The Good Work in You

Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost

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

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

"What was Jesus' Problem?"

Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

“What was Jesus’ problem?”  That was the way one homily I heard in seminary on this Gospel passage begin.  Sitting in Sacred Heart Major Seminary, the Tudor Gothic building, at a 7 a.m. Mass, this first phase certainly got my attention.  “What was Jesus’ problem?” Fr. Muller asked.  The 9 other lepers did exactly as Jesus told them: they went to show the priest that they were no longer lepers, which was exactly what lepers were supposed to do according to the Book of Leviticus.  And yet, Jesus seems quite perturbed that only 1 leper had returned to say, “Thank you.”  In fact, the one leper who did return was being directly disobedient to Jesus; he didn’t go and show the priest.  

In fact, Jesus was praising the faith of the one who realized who the Person was who healed Him.  And what was remarkable was that it was a Samaritan, someone who was not part of the Chosen People.  In fact, the Samaritans were the people who had mixed Judaism with the surrounding pagan religions.  It was this pagan who had recognized that it was Jesus Himself who had healed him.  This was different from our first reading because Elisha never cured the man, but God cured the man.  Elisha was just the one who told the foreigner how God would cure him.

Saying thank you is a basic part of how we are raised, or at least it should be.  When a gift is received, or when someone holds the door for us, or when someone simply does anything kind for us, we are trained, and should be, to say, “Thank you.”  But sometimes we need a reminder.  Just the other day I was sitting at the corner of Utley and Corunna, and there was no traffic in either direction as I was trying to turn left onto Corunna.  It dawned on me that I should say thank you to God, and I did, because that is often a wicked intersection at which to turn left.  Now, we probably don’t often think about thanking God for those little things, but everything we receive from God is a gift, for which we owe God thanks.

But, if we really think about it, when we say that everything we receive from God, we also have to include the trials and tribulations that God allows us to undergo.  God doesn’t send us evil, but sometimes he allows us to go through evil for some greater good.  It’s easy to thank God that we have a choir singing at Mass again; it’s much harder to thank God for the month that felt like an eternity without the choir.  I thank God that I’m able to be involved almost daily with our wonderful Catholic schools: St. Pius X and Powers.  It’s a little harder to thank God for a broken thumb one received while spending time with said students.  But I know that God is teaching me patience as I go through the six more weeks of not having full use of my thumb.  

It may seem like it’s weird to thank God even for horrible stuff that happened.  And yet, that’s what we do every Sunday and Holyday, and each time we assemble for Mass.  Each time the Mass is celebrated we give thanks.  The word Eucharist comes from two Greek words, 𝛆𝛖-, which means well, and 𝛘𝛂𝛒𝛊𝛓, which means to give thanks.  Each time we are here for Mass, we give thanks to God.  For what do we give thanks?  The crucifixion of Jesus.  Each Mass Calvary is re-presented for us, and we are able to share in the fruits of our redemption.  While the Mass draws us in to the entire Paschal Mystery, the Death, Resurrection, and Ascension of Jesus, the Eucharist connects us more specifically to the Death of Jesus on the cross, which is why the crucifix is so important for us as Catholics.  We give thanks for God’s death in a horribly brutal way.  

At the Easter Vigil, the Exultet, an old hymn about the very special night, says, “O happy fault that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer!”  We even give thanks for the Fall of Adam and Eve, because that Fall made possible a life more glorious than the Garden of Eden when Jesus died on the cross.  

It’s easy to give thanks when something goes well, or when we get something we want.  Do we give thanks to God even for the things we don't want: an illness; a delay; a broken bone; a boring homily; a new priest who isn’t as good as the old one; a bad grade; a lost job.  Certainly those things are crosses in our life, and God never sends us evil.  But maybe there’s a reason God allowed the evil to enter our life, a way that we can become more of the saint He called us to be in baptism.

We’ve heard it a million times: say please and thank you.  But the Lord is inviting us to give Him everything we’ve experienced since the last time we received the Eucharist: the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Unite it with the bread and wine which will be offered to God.  In giving thanks to God for all of it, and uniting it with the perfect sacrifice of thanksgiving of Jesus on the cross, God promises to transform it, if we allow Him, and give it back to us transformed into something which draws us closer to Him.  As St. Paul says in his first letter to the Thessalonians: “In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.”

Seeing with God's Vision

Fourth Sunday of Lent–Second Scrutiny 

In 2009 I was driving back from St. John parish in Fenton, where I was assigned as a deacon, to Sacred Heart Major Seminary in Detroit.  It was a Fall night, and it was raining fairly steadily.  I pulled onto M-10, what most Michiganders who are familiar with Detroit call the Lodge.  I was driving 60 mph, which was still slower than 99% of the traffic, which was going at least 65 mph in the 55 mph zone, but I was having a hard time seeing the stripes that divided one lane from another.  I made it home safely, but I knew something was wrong with my eyes.

I didn’t have vision insurance, though, so I was nervous about how much getting my eyes checked was going to cost.  My optometrist was very kind, and gave me a great deal on the eye exam.  During that exam, she put the big machine in front of my eyes to read the chart with the letters on it.  As she started to change the lenses, I realized how poor my vision had been.  My vision is not horrible (I’m near sighted), but as soon as she put my prescription up on that machine, everything was much clearer.

We need an occasional eye exam for our souls.  The eyes of our souls can sometimes lose their original power, and sometimes we need the lenses of Jesus so that we can see clearly.  Otherwise our eyes get worse, and might even become blind.  This Gospel that we heard today, along with the first reading especially, reminds us that we do not always see as God sees.  What Samuel saw as the winner was not God’s choice for the king of Israel.  What the disciples saw as the result of sin was what Jesus said would bring glory to God, and was not due to a moral issue in the man born blind.  In both of those readings, God gave an eye exam, and helped Samuel and the disciples realize how their vision was off.

What do we see when we see a person walking down the street with dirty clothes, maybe with bags full of cans, digging through trash, or asking for some money?  Do we see a beggar, maybe someone who has mental illness issues, a druggie, a drunk, or do we see Jesus?  If we do not see Jesus, then we do not have 20/20 spiritual vision.  Yes, that person might have a mental illness.  Yes, that person might be a drunk or addicted to heroin.  But that is still a person, made in the image and likeness of God, a beloved child of God, one of the least of the brothers of Jesus, with whom Jesus associates.

I come from a pretty sheltered life.  My family was never rich, but we never wanted for anything.  We didn’t have extravagant vacations every year, but we got to enjoy the State Parks of Michigan, and occasionally did take a trip down to Florida.  It is sometimes a challenge for me to put myself in the shoes of those who have nothing and who struggle each day.  I have to strain to see Jesus, and many times I have missed Him in the people I see.  One of the great blessings of being a chaplain for Adrian Fire Department, and working with Adrian Police Department and the Lenawee County Sheriff’s Department is the presence I can give to those who work to protect our city and county.  But another blessing is that I have more opportunities to see Jesus in the people to whom we respond, many of whom I would never see or encounter.  

Samuel chose, by God’s grace, a king for Israel in the first reading.  Tuesday, as residents of the State of Michigan, we have the opportunity to help shape our election in November for President of the United States.  It’s not my job, and I won’t do so, to tell you for whom to vote.  The Catholic Church does not endorse a particular party or a particular candidate.  We will work with anyone, as we have for 2,000 years.  But I do want to challenge all of us about whether or not we are voting (which is very important and a civic and moral duty) with the eyes of God.  When we look at our favorite candidate, do we see them with the eyes of God?  I doubt God has a favorite candidate, and I’m sure He’s not endorsing anyone.  But do we examine each person, each a child of God and made in His image, in the light of divine revelation, so that we choose a person who protects all human life, in the womb, on the streets, in the nursing home; who does not spread fear and hatred of different classes of people, ethnicities, jobs; who respects and welcomes people of all faiths, but acts in accordance with the truth, even when unpopular; who works against discrimination of people with homosexual attractions but also understands that marriage, according to faith and reason, can only be between one man and one woman; who will build up the country in unity, rather than dividing us into different camps?

The way we see things determines how we interact with the world.  How are our eyes?  Do we see with the vision of God?

"MSU Shadows"

Fourth Sunday of Easter

            In the Diocese of Lansing, we are blessed with a number of institutions of higher education: I grew up learning the Spartan Fight Song from my parents, both proud alumni of MSU.  Others learn “Hail to the Victors,” or “Eastern Eagles,” from EMU, or “Charge On” from Hillsdale College.  And each has its own power to move hearts.  But, for my money, there is no more beautiful Alma Mater (if a non-alumnus can say this) than “MSU Shadows.”  Every time it’s played it evokes in me a feeling of home and connection, family and friends, and I can only imagine how those who graduated from MSU feel when it’s played.  It even surpasses, dare I say it, the Alma Mater of my alma mater, Sacred Heart Major Seminary, written by then-Fr. Earl Boyea, entitled “Cor ad Cor.”

            Even in our very transient culture, where people not only move city to city, but State to State, or even country to country for jobs and opportunity, there is something about the feeling of home that resonates in us all.  Home, not just a house, means stability, love, warmth, and family.  That is why violence done to a home with a wrecking ball, or even sadder, violence done in a home, wrenches us at our core.  Homes should be safe.

            Jesus today in the Gospel refers to Himself as the Good Shepherd.  He knows His sheep, and his sheep know Him.  He protects them, and even lays down His life for them.  He will not suffer wolves to enter the pasture where His sheep graze, but will do whatever it takes to give His flock life.  It is as if Jesus is setting up the green pastures, of which Psalm 23 speaks, as a home where all His sheep can feel at ease, safe, protected, and loved.

            The pasture that Jesus protects is His Church, His community of disciples.  This is our home.  This is where we are loved, nurtured, and protected.  It’s a large flock, but Jesus knows each of us by name, and we are called to grow in our knowledge and love of the Good Shepherd each day.  In order to be safe, though, we must stay close to Him.  There are too many wolves that would love to devour the sheep.

            Some of you are here for the last time today.  You’ll be taking final exams this week, and then graduate.  You have called East Lansing home, perhaps for four, or five, or six years.  You have made many friends, gone to many football and basketball games, laughed, cried, and made East Lansing your earthly home.  This building has become your spiritual home with its own unique memories.  But some of you are moving on to other cities, other States, other countries even.  You will try to establish a new earthly home where you can feel loved, appreciated, and secure.

            I can tell you that the best way to really establish a new earthly home, is by finding another “outlet,” if you will, of your spiritual home.  Because it’s not really this building that’s your home.  This building, as important as it is to have a sacred space set aside for the worship of God, could not exist, and you could still be home, because your home is the Catholic Church.  And wherever you move, find the nearest Catholic Church, and get acquainted with the community there.  It won’t be exactly the same, but the Good Shepherd is, no matter where you go, what type of music is played at Mass, who you know, or how big or small it is.  The Good Shepherd will be waiting for you, to welcome you home to the place where He is pleased to dwell. 

            The wolves of temptation will be circling, trying to convince you that you should worry about making tons of money first, or getting acquainted with other places, or just easing the stress of a new place by plopping down in front of the TV instead of going to Mass.  And Jesus the Good Shepherd, will do all that He can through your conscience to remind you that your home is with Him, not with the TV, or the money, or the stores.  He gives you safety and love, not the created goods.  The Good Shepherd has gone so far as to lay down His life for you to show you how much He wants you and loves you.  But He who did not ask you to create you, will not force His love on you without your permission.  If you, the sheep, wish to leave home and wander among the brambles, then He loves you enough to let you wander away.  But know this, He will be right behind you, ready to lead you back home to safety if you call on Him.

            All of us: graduating students, students who will return next year, professors, and all present here, we all know about the wolves.  We even know about the hired hands who will try to convince you that they’re pulling you away from the Church and from your faith for your own good because they love you.  But only Jesus never abandons you when danger comes, or when you’re all alone with no safety, no comfort, no peace.  Only the Good Shepherd stays with His sheep no matter what.  The hired hands run away.  The wolves will only stay as long as they can feed on you. 

            In a few months new freshmen will move in the dorms.  Soon-to-be sophomores and juniors and seniors will crowd the streets.  Students and alumni of all ages will gather at Spartan Stadium.  And at that first game, whether we win or lose (hopefully we win!), the band will play “MSU Shadows,” reminding all that they’re home.  But whether you’re in East Lansing or Ann Arbor, in Michigan or Montana, in the United States or Uzbekistan, stay with the Church, stay with the Good Shepherd, and no matter what hymns are sung, no matter what the building looks like, no matter who the priest is, you will be home.