Keeping the Past in the Past

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  In the spring of my senior year of high school, my friend group decided to go out to breakfast after our last final exam of high school.  The exam started at 8 or so, and finished by 10.  The restaurant we decided to frequent wasn’t far from the school.  We all got in our cars and drove there individually.  For whatever reason, even though I knew where I was going, I followed another car that did not.  It was able to get over into the far right lane of a four lane, one way highway and turn into a parking lot to go back on a perpendicular street.  I, however, was in the second lane from the right, and panicked a little.  So, without much thought and without looking, I just decided to make a right turn into a parking lot from my current lane.  I heard the screeching of tires, the honking of a horn, and my adrenaline rushed through my body.  Somehow, no doubt due to my guardian angel who was working extra that morning, the car I had just cut off did not hit me, and I was able to turn back towards the restaurant and arrive safely, albeit with a heart rate that was more congruent with sprinting a 200-meter race.

    We all have things we’re not proud of in our past, things that we would do differently if we could.  St. Paul was no exception.  He wrote to the Corinthians that he was the least of the Apostles and not even worthy to be called an Apostle because, before his conversion, he persecuted God’s holy Church.  If we think back, the Acts of the Apostles makes very clear that Saul of Tarsus–who started going by Paul after his conversion, especially with his work among the Greeks, since Saul was a very Jewish name and Paul was more Gentile–consented to the stoning of St. Stephen, and had been arresting Jews for proclaiming that Jesus was the Messiah, the Christ.  He was, to use a mafia term, the enforcer for the Pharisees, and was a Pharisee himself.
    But, St. Paul, whom St. Thomas Aquinas does and we can refer to as the Apostle, continued: “But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me has not been ineffective.”  Paul did not ignore his past, but neither did he let it define his present.  He acknowledged his past, but recognized that the grace of God had changed him, and he was no longer that man from his past.
    We all have a past.  Maybe it’s bad driving, like in my example from the beginning of this homily.  Maybe it’s something not that bad.  Maybe it’s something far worse.  We cannot change the past, but we shouldn’t live in the past, either.  God does not want us to allow our past sins to control our present and our future.  If we repent from them and convert, that is, turn towards God, our past can remain and education for us, rather than a life-sentence of guilt.  

Dr. Anthony Fauci at a Senate Hearing

    Of course, the first step is acknowledging our past sins.  Forgiveness and conversion only happen when we acknowledge that we have done wrong.  If we pretend like we’re perfect, God’s mercy finds no room in us, and so it cannot change us.  St. Paul, when writing to the people of Corinth didn’t say, “On the advice of council, I respectfully decline to answer based upon my my rights under the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution,” like Dr. Fauci did at the Senate Hearing on 29 July.  Paul acknowledged that he persecuted God’s Church, God’s people, with whom God so identifies that Christ said to him on the road to Damascus, “‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’”  But Paul didn’t stay in his past.  He then also acknowledged that God’s grace had done a mighty work, which allowed Paul to preach the Gospel.
    So if we have acknowledged our sins and confessed them, we don’t forget them, but we don’t live in them, either.  The enemy often likes to remind us of our past sins.  But if our sins our forgiven, then in God’s eyes, the sins themselves are gone.  Might there be consequences for those sins that come with us into the present?  Sure.  But the sins are gone.  As King David sang in Psalm 102: “As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our sins from us.”  If we have made a good confession, God’s not coming back to us to remind us of all the bad things we have done.  We will have to deal with the temporal effects due to sin, either on this earth (which the saints say is much preferred and much easier) or in Purgatory (which is still not bad, because Purgatory always leads to heaven).  But the sins themselves are gone. 
    We, though, have to accept that forgiveness.  Some scholars say that the sin against the Holy Spirit is not being willing to accept God’s forgiveness, which is why it is the only unforgivable sin.  If we don’t accept God’s mercy, then God won’t force it on us, which leaves us in sin, rather than restoring us to grace, as God desires.  
    We cannot erase our past, much as we would like to at times.  We should learn from our past, especially when we have sinned and done wrong.  But we should not drag our past into the present, at least not when we’ve given those sins to God through sacramental confession.  That is a yoke too heavy to carry, a yoke the Lord does not desire for us.  He desires us to carry His yoke, which is mercy, a burden truly light and easy.  Open yourselves up to God’s mercy and live in the freedom of those forgiven by God: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Compassion in Passiontide

Passion Sunday
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  When we hear the word “passion,” the first thing that comes to most of our minds is probably a strong emotion or desire.  We talk about a person driven by his or her passion.  Or we say that something was done in the heat of passion.  Sometimes passion even takes on a sense of lust, like the phrase “passionate kissing.”  

    But today’s celebration of Passion Sunday has nothing to with a strong desire or emotion.  And it certainly has nothing to do with lust.  Instead, Passion Sunday takes its name from the Latin word passio, which means suffering (very different from the way we often use the word passion today!).  When we talk about a martyr’s death in the Church, we often speak about the saint’s passio.  Today begins our two-week special focus on the suffering of Christ, leading up to and including His Passion, which happened beginning in the Garden of Gethsemane and culminating by His suffering on the cross as the Roman soldiers crucified Him.
    We start to get a sense of this from the Gradual and the Tract today, as we hear about the enemies of Christ and those who fight against Him, as prophesied by the psalmist.  The Gospel account surely starts this sense in which some of the Jews turned against the Lord.  They even sought to stone Him to death in today’s Gospel passage.  And our epistle from the Letter to the Hebrews draws for us the comparison between the death of Christ and the death of a sacrificed animal, and how much more efficacious Christ’s sacrifice was.
    How do we approach Passiontide, this time of the Passion of the Lord?  We start with compassion.  Compassion comes from two Latin words, cum meaning with, and passio, meaning, as I said earlier, suffering.  We suffer with Christ.  Hopefully we do not start suffering with Christ only today.  All of our Lenten practices should be a way that we suffer with Christ.  St. Paul talks about how he suffers with and in Christ in the first chapter of his epistle to the Colossians, verse 24: “I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of his body, which is the church.”  Christ’s suffering on the cross forgave all the sins of the world for all time.  However, because Christ joins us to Himself through Holy Baptism where we become a member of His Mystical Body, the Church, when we suffer, Christ suffers.  Paul had heard this message earlier, when the Lord spoke from the heavens and asked Saul (as he was called then) why Saul persecuted Christ.  Those who had been baptized, whom Saul persecuted, were part of Christ, and so Christ suffered through them.
    But suffering with Christ doesn’t happen by default.  Suffering with Christ means that we purposefully offer our pain, our frustration, our fatigue, our stress, our penances with Christ’s suffering on the cross so that they can be salvific: vehicles of God’s grace.  This is what the sisters (or maybe your parents) meant when they told us to “offer it up.”  We offer our sufferings to Christ for our own holiness, or for the holiness of others.  If we don’t offer it up, then our pain, our frustration, our fatigue, our stress, our penances are simply lacks of goodness, fullness, or wholeness, but provide no benefit to us.
    Suffering with Christ also means offering our love to Him as we think back on what He endured for us.  When someone we loves suffer, sometimes we try to take that suffering away.  But when the suffering cannot be taken away, we simply stay with the person to assure them that they’re not alone.  When a young man breaks up for the first time with his girlfriend, there’s nothing his parents can do to stop that suffering.  But they can be there for the man to help him through the heartache and help him realize that he is still loved, even if it’s no longer by that young woman.  We cannot take Christ’s sufferings away, but we can remain with Him to let Him know that He is not alone.  
    On the cross, Christ called out with the words of Psalm 21: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  As Christ took all sin from all time upon Himself, He felt the consequence of sin, alienation from God, even as He remained united to God in His Divinity.  But Christ also felt the loneliness of knowing that most of His closest friends, the Apostles, had abandoned Him in His time of need.  As we walk through Passiontide, may we be more like the Blessed Mother, St. John the Apostle, St. Mary Magadalene, and the other righteous women, who stayed with Christ at the foot of the cross, letting Christ know that He is not alone.
    This Passiontide, our goal is to be compassionate.  Certainly suffering with Christ through His sufferings and crucifixion, but also suffering with those with whom Christ identifies: the different members of His mystical body, our brothers and sisters, especially in the Church.  May we not be impassible, incapable of suffering, but unite our sufferings to Christ on the cross, and sharing our love and devotion to the one who suffered agony for our salvation: Jesus Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit is God, for ever and ever.  Amen.   

Frequent Dying and Rising

Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

For as stupendous as raising someone from the dead is, it happens somewhat frequently in the Bible.  We heard about God raising the widow of Zarephath’s child through Elijah in our first reading, and Jesus raising the son of the widow from Nain in today’s Gospel.  Jesus also raises the daughter of Jairus, a synagogue official, and Lazarus.  After Jesus ascended into heaven, Peter raises a young girl named Dorkas (what an unfortunate name!), and Paul raises to life a person who falls out of a window after that person had fallen asleep because of how long Paul was preaching (there are dangers with preaching too long!).  I don’t know why, but I feel like that’s a lot of times.  About a month ago, I was given credit for raising someone from the dead by some of our firefighters, after I was riding with the firefighters and we responded to a call of someone having a heart attack, who seemed to miraculously wake up when we arrived (in reality, that person was an example of why you should never mix alcohol and a prescription narcotic).

But God truly does raise people from death on a regular basis, if we take time to think about it.  God raises from death those who are baptized.  In baptism, children, men and women are taken from being at enmity with God to being His children.  By baptism, people are buried with Christ–they die–so that they can rise with Him to new life.  By baptism, the old self has to die, like the grain of wheat, so that the new self, the person alive in Christ, can live.  

But that process of dying and rising does not stop on the day that we are baptized.  Each day we have the opportunity to die and rise.  It starts for some of us at the moment our eyes open.  At that moment we have the opportunity to die to our laziness and the comfort of our bed and rise to the new day that is before us.  There’s nothing wrong with hitting the snooze button if we have time, but at some point for many of us, we need to get up and get prepared for the day.  That’s why, at the beginning of my day, before my feet hit the floor of my bedroom, I say a short prayer: Mater mea, fiducia mea!–My Mother, my confidence!, and I entrust my entire day to Jesus through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  You could say any prayer that you like, but prayer is a great way to rise to new life.

Throughout our day there will be people trying to kill us.  Sometimes we are the people trying to kill others.  Hopefully not literally, but certainly figuratively.  What I mean by that is that we are all sinful, and we all give in to temptations, to not be disciples of Jesus.  Whether it’s others or ourselves, there’s gossip, slander, sharing secrets we have no business sharing, treating others as objects or as means to advancement, and the list could go on and on.  If we are the culprit, then we need to die to all of those sins.  We need them to be put to death, and Jesus does that by His suffering on the cross.  When we bite our lip, or treat someone kindly, we are dying to our fallen nature and its sinful tendencies.  If we are on the receiving end, then we die when we patiently suffer through them (correcting when necessary and prudent) instead of giving back what we received.  And whether we are putting to death our own tendencies, or suffering with Jesus because of others’ tendencies, new life, resurrection, is available for us, not only after our earthly life ends, but even on this side of eternity.

Because those who can accept suffering and unite it with Jesus do live happier lives.  They may still have the same sorrows, but they do not let the sorrows control their lives.  They cling to their new life in Christ, given to them in baptism, and live in the joy of the Resurrection, even in this vale of tears.  Which is the happier life: the one tossed about by uncontrollable forces, or the one who entrusts his or her life to God and stays on a steady course toward Him?

Everything in our nature rebels against death.  We were not made to die, but experience death because of sin.  We see that rejection of death and its power in our first reading and Gospel today.  But there is another kind of death, a healing death, a death to our sinful selves, a death in Christ, which is not contrary to who we are, but helps us to be the fullest person we were created to be.  May we allow our sinful natures to die with Christ on the cross, so that we can also rise with Him to new life, both in our daily lives, and especially in the life to come.