sins.  As much as our fasting leads us to God, it is good.  When it leads to spiritual pride, it has become an obstacle to growth in holiness and should be restarted with a different mind-set.  
    Lastly, fasting and abstinence are not absolutes.  When we choose to fast or abstain, we should do so in recognition of the goodness of the body, however fallen.  Fasting is not dieting, but some people use fasting and/or abstaining to drop a few pounds.  But we need to make sure that our body is getting sufficient nutrients for our needs.  For that reason, especially those with diabetes, hypoglycemia, and even pregnant women should use their reason when deciding how much to fast and/or abstain.  We don’t want to slide into a Manichaean mentality which treats the body as evil.
    One good way to make sure that we don’t is to properly celebrate on days of rejoicing.  Solemnities (which include, but are not limited to, every Sunday and holy day), should not be days of fasting, without consulting a spiritual director.  In fact, when a solemnity falls on a Friday, it is no longer a day of abstinence; you can have meat.  Those are the days that we especially remember the joy of the Incarnation and Resurrection, or special saints like the Blessed Mother, St. Joseph, St. John the Baptist, to name a few.  While we do fast because the Bridegroom is not here in the same way He was during His earthly ministry, we also rejoice because of what He has done for us, and how that has been lived out by members of the Church who are now in heaven.  We should also allow for those times when we are visiting friends who don’t observe Friday as a day of penance, and eat what they set before us, even if it includes meat.
    Fasting, abstinence, and all ascetical practices help to train our bodies and wills to choose Christ, rather than always choosing what we immediately want.  May the uniting of our sacrificial practices help to heal us of our sins, and raise our minds to heaven, where Christ is seated at the right hand of the Father, with the Holy Spirit, God for ever and ever.  Amen.

What Do You Want Me to Do For You?

 Quinquagesima Sunday
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  “What do you want me to do for you?”  What a question!  Besides asking the blind man in the Gospel, our Lord asks us the same question today: what do you want me to do for you?  
    It would be easy to treat this offer like Aladdin, rubbing the lamp and having the genie come out, offering us three wishes.  It’s interesting that, when it comes to genies, most stories involve some level of greed.  What is desired is personal gain, whether it be money, power, notoriety, or some other fleeting good.  Of course, then there’s the other reality with a genie, that you have to be careful what you ask for, because you just might get it and get it literally, or in a way you never intended.  

    But our Lord doesn’t operate that way.  He promises neither to give us fleeting goods which are really the idols of the world (power, pleasure, money), nor to trick us with what we ask.  He sincerely asks us what we want to receive from Him.  And notice that the blind man does not ignore his physical reality.  He doesn’t deny the trouble that being blind gives him, or pretend that all he wants is eternal life.  He asks for his eyes to be healed.  We don’t know how old this man was.  Maybe he was young; maybe he was old.  But his eyes would eventually fail him again as he continued to age.  Still, God gave him that gift.  
    So what do you want from God?  What do you want God to do for you?  When you’re thinking about it, make sure that it’s something that is actually good.  I used to, when I had some extra cash, buy

MegaMillions or PowerBall tickets.  I would tell God that if I one, I would give 10% to the church, so it would really be a good thing if I won.  I haven’t won, for the record, and I am convinced that God hasn’t wanted me to.  I hear so many stories about people who came into quick and easy money, and how horrible their lives became.  So maybe God was saving me from that pain (some of you may be thinking, ‘I’ll take my chances, God; let me understand what it is to have that kind of problem!’).  But what do you want God to do for you?  Solomon didn’t ask for riches or victory over his enemies, but wisdom.  That would be a great gift to get from God.  Or maybe you want God to increase your faith or your hope.  Those are also good.  Or maybe you desire healing from God, like the blind man.  God also grants those prayers if it’s for that person’s good.  What do you want from God?
    Have confidence that God can do it for you.  In another story of healing, a man asks our Lord to heal his son who is possessed.  The man says, “If you can,” and Christ replies that all things are possible for the one who has faith.  Do we have confidence that God can do great things?  Does He do every great thing that we desire?  No.  Does that mean that He can’t.  No.  It means it wasn’t His will.  But if you look at almost every healing in the Gospels, they come as a result of faith.  When we have faith in what God can do, it opens up for possibilities that we never imagined were possible.  As the Lord asks us, “What do you want me to do for you?”, do we really think He can do something for us?
    That question, “What do you want me to do for you?”, takes on a special meaning for us as we approach Lent.  Perhaps the Lord is asking you and I today: “What do you want me to do for you this Lent?”  What do we expect to get out of this upcoming Lenten season?  Are our sacrifices something that we do because we’ve always given up this, or done this extra thing?  Or will they truly help us to grow in holiness?  Will our Lenten practices help us to be ready for Easter, to celebrate the Resurrection of our Lord from the dead?  
    If we ask the Lord for something this Lent, He will give it to us if it is for our good.  Do we have a particular sin that we want to fight more and eliminate from our life?  Do we have a family member or friend with whom we need to reconcile?  Do we have an enemy that we need to forgive?  Lent is the perfect time to open ourselves up even more to God’s grace to allow us to live the divine life.  Lent is the time of metanoia, a change of heart and mind, a time to put on the mind of Christ, as the Apostle says.  Do we want that from God?  Do we want to change, or are we happy in our set ways of operating or the spiritual plateau on which we may find ourselves?  
    Do we need to grow in love?  Not the romantic love that we so often associate with the word love, but the agape love that St. Paul describes in our epistle.  Do we need to become more patient and more kind?  Do we struggle with envying what others have, or do we seek to elevate ourselves above others?  Does our love for others depend on our emotions or how the day is going?  If we wish to grow more like Christ, it necessary entails growing in love, both for the God we cannot see and the brother and sister that we can see.
    God is not a genie.  We are not limited to three wishes.  God truly desires our good, and wants to know what we feel we need.  He is our loving Father, and wants to give us every good gift.  As we go through this week, and as we prepare for Lent, may we hear the Lord asking us, “What do you want me to do for you?”, and prayerfully consider what it is that we desire from the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Ruined Crème Brûlée

 Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
  

 In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  One of my favorite desserts, that I almost never get because it’s usually quite expensive is crème brûlée.  There’s something about the custard that is smooth and tasty, and ten the hard, caramelized sugar layer.  And then, if it’s really good, there’ll be a few berries on top, maybe even with a little whipped cream.  But imagine if you were dipping your spoon into the custard dish, mouth watering in anticipation of the mix of flavors about to explode in your mouth, and then you see a hair, or a fingernail.  Yuck!  Something so small, so insignificant, but it ruins the whole dish!!
    We hear our Lord today addressing the proper attitude in prayer.  And what ruins the prayer of the Pharisee was his pride.  We don’t hear our Lord say that the Pharisee was greedy, dishonest, or adulterous.  So we have no sense of his guilt.  But his prayer is tainted, ruined, by his pride; by puffing himself up and gazing inward, rather than gazing towards the Lord in humility.  The tax collector, on the other hand, while his physical eyes are not looking toward the Lord, his heart and his mind certainly are pleading with God for His mercy.  Christ tells us that the tax collector went home justified, not the Pharisee.  This should be no surprise, though, as the prayer of the Pharisee was not seeking justification–right relationship with God–while that was the far-off hope of the tax collector in his prayer.
    As a quick tangent, I mentioned last week that I have watched “The Chosen,” a new series that presents the Gospels.  It has made me think about certain passages in a new light, not changing what they mean, but changing maybe the background.  And I can’t help but wonder if this parable was based upon the prayers that Jesus had seen from a Pharisee, and perhaps from St. Matthew himself, one of the most famous tax collectors in the Gospels.  Perhaps St. Matthew, even as a disciple of our Lord, still felt the pain of his former profession, and the shame that accompanied that profession from most Jews, and had made that prayer himself: “‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’”
    Ok, back to the main thread.  Pride really is something that can ruin our prayer.  We see it in the way it is mentioned in the Gospel: I think I am better than someone (or everyone) else.  We can also see it when we feel we have to take our salvation in our own hands, or on our own terms.  That quintessential American virtue, pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, while helpful in our civil life, is deadly in our spiritual life.  But pride, in any form, can ruin our prayer, since it seeks to put ourselves in the place of God.
    Pride can also rear its ugly head in terms of our relations with others, as it did with the Pharisee in regards to the tax collector.  Both were praying; both were worshipping the Lord (at least in theory).  But the Pharisee elevates himself over the tax collector.  St. Paul reminds us that we receive different gifts from the Holy Spirit, which are all meant to build up the Body of Christ.
    But how often do we play the comparison game about which gift is better?  St. Paul mentions different manifestations of the Holy Spirit, namely, wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, mighty deeds, prophecy, discernment of spirits, speaking in tongues, and interpreting tongues.  But all are meant to work together for the good of the Mystical Body of Christ, the Church.  It is easy, though, to fall into the trap of thinking that our gifts are more necessary.  Or maybe to think that someone else’s gifts are more necessary and ours aren’t that important.  Instead, we are invited to utilize the gifts that we have, whatever they may be, so that Christ may be all in all.  
    Even we priests can fall victim to this at times.  While we love and support each other as brother priests, it is easy to wish that we had the gift of that priest in that parish to raise money easily.  Or that priest whose parish is growing substantially in numbers.  Or maybe our homilies are ok, maybe B- caliber, but we wish we had the gift of that priest in the neighboring parish whose homilies are more in the A range.  The devil loves to get us with pride, and say that we are better than others, or that we wish we had other gifts than what God gave us.  It is the age-old temptation given to Adam and Eve, to try to replace God with ourselves because we know best.
    Instead, we utilize our gifts as God has given them to us, not just priests, but all of Christ’s faithful.  God calls us not to worry about what gifts the other person has, but to use the gifts that God gave us to do what He has called us to do.  It’s like Peter and John at the end of John’s Gospel.  We don’t have to worry about the other person, we just follow Jesus.  
    So this week, let’s work on asking God to help us live the virtue of humility, and asking God to stamp out in us the sin of pride.  In prayer we should turn to God, rather than praying to ourselves and self-promoting like the Pharisee.  In all things we should welcome the gifts of others, and do the best we can with the gifts we have received.  Don’t put hairs and fingernails in your crème brûlée; don’t ruin your prayer or your spiritual life with pride.  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Our Prayer Before God

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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

Praying to Win?

Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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

A Bag of Chips

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            It seems like every time I open a bag of chips, there is more and more air, and fewer and fewer chips.  The bag always looks good from the outside: full of shape, sometimes with a little window at the bottom, enticing you as to how many chips are in there, feeling full as you take it in your hands and pull it off the shelf.  And then you open it up, and it’s like someone just popped your balloon, which is a pretty fitting metaphor, seeing as how as soon as you open it up, all the air goes out of the inflated bag.  I have to imagine that I am not the only one who is disappointed at how little actual food is in a bag of chips.

            Today’s Gospel is all about the right attitude of prayer.  On the one hand we have the Pharisee who is full of himself and basically spends all his time reminding God how great he is.  On the other hand we have the tax collector, who is so ashamed of himself that he won’t even approach the front of the temple, and won’t even raise his eyes to heaven.  Instead, he simply asks for the mercy of God, not because of any merit of his own, but simply out of God’s goodness. 

            The Pharisee is like a bag of chips.  It looks good from the outside, but on the inside it’s nothing but hot air.  The Pharisee is so full of himself that there’s almost no room for anything substantial.  He is so full of himself, that there is no room for God, which is why the tax collector goes home justified, that is, put into a right relationship with God, and not the Pharisee.  The tax collector knew he only had a little, and could do a much better job with what he did have.  So he begs God to fill him up.  God wanted to fill up the Pharisee with His grace, but there was no room.

            How often are we more air than substance?  The sin of pride, of vainglory, can be so tempting.  We think we know it all.  We think we’re all good with God.  But the reality is that often we are simply full of ourselves.  Our culture certainly wants us to be sure of ourselves.  To admit that you need something or someone is a weakness, and should not be tolerated.  But when we are full of ourselves, we have no room for God to fill us up.  God loves us enough and respects our free will, such that He will not force Himself on us.  If we think we can do it ourselves and don’t need Him, He’s not going to try to cram more chips into a bag that’s already filled with air.

            The temptation to be full of ourselves is particularly dangerous in an academic, affluent community like ours.  We have professors who are at the top of their field.  We have coaches who are among the best in the nation.  We have CEOs and CFOs and leaders of industry who are used to being in control and having all the answers.  And certainly, just because you are the best or at the top of what you do doesn’t make you the Pharisee.  But it does mean that the temptation to think and act like the Pharisee from today’s Gospel is always there.  When we’re the best at what we do, the temptation that Satan likes to entice us with is to think that we have it all together, that we know best in everything, and that we are self-sufficient.  And the Evil One tries to convince us of the greatness of ourselves so that we don’t make room for God to fill us up.

            But when we recognize just how poor we are without Jesus, that we cannot do it on our own, then we let out the air, and allow for more chips to be poured into our bag.  When we recognize that we may be the best in our field, but that there is more to life than an academic discipline, a sport, or a company, then we allow God to work in us and to make sure we are not simply rich and content in the eyes of the world, but that we are rich in what truly matters to God.  If we want to compete well, to finish the race, to keep the faith, as St. Paul says in our second reading, so that we can receive the crown of righteousness, then we have to open our hands to receive from another, which means that we don’t have it all under control and we can’t provide it all for ourselves.

            When we pour ourselves out like a libation, like a liquid sacrifice, we don’t lose anything that we truly need, because we rely on God to keep us full.  May we not be like the bags of chips you find at a grocery or convenience store, full of nothing substantial, but may we recognize how much we need God, and let Him fill us up, not with the hot air of an over-inflated ego, but with His grace and love which put us in a right relationship with God, and prepare us for the crown that God wants to place on our head, the crown of righteousness in the Kingdom of Heaven.

What We Deserve

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            I love traveling, and especially if it’s a trip covering a long distance, I much prefer to fly than to drive.  I get very excited taking off, but I have to admit that each time we prepare for landing, I get a little nervous.  It certainly doesn’t help if it’s raining, or windy, or snowy.  What I’ve come to notice is that the most important thing is the approach to the runway.  If that’s going well, then there’s not as much to worry about.

            Really, in our Gospel and second reading today, we see how approach makes all the difference in the world.  In the Gospel, the Pharisee approaches salvation as if it’s a shoe-in.  He does the right stuff, so he should go to heaven, right?  His money doesn’t possess him, he tells the truth, he doesn’t sleep around, and he’s generous with his money, so there’s nothing to worry about!

            Except that he’s so convinced that if he just does the right things, then God will have to give him eternal salvation.  After all, he’s earned it!  This is in stark contrast with the Tax Collector, who approaches salvation as if it is a gift, a gift that he does not deserve, a gift that, perhaps, he has already lost.  He realizes that he is engaged in a business which is supporting a foreign, idolatrous power.  And, to make his own living, he must tell people that they owe more than they really do.

            It’s very easy for us to fall in the Pharisee’s mindset, because it’s reaffirmed for us in almost all we do.  When we go to the iTunes store we pay $1.29 and we get a song.  When we go to class we turn in all our work, do our best, and we deserve an A, or a B at the lowest.  We are a culture of entitlement.  The world owes me.  And we can act the same way with God.  We can figure that we deserve salvation because we haven’t done anything majorly wrong, and even if we have, we’ve gone to confession.  So God owes us heaven. 

            If we approach God this way, then not only are we like the Pharisee, but we are also falling into the sin of Pelagianism.  Pelagianism was a heresy, named after a monk called Pelagius, which asserted that we earn our own salvation.  God merely grants us what we have worked so hard to achieve.  It’s such a dangerous heresy because it’s very close to the truth, and it sounds like how life works in every other way.  But the reality is that we can never do anything to earn our salvation.  No avoidance of sins or good works can ever make God save us.  Rather, God offers us salvation as an unearned gift.  We have to respond to that gift, but it is, in the end, still a gift that we cannot and do not earn. 

            So then, how can St. Paul be so certain of his own salvation?  He says, “I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith.  From now on the crown of righteousness awaits me, which the Lord, the just judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me, but to all who have longed for his appearance.”  Isn’t St. Paul assuming that he earned his salvation?  He was, after all, a Pharisee before he converted. 

            No, St. Paul is not a Pelagian.  Rather, he knows how he has responded to God’s gift of salvation, a gift which he, in other letters, he admits he does not deserve, and he has acted in a way that shows that he has accepted that gift of salvation which God freely gives to those who believe in Him.  The Lord does not want us to suffer for all eternity in hell.  But He also respects our freedom, a freedom that can return love for the limitless love we have been shown by God in the suffering and death of Jesus on the cross, or a freedom which can reject God’s love by sins of greed, dishonesty, sexual immorality, and lack of stewardship of the gifts God has given to us. 

            And so we must have the right approach.  We ought to use our freedom to gain the true freedom which comes from following God rather than the license of doing anything, which only enslaves us to our passions and sin and Satan.  We must respond to God’s gift of love and salvation in all aspects of our life: how we vote; how we raise our families; what charities we support; how we witness to Christ to our friends and family; how we express love to others.  And then, for the times when we have failed to respond well to God’s love, we should take the approach of the tax collector, and ask for mercy from the All-Merciful God, who will forgive us for our sins that we have committed out of weakness.  And then, if we are truly contrite, and seek to receive God’s gift of salvation by the way we act, then we can have a sure and certain hope that if we have competed well, and finished the race, and kept the faith, that a crown of righteousness will also await us who have longed for the second coming of Christ at the end of time.  To that same Jesus Christ be glory forever and ever.  Amen.