You're So Vain

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time
    When it comes to ironic songs, certainly one of the top ten is “You’re So Vain,” by Carly Simon.  She spends an entire song talking about a particular person, only to repeat in the refrain time and time again, “You’re so vain / You probably think this song is about you.”  While Carly has revealed to a select few whom the song was written about, there is still widespread speculation about the person who’s so vain.
    When it comes to the virtue of humility, if you think the readings are about you and how to grow in humility, they probably are.  In the end, we all need to grow in the virtue of humility.  Pride is the one sin that we probably will all need to work on until we die, though maybe we have others as well.  
    And, ironically, the virtue of humility helps us to realize that life is not, in the end, about us.  Pride seeks to replace God with our own ego, our own self.  St. Thomas Aquinas teaches us that the original sin consisted of pride: “man’s first sin consisted in coveting some spiritual good above his measure: and this pertains to pride.”  We know the story about the serpent testing Eve, and convincing her that if she ate of the fruit, she would be like God, which enticed her to disobey God’s command not to eat of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.  Adam followed suit, probably with Eve telling Adam exactly what the serpent told him.  
    Pride can be so insidious because we do have legitimate personal needs upon which we should focus.  It’s legitimate to focus on our need for food and drink; clothing; housing; friendship.  Yet we can twist all those things so that our desire for them becomes inordinate as we convince ourselves that, because of how important we are, we only eat and drink the best.  Or because of our status we cannot shop for clothing at regular stores, but have to only wear Banana Republic or Burberry.  Or if we don’t have a big enough house, the neighbors won’t recognize how well we’re doing.  Or that everyone should like me because, well, what’s not to like?  
    Humility consists, the Angelic Doctor says, in tempering and restraining the mind from focusing on high things immoderately against right reason.  It does not seek after honors or things beyond the greatness to which God calls us as His children.  It allows God to be God, rather than trying to take His place and control all things according to our desires.  

St. Benedict 

    St. Benedict, the great Patriarch of Western Monasticism and founded of the Benedictine Order, lists twelve degrees of humility.  Don’t worry, there’s not a test on memorizing them, but they will be available at my blog, which has all my homilies, and which you can access at the parish website.
    The twelve degrees are, in descending order: “that a man fear God and bear all his commandments in mind”; “by not following one’s own will”; regulating one’s will according to the judgement of a superior; not begin deterred from good actions because of difficulties and hardships; acknowledging one’s own shortcomings; “deeming oneself incapable of great things”; putting others before oneself; “that in one’s work one should not depart from the ordinary way”; not being in a hurry to speak; not overly laughing or being too cheerful; not being “immoderate in speech”; and “restraining haughty [or arrogant] looks.  Again, it might be good to go back to this homily, or simply do a Google search for St. Benedict and the Twelve Degrees of Humility to help us in examining our conscience.  Honestly, as I read through that list, I could probably check off mostly all of them as ways that I need to grow in humility.
    The great thing is that humility allows God to exalt us in a more perfect way.  If we really desire to be great, then we need to serve greatly and humble ourselves, because, as our Lord tells us, “every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”  And to be clear, Jesus is not telling us to act humble so that God can exalt us, but truly to be humble.

Bl. Solanus Casey

    We see this in the lives of the saints.  First and foremost, in the life of the Blessed Virgin Mary, who sought after no special privileges, but became the Mother of God.  Or St. André Bessette, who was a simple porter, or doorman, at a religious house in Quebec, but became knows as the Miracle Man of Montreal.  Or our own Bl. Solanus Casey, who was only ordained a priest simplex, meaning he could not preach or hear confessions, but whose fame because widespread across the US for the miracles worked through his intercession, even while alive.  None of these sought after fame or miraculous powers, but simply sought to be the person God wanted them to be, and because of that focus on God and doing His will, God elevated them.
    I can tell you that if you don’t think you need to grow in humility, then this homily is about you.  And if you know you need to grow in humility, then you at least recognize the insidious nature of pride.  Through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, St. André Bessette, and Bl. Solanus Casey, may be put God first in our lives and work for His exaltation, rather than our own.  In all things, may God be glorified!

No Participation Trophies

Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    There was a theory within the past decade that making everyone feel like they’re a winner would be beneficial to society in general.  It led to the proliferation of “participation trophies.”  The drive certainly comes from the lived experience that most people have had that it feels good when you win, and it doesn’t feel good when you lose.  And there can be a general sort of understanding that feel bad is bad, while feeling good is good.  This theory sought to alleviate the pain and suffering that kids (and also adults) feel when they’re not the best at something.
    If that theory were put into the Gospel today, Jesus would have said to Martha, “Martha, you’re anxious and worried about many things.  But your service to me is good.  Still, Mary’s decision to sit at my feet and listen to my teachings is also good.  So you’re both winners, each in your own way.”  But, of course, Jesus doesn’t say that.  Jesus says, “‘Mary has chosen the better part and it will not be taken from her.’”  Jesus commits the unforgivable sin in modern culture: He discriminates.  He chooses one over the other.  How very un-woke of Him!
    We can chuckle about taking the participation trophy theory to its logical conclusion, but we should struggle a bit with the Gospel.  Jesus is choosing winners and losers, better and worse.  Not every gets a pat on the back or an ‘atta boy.  Martha follows the customary rules of hospitality: make sure the guest is comfortable and has everything he needs.  But the Divine Guest doesn’t chastise Martha’s sister Mary, like she wants.  He actually applauds her for ignoring her hospitable duties and choosing to listen to the Lord instead.
    St. Thomas Aquinas, following Pope St. Gregory the Great, sees in Martha and Mary a metaphor for the active life (as seen in Martha) and the contemplative life (as seen in Mary).  And, following the Gospel we heard today, St. Thomas affirms that the contemplative life is a higher life inasmuch as it reflects the heavenly life better (he actually lists nine reasons for why the contemplative life is better than the active life, but they mostly boil down to the same reason).  In heaven, we will simply contemplate God.  And the contemplative life puts aside the worries of the present age.  Most contemplatives take vows of poverty (so that they are not anxious about money), chastity (so they they are not preoccupied with sex), and obedience ( so that they do not focus on their own will).  This life also reflects the life that Jesus lived most closely, as Jesus had no real money of His own (Judas kept the funds for the apostolic band), never married, and always did the will of His Father.  
    So, in this system, we’re the losers.  And yes, I include myself.  Because while I promised celibacy in imitation of the Lord, and while I promised obedience to my bishop and his successors, I do have my own bank account.  And I make a lot of decisions on my own.  Diocesan priests are not part of the contemplative life, though hopefully they do contemplate.  
    But the active life is still good.  And St. Thomas notes this as well.  To take care of physical needs is part and parcel of the active life, and is a means of serving God.  Imagine that contemplatives had no one to support their heavenly life by working for food, shelter, and clothing.  Yes, our Lord fasted a lot, but He did have to eat because He was human.  Just because the contemplative life is a higher form of life, does not mean that the active life is sinful.  Each has its place in the life of the Church, and neither should be jealous of the other, which is the trap into which Martha falls in the Gospel, and the main reason for our Lord’s chastisement of her.

    Of course, St. Thomas, as a good Dominican, would note that the Order of Preachers, the Dominicans, combine both the active and contemplative life, so it’s really the best of both worlds.  And, really, every person, even those in active life like husbands and wives, fathers and mothers, are called to contemplation, not just the cloistered religious.  Contemplation looks different for those who are more active in the world, but we all need time where we set aside the cares and concerns of daily life to focus on our relationship with God.  That might be 10 minutes of silent prayer after the kids have finally fallen asleep.  That might mean waking up 10 minutes earlier to read Scripture  or a daily devotional writing (meditation) and then reflect on what God is saying you to in silence (contemplation).  Sometimes it might mean sending the kids to grandma and grandpa’s house for a weekend so that you can attend a retreat.  But all are called to take time to focus most directly on God, rather than all the cares of daily life that so often scream for attention.
    When it comes to life, there are higher and lower forms of life when looking at the objective facts of what life most mimics Jesus’ life and the life of heaven.  But God calls each of us subjectively to holiness, and for many of us the way we can become saints is through the active life.  The key is that we strive to follow God’s will for how He wants us to be saints, and that, even in active life, we regularly set aside time to put the cares of the world aside and focus on loving God and waiting in silence to hear His voice.  If we do that; if we contemplate as best as we can, then we will win the trophy of eternal life and not just participate in the competition, but storm heaven by our heroic response to God’s love and grace that He showers upon all His children. 

Ordo Amoris

Quinquagesima
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  I try to communicate accurately as much as I can, though I do sometimes err.  As a third order Dominican, the truth occupies a special place in my life and in my interactions with others.  When I make decisions, I try to have all relevant information that I can, to help me arrive at the right decision for a particular circumstance.  The more accurate information I have, the better decisions I can make, whether for the immediate present moment or even for the future.
    But truth, while greatly important, should not occupy the highest priority in our life.  St. Paul tells us that love, or charity (that type of love that reflects the love of God) is what is most important.  God could have given you special charisms, like speaking in tongues or prophecy.  You could know everything.  Your faith could be so strong that you, as our Lord said, move mountains or trees.  You could be the most generous person alive, giving away all that you have to the poor.  You could even offer up your body.  But if you do not love, all of that counts for nothing.
    What a good gut check!  How easy we can find it to do the right things.  We check off the lists of the precepts the Church asks us to follow: we go to Mass; we give money to support the parish; we pray daily; we abstain from meat on Fridays or do some other penance.  But even if we do all those things, if we do them without love, there is no merit for us.  All our daily deeds are like dehydrated food.  They have what they need to sustain us, but we need the water of love to rehydrate the food and make it edible once more.
    What many Catholics struggle with today is understanding what love is.  So many people, Catholics and non-Catholics alike, do not understand love.  They reduce love to an emotion or a desire.  They make non-sensical statements like “love is love.”  Or they react like children who want candy from the check-out line and say that if we really loved them, we would let them do whatever they wanted.  But that’s not how St. Paul describes love.  Love doesn’t seek after itself.  If I do not display patience with another, I’m not loving that person.  If I’m only looking out for myself, I’m not loving.  If my desires are perverse and contrary to nature, I do not desire love.

    Recently, our Vice President mentioned a teaching of St. Thomas Aquinas: the ordo amoris or order of love.  He referenced it in regards to the ongoing immigration debate.  I’m going to side-step the immigration debate, and simply focus on the ordo amoris, which will hopefully help you decide how best to implement what is most loving.  If you want the actual and full treatment from St. Thomas Aquinas, you can go to the Summa Theologiae, the Second Part of the Second Part, Question 26.
    The general order of love is: God, self, neighbor.  We then further delineate neighbor into family, city, country, and world.  We should love God above all else.  We owe everything to God as our Creator, and the first commandment our Lord gives us is to love God with all of who we are (and He cites the Book of Deuteronomy).  The second law is that we should love our neighbor as ourself.  But to love our neighbor as ourself, we have to love ourself first.  Love of self can be sacrificed for a higher good, the love of God, as we see in martyrs, or in parents for their children, but we need to have a proper love of self.  Lastly, we love others after God and self, based upon how close they are to us.  Generally speaking, the closest to us are family members, then members of our community, then other people.
    If we follow this to its natural conclusion, it makes perfect sense.  If I didn’t believe that there are priorities in love, then I might skip Mass on Sundays to spend time with a friend playing basketball or drinking bourbon.  Or if I don’t have a hierarchy of loves, then when I give money to charitable contributions, I should give the same amount of money I spend on groceries each week to each of the following: my parish; my Diocese; my local food pantry; the homeless shelter; each religious order that exists; each food pantry that exists in the US; each homeless shelter that exists in the US; every orphanage around the world; every charity around the world; etc.  Of course, that would lead to poverty, and the family would lack necessary goods, to which they have a right, while others, who are not even known to us, would receive the same financial support.  

    The Holy Father rightly brings up the parable of the Good Samaritan as our Lord reminds us to care for our neighbors who are not like us.  The Samaritan had no family or even national connection to the man left for dead.  But the man on the brink of death was close to him, and the Samaritan could do something at that moment to help the man, without neglecting any of his other legitimate responsibilities.  The man was in immediate need of assistance, and so, even in the ordo amoris, the Samaritan, like the priest and the levite before him who failed, had a duty to assist as a way of expressing love.
    The Scriptures also challenge us to remember that love of God cannot fully be divorced from love of neighbor.  St. John writes in his first epistle: “whoever does not love a brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen.”  Love of God, strictly speaking, does outweigh love of neighbor.  I should be more concerned with what God thinks of me than what my friends or family think of me.  However, more often than not, we show God we love Him by loving the people He loves, that is, our neighbor.
    The argument of modern society is that we should love everyone equally.  To the extent that we generally will good for all people, that is true.  But we cannot, strictly speaking, actually love every single person on this planet equally, because we have closer ties with some than with others, and the resources by which we show our love are limited, even while love is not limited.  So we should order our loves, putting God above all else, then myself next, then my neighbor, and my neighbor starting with my family, then my friends, then my other communities both locally and internationally.  I also have to order my love so that I deal with what is in front of my face: the rich man had a duty to care for poor Lazarus because Lazarus was at his doorstep and needed the rich man’s help.  
    But we also have to understand what love is and what love is not.  Love is not just a feeling, or license to do whatever we or another want to do.  Love means willing the good, for ourselves and for others.  If we allow a person to do that which is harmful, or if we want to do something which is harmful, we are not loving.  
    We could do so many good things, or have so many spiritual gifts.  But love, willing the good of the other, has to undergird all of what we do.  Otherwise all of our good deeds and actions are worth nothing.  If we ever have a question about how love looks, then gaze at the crucifix.  Because that is the greatest example of love: to lay down one’s life for God and for neighbor.  If our actions connect us to the cross of Christ, then there is good chance that they are truly loving actions, and therefore join us to the God who is Love: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

Rejoicing and Patience

Third Sunday of Advent
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Patience is not a virtue at which I generally excel.  While we had posted the Office Manager job, I wanted good candidates to immediately apply for the position.  My best friend is sometimes bad at responding to texts, and I struggle when he doesn’t respond to me quickly enough (at least quickly enough in my mind).  And, generally, I respond pretty quickly, whether to an RSVP, a request for information, or to a text or a phone call.  In fact, I’m becoming a bit of a cause celeb among the Diocese of Lansing priests because I usually pick up my cell phone on the first ring, which somehow means it hasn’t even rung once for the person calling (I don’t know how that happens).

    So, as we hear the word “rejoice” today in the introit and in the epistle, which both come from Philippians chapter four, verse four, I’m all for it!  We rejoice because soon we don’t have to be patient anymore!  The celebration of our Lord’s Nativity, the day when our salvation became known in the flesh, is closer than the beginning of our time of waiting in Advent.  Our waiting is closer to finishing than when we first began waiting.
    But, we rejoice, not because we don’t have to exhibit the virtue of patience.  We rejoice because we can celebrate soon.  And that goes for our celebration of the Nativity (which will become an even greater focus in the readings in the coming days), but also for the return of Christ in glory.  The second coming is closer today than yesterday.  And that second coming is when all will be made right, the righteous will be welcomed into heaven to enjoy eternal bliss.
    But, we can even rejoice today because we know that Christ has come to save us, and that the salvation He offers us we can receive at any time.  Christmas is near.  The return of Christ is near.  But Christ offers us the gift of salvation now.  All we have to do is take hold of it and make it a part of our lives.  
    We see this most especially in two important Advent sacraments: Penance (confession) and the Eucharist.  Through the Sacrament of Penance, God reconciles us to Himself.  Twice in two verses in his second epistle to the Corinthians, St. Paul talks about how God reconciled the world to Himself in Christ.  That was the good news of Christmas and the Incarnation.  But that good news still applies today.  God is still reconciling the world to Himself through Christ.  And in the Sacrament of Penance, we participate in that reconciliation.  God takes our sins, like my impatience, and He removes it from us, and gives us in its place His grace, which is really His life.  He breaks down all the barriers between us and Him that sin creates, “so that we might become the righteousness of God in him,” to use the words of St. Paul from that same second epistle to the Corinthians.  In the Sacrament of Penance, the Holy Spirit accomplishes in us what Christ accomplished when He died on the cross.  And that is certainly a reason to rejoice.
    Likewise, in the Eucharist, we receive our salvation.  Christ gives Himself to us under the sacramental signs of bread and wine which truly become the Body and the Blood of Christ, so that we can have, in the most special way on earth, Christ living within us.  The same Second Person of the Blessed Trinity who, by the power of the Holy Spirit, took flesh and humbled Himself to be born with our human nature, again humbles Himself by allowing bread and wine to become Him, and allowing us to see His Sacred Flesh and Precious Blood with our eyes of faith.  The same Incarnate Lord whom St. Joseph, his foster father, held in his arms, I get to hold in my hands and give to you.  The same Suffering Servant who offered His life for the salvation of the world by dying on the Cross, joins us to that same sacrifice on Calvary through the Mass.  As I invite you to “Behold the Lamb of God,” (“Ecce Agnus Dei”), I remind you how near the Lord is to you and encourage you to rejoice as you behold your salvation.  And this is certainly a reason to rejoice.
    Patience is not my greatest virtue.  I continue to work at growing in that virtue which is described by St. Thomas Aquinas quoting Tully, “the voluntary and prolonged endurance of arduous and difficult things for the sake of virtue.”  And this virtue will help us to wait these next ten days until we celebrate Christmas, and these next days, however many, until Christ returns in glory.  But, what we will celebrate at Christmas, and what we await at the end of time, we also have now: Christ our God, reconciling us to the Father, who with the Son and the Holy Spirit is God, for ever and ever.  Amen.  

Green Monsters

Fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  A couple of years ago I had the opportunity to check off a number of the New England States that I had not yet visited in my quest to see all 50 States before I’m 50.  One of the highlights of that trip was staying in Boston and being able to attend a Red Sox game at Fenway Park, home of the infamous green monster.
    St. Paul instructs us today about another green monster, or green-eyed monster, the sin of envy.  In fact, in his treatment of envy in the Summa, St. Thomas Aquinas quotes this exact passage in affirming the sinfulness of envy.  Envy, the Angelic Doctor writes, is “sorrow for another’s good,” which is a quote of how St. John Damascene defines envy.  But St. Thomas further explains that when we envy someone, “we grieve over a man’s good, in so far as his good surpasses ours.”  In other words, we see something good in another, and we get upset because we don’t have that good ourselves, or don’t have it in the same quantity.      Now, to say that we’re upset because we don’t have something isn’t always bad.  Fr. Nick Monco, a Dominican friar, has a whole video series on the vices through Open Light Media (this is my free plug for a great YouTube channel set up by the Dominican Sisters of Mary, Mother of the Eucharist).  And when it comes to envy, he uses the example of a friend who plays the piano well.  He notes that if we notice our friend plays the piano well, and we get upset because we don’t and realize that we, perhaps, wasted opportunities in the past to work at playing the piano, or it spurs us on to take up piano lessons again so that I, too, can excel in the good of playing piano, that’s not envy.  But if we were to get upset that our friend plays the piano well because it makes us look bad, that would be envy.
    Envy gives away the joy that we should have in another’s excellence.  When I notice something good in my neighbor, it should help me to love that person more.  I am horrible at math.  Can’t stand it.  So when I see someone else who excels in math, that should cause me to rejoice in the gifts and talents that the other person has that I do not.  Love of the other, charity, helps me to recognize that there are different members in the Mystical Body of Christ, each which has its own role and its own excellence, which, when applied together, cause an increase in the proper functioning of the entire body.  Envy, on the other hand, seeks to take away the legitimate diversity of the other members, and causes disunity simply because I do not have a particular gift.
    Envy breeds the harmful type of ambition, which I would say occurs when I strive to be the best, not for the good of excellence, but to gain power or prestige.  We do not err when we seek to use our talents in the best way possible.  But if I only do my best so that I get a promotion, or get further ahead in the company or in life than that other person, then I have left the realm of magnanimity, greatness of soul and settled for weakness that fears any other competition to my own good.
    Envy can often come because we lack healthy self-esteem, or lack a certain confidence in another’s love for us.  Think of two children playing at home.  One child does something well, and gets celebrated for that new achievement.  The other child, not wanting to lack the seeming extra love of the parents, tries to take away from the first child by doing something else that will cause the parents to stop praising the achievement of the first child, and turn the focus back on the other child.  When I know that I am loved, even if I don’t have the gifts that others have, I don’t see love as a limited resource that has to be hoarded, or else I may run out of it.  When I know that I am loved, I find it easier to rejoice in the good of the other because I know that love shared is love increased, and the gift of love for one does not decrease love that I can receive.
    Envy especially becomes dangerous when it comes to spiritual matters.  Spiritual envy occurs when I see another person with a spiritual good that I don’t have, or that another person is growing in grace while I am not.  Again, I can see a spiritual good that I don’t have, and it causes me to work harder to be open to that good, and that is not envy.  But when I don’t want another to grow in grace because I am not, that is certainly spiritual envy, and St. Thomas warns us, “it is accounted a sin against the Holy Ghost, because thereby a man envies, as it were, the Holy Ghost Himself, Who is glorified in His works.”  True charity rejoices when another receives a special gift from God, rather than sorrows because I do not have it.
    How do we fight envy?  Rejoice in what others have.  We can use the desire of what others have to push us on to achieve goals, and that is good.  But rejoice in that good, no matter what it might be.  Praise God for showering His gifts upon another when we recognize the gifts of another.  When we feel that tinge of envy, remind ourselves that the love of God for us cannot be decreased simply because another’s good is increased.  Have confidence in your own goodness, not in a prideful way, but in the way that God asks us to love our neighbor as we love ourselves, and so we have to have a certain type of healthy self-love or appreciation that we are a child of God.  Take an inventory of the ways that God has blessed you, because it’s different than the way He has blessed others.
    Don’t make room for the green-eyed monster.  Fight to conquer it just as so many have fought to conquer the Green Monster at Fenway Park in Boston.  Do not be sad at another’s good, but rejoice that God has blessed others with particular graces, just as He has blessed us: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Walking through Pagan Lands

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  By now we’re probably all aware of the debacle that was the opening ceremonies of the Paris Olympics.  I didn’t watch it (I’m honestly not that big of an Olympics fan).  And I’m sure there were some nice parts to it.  However, the story quickly became how the opening ceremonies mocked Christianity by mimicking da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” with drag queens, transitioning to a mostly-naked man depicting Dionysius, the pagan god of revelry and debauchery.

    Bishop Barron had some good commentary on the whole thing, including the so-called apology after the fact.  And bishops from across the United States and the world have condemned this unnecessary antagonism towards Christianity, some noting that no such thing would have every been done concerning Mohammed or the Buddha.  I’ll let those commentaries speak for themselves.
    What struck me is how we really do live in pagan times.  I’m sure I knew this subconsciously, but the opening ceremonies certainly cemented it in my mind.  None of us lived during the first few centuries of Catholicism, before the Emperor Constantine legalized it in the early fourth century, but I doubt it was much different from what we saw on our screens (there’s just an easier way to share the depravity now with television and social media).
    So what do we do?  How do we live our lives in a post-christendom age?  I would suggest our Gospel gives us a clue.  The pagan world is like the man who was deaf and mute.  It is a world that is alive, but is not as it is supposed to be.  It lacks the ability to live up to its fullest potential.  The Decapolis was a group of ten city-states not far from the Sea of Galilee that had some Jewish population, but was mostly pagan.  The Lord, though his primary mission was to the lost sheep of the house of Israel, walked through a thoroughly pagan territory (this is one example; the other famous is His journey where He encountered the Gerasene demoniac).  So Christ then, like us today, walked through pagan lands.
    What did Christ do?  He opened the deaf and mute man’s ears and loosened his tongue.  In this way, the man could then hear the Gospel and share it.  Now, at this point, I do have to address the admonition that Christ gave the man who He healed to tell no one.  Mark’s Gospel is full of these warnings not to speak about what the Redeemer had done.  Why?  Part of St. Mark’s point, I believe, is that the Lord wants belief through faith.  The miracles He works demonstrates who He is, but they cannot take the place of faith.  And so He wants to draw the people to true and abiding faith in Himself as the Son of God, not just amazement and the miracles.  
    But back to the man, who, in some sense, represents paganism.  He needs someone to open his ears and to allow him to speak.  And not just speak anything, but speak the truth.  Paganism, a rejection of the true God, struggles to hear what is true and speak what is true.  It has some truth (think of Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, for example), but that truth is muddled in with so much error.  Only when Christ come can the truth that the pagan world recognized be purified so that it doesn’t lead others astray (think of the Christianization of Plato and Aristotle by St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas, respectively, for example).  
    So, our role, as little christs, little anointed ones, sealed with the Holy Spirit to proclaim the Gospel, is to go to paganism and open their ears to the truth so that their lips can proclaim the Gospels.  Our mission is to take the water of baptism and apply it to paganism as we cry out to God and say Ephpheta, that is, be opened.  This is done, not by force, but by the witness of a life lived in fidelity to what Christ has taught, and sharing the reason for our hope.  That is how the Christians of the first few centuries secretly and very successfully converted much of Roman society, which was itself marked by polarization between the rich and poor, the increased stretching of the Roman military apparatus across the known world, and the licentiousness of those who had power and money (sound familiar?).  
    The early Catholics were known for not discriminating between Jew and non-Jew (Gentile was the word used, also sometimes Greek).  They didn’t practice enslavement.  They didn’t consider women and children property, but equal sharers in the new life that Christ won by His Passion, Death, and Resurrection.  This is what St. Paul meant when he wrote to the Galatians, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”  He wasn’t talking about gender identity or power struggles.  He was talking about how everyone was welcome to follow Christ, on Christ’s terms, and that the most important identity was that of a disciple.  In our invitations to others, we should have the same approach–invite everyone, regardless of race, religion, gender, socio-economic status, etc.–to follow Christ as He instructs us.
    Early Catholics drew people in by the way that they were happier because they didn’t worry about the power struggles, and the never-ending pursuit of riches.  An ancient Christian apologetic letter called The Epistle of Diognetus, showing how Catholics were not subversive but followed a higher law, wrote that Catholics “share their food by not their wives.”  They care for the poor, they exercise hospitality, but they do not share the perverse Roman sexual mores.  We, too, can live in such a way that we care for the poor, we show kindness to others, and exercise chastity and modesty in our relationships with others.  
    This was the way that pagan Rome became Christendom (albeit over centuries).  This was the way that the Church moved from being a bunch of small communities of maybe 30-50 people to metropolises of Catholic life and culture.  It worked then, and I believe it will work now.  We may not have the power we used to; we may not be able to keep public debauchery and indecency at bay anymore; but we can witness to Christ and the freedom and joy that come from living the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit, live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.

Same Words, Different Results

Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost

St. Thomas Aquinas

   In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  When I served at St. Thomas Aquinas parish in East Lansing as a parochial vicar, I spent a fair amount of time in our parish school.  One day I was asked by a teacher to come over at the end of the school day to talk to a few students who had been picking on another kid, such that the other kid had locked himself in a bathroom stall and brought to tears.  I pulled the two students aside into a classroom and asked them what had happened.  They explained that they had continuously stolen and hidden the other student’s folder, seeing how upset it made him.  I asked them why they would do such a thing.  The responded that they didn’t think it would affect him so much.  I said, “That’s right; you didn’t think.”  After that point, things become a bit hazy in my memory, but I remember thinking to myself after those words came out of my mouth, ‘I have become my father,’ because my dad would say the same thing to me if I had done something wrong and had responded that I didn’t think such and such would happen.
    I was struck in today’s Gospel by the words that the servant uses to the master when his freedom is threatened: “‘“Be patient with me, and I will pay you back in full.”’”  Later that same day he hears those same words from another servant who owed the first servant much smaller amounts than the first servant owed the master: “‘“Be patient with me, and I will pay you back.”’”  But apparently the light didn’t come on in the first servant’s head, and rather than recognizing that he was now in the position of the master to be generous and patient, the first servant took immediate and decisive action to put the other servant in debtor’s jail until he could pay back what he owed.  Where the master was patient and lenient, the servant was intolerant and rigorous.  

    One of the great blessings God has given us is the Sacrament of Penance, what we often call confession.  And I try to offer generous times for the celebration of God’s mercy in this sacrament.  I am also pleased that so many people, from both our parish and from other parishes, take advantage of these opportunities.  I myself try to go to confession every two or three weeks.  Besides the primary effect of forgiveness of sins (especially if we are in a state of mortal sin), as well as giving us grace to avoid temptation in the future, one of the graces that God desires to give us is to make us more like Him, our Master, in His Mercy.  
    People can often confuse mercy with license.  Especially in today’s culture, where no one takes responsibility for anything, mercy tends to mean letting me get away with something I have done.  But a priest I recently heard at convocation said that, in order to receive mercy, we have to acknowledge what is just.  And this priest used the example of the prodigal son to back up his point.  We are very quick to jump to the part of the parable where the father runs out to meet his son and puts a ring on his finger, a robe around him, and sandals on his feet, and throws a big party.  But right before that, the son acknowledges that he has sinned against heaven and against his father, and he no longer deserves to be called a son.  This priest made the point that it was because the prodigal son made that admission in justice that the father granted mercy and restored him to his previous place in family life.  Imagine if the son would have come back and simply said, “Could I have a job?”  
    Now, these two points may seem contradictory.  The parable from today’s Gospel highlights mercy, while the parable of the Prodigal Son seems to highlight justice.  But both are truly operative, and both guide how we show mercy.  In the Gospel parable the servant says that he will pay the master back.  He admits the justice.  And that admission of justice opens up mercy, a mercy which does not have a timeline.  It restores the relationship immediately, and even cancels.  And we are invited to have that same level of mercy.  When someone admits that they have wronged us, we should be ready to grant them mercy, just as God grants us mercy as soon as we confess our faults in the Sacrament of Penance.  As long as we will try not to commit that sin again, even if we think it would take a miracle to avoid those temptations, then God will forgive us.  If someone admits to us that he or she is wrong, then Christ calls us to be like the merciful Father and immediately grant mercy.
    To drive home this point even more, the Lord says elsewhere that the measure we measure out to others will in turn be measured out to us.  If we come before God, admitting our faults, and expect God to forgive us, then we should also forgive those who come to us and admit their faults.  If we do not, then how can God grant mercy to a heart that is hardened?  If we have no mercy for others in our life, then we have no room for the mercy of God, either.  If we are not willing to receive another’s act of contrition, then how could God receive ours?
    Probably many of us of a certain age have had those moments where we think: ‘I have become my parents.’  And maybe sometimes that idea scares us.  But it should be the goal of each one of us to become like our heavenly Father, who with the Son and the Holy Spirit live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.

Paralyzed, Friends, Scribes, and Jesus

Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  When we hear the Gospel passage today, we hear about two, maybe three, individuals or groups: the paralyzed man and his friends; the scribes; and our Lord.  For today’s homily I’d like to focus on those three as we meditate upon the Word of God, and seek what the Lord is saying to us.

   The first is the paralyzed man and his friends.  The paralyzed man is lying in the bed, and one presumes that his paralysis is at least his legs, but perhaps his arms as well.  He can’t take care of himself by himself.  He is utterly dependent on others to eat, to drink, to clean himself, and even to get somewhere.  Left to himself he has nothing.  Isn’t that us before Holy Baptism?  And really even after Holy Baptism.  Left to ourselves, we can do nothing good.  Our Lord says in John, chapter 15, “‘Apart from me you can do nothing.’”  Any good that we can accomplish only happens because of God.  Any good that is done by a non-believe is still a gratuitous gift of God, and made possible by His power.  We are paralyzed because we are fallen.  We need to be healed.
    Think of his friends, too.  In this passage we don’t have any sense of who wanted to see Christ.  Did the paralyze man hear about this itinerant rabbi who healed people?  Did the friends have some experience of the Savior, and then want to bring their paralyzed man to see if Christ would heal him?  We don’t know.  But we do know that, whoever desired it, or desired it more, the friends brought the paralyzed man to Jesus.  They did what he could not.  They became one of the causes of his healing.
    I preach about friends on a pretty regular basis, partly because of what a treasure friends are.  I have used the quote of St. Thomas Aquinas: “There is nothing on earth more to be prized than true friendship.  Friendship is the source of the greatest pleasures, and without friends even the most agreeable pursuits become tedious.”  I think the Angelic Doctor here is not talking about a mere acquaintance, someone you know and with whom you enjoy spending time, but especially a true friend, someone who helps you to grow in virtue.  Any friend who brings us to Christ is a friend worth having.  Any friend who can rejoice with us and commiserate with us, but who directs both back to God and His Divine Plan supports us in our desire to be saints.  
    Do your friends bring you to our Lord, or do they pull you away from Him?  Can they help you find healing, the healing that you desire and even maybe the healing of which you are not even fully aware?  Friendship is a great means of spreading the Gospel.  It may not happen all at once, and sometimes trying to force the issue of faith can strain a friendship.  But do we share Jesus with our friends?  One of the things I enjoy doing as a Michigan State Police chaplain is sharing my faith with others.  And the conversations come quite easily because they know I’m a priest.  But your friends should be able to ask you about the Lord, too, and should presume that you know Him, because you are His friends.  Conversion may take place over a long period of time.  Or maybe it won’t happen at all, as people have free will and can walk away from the Lord, even if He invites them to follow Him.  But do we participate in sharing our faith with others, and bringing them to Christ?
    The third group is the scribes.  They are not the favorites in almost any Gospel passage.  And we can see why.  Our Savior heals the paralyzed man, and what is their response?  Not, “That’s wonderful!” or “Praise God!”  Nope.  They accuse Him of blasphemy.  To be fair, if Christ isn’t God, then it is blasphemy.  But if Christ isn’t God, or at least a great prophet of God, could He heal a paralyzed man?  The scribes immediately accuse Christ of one of the worst sins.  Their hearts are closed to the work of God.
    We can also sometimes be like the scribes.  If something good happens, we get suspicious if the person doesn’t fit into our categories, or doesn’t have the same expression of faith that we do.  We set ourselves up as judge of what God can do, and what He cannot do.  To be fair, St. John the Apostle was in that same group once.  In Mark, chapter nine, John says, “‘Teacher, we saw someone driving out demons in your name, and we tried to prevent him because he does not follow us.’”  You can almost imagine the Savior cocking his head to the side with a quizzical look.  I mean, what was the other option?  Letting the people continue with their demonic possessions?  Maybe John should have thought it through a little more.  Christ does answer John, saying, “‘Do not prevent him.  There is no one who performs a mighty deed in my name who can at the same time speak ill of me.’”
    Lastly, we have the Person of Jesus.  Liberal Scripture scholars will often pedal this nonsense that He never claimed to be God.  They must have missed this passage.  And a lot of others.  Here, and elsewhere, our Lord takes as His own that which was proper to the Lord, the way that the Jews would refer to God.  In this passage, He forgives sins.  The scribes are right in asserting that only God can forgive sins.  But that’s exactly our Lord’s point.  He reveals Himself as God through the forgiveness of the paralytic’s sins.  This was the first and primary miracle that the Lord worked for the paralytic.  But, as a sign that He can forgive sins, Christ also heals the man and allows him to walk.  
    Do we accept that God is God and we are not?  I know that seems like it has an obvious answer, but how many times do we, whether directly or indirectly, say to God, “I can handle this.  Let me take care of this one.  I know what’s best here.”  Pride always lurks, seeking to have us put ourselves in the place of God, just as the devil tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden.  We put ourselves, or some other material good, in place of God, and set up our little altars to worship our will or our possessions.  But that’s not respecting who God reveals Himself to be.  Our approach should always be, “Thy will be done.”  
    As you go home today, think about who you identify with the most in this passage.  Is it the paralytic?  Is it his friends?  Is it, and be honest here, the scribes?  Most likely, we go back and forth among the three.  For those times when you’re like the paralytic, ask God to heal you, especially your spiritual paralysis.  For those times when you’re like the friends, ask God to identify for you those whom you can bring to Him for healing.  For those times when you’re like the scribes, ask God to heal the hardness and blindness of your hearts so that you can recognize God’s work, even when it happens in ways you’re not expecting.  Have faith that you can be healed, no matter who you are, by the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Food of the Covenant

Fourth Sunday in Lent

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Growing up I never liked cooked broccoli.  I would eat raw broccoli, like on a vegetable platter, but for some reason the smell or look of cooked broccoli just didn’t do it for me.  At some point in seminary, there was a formal dinner with cooked broccoli.  I didn’t want to pull a George Bush, but I also didn’t want to leave food on my plate.  So I took a bite.  It was actually good.  Granted, it was dripping with butter, but it was really good.  Since then, I have been able to eat cooked broccoli, (as long as it doesn’t have melted cheese on it).
    Today’s Gospel, the multiplication of the loaves, points to the Eucharist.  Indeed, this passage forms the beginning of John chapter 6, what we commonly refer to as the Bread of Life discourse.  Our Lord reveals that He is the Bread of Life, and that whoever eats His flesh and drinks His blood has eternal life within him.  John is known for not including the institution narrative of the Eucharist, as the three other Gospel writers did.  But the entirety of John chapter 6 provides its own magnificent exposition on the Eucharist as the flesh and blood of Christ.
    But this heavenly food, this Bread of Angels, is not for everyone.  Christ provides His Body and Blood for those who are part of the covenant, the new covenant sealed in His Blood.  The Eucharist is for the children of the Jerusalem from above, those born of the free-woman.  It is for those who have been set free by Holy Baptism from slavery to sin; those who live in the freedom of the children of God.
    But why focus on the Eucharist now?  In a few short weeks we will be celebrating the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday, and entering into the Passion of the Lord on Good Friday, to which the Last Supper and every Eucharist points.  But, if you listened at the beginning of the Gospel passage, it said that the Passover was near, just as our celebration of Christ’s Passover is near for us.
    Every Mass celebrates what Lent prepares us for: the Passion of the Lord.  At each Mass we enter into that one Friday that allowed us to be good with God.  Each Mass we are given the opportunity to enter into the offering of Christ to His eternal Father, and celebrate in an unbloody way the very bloody sacrifice of the Savior on the altar of the cross.  
    The bread we use is offered by us, but is received by Christ and miraculously changed to be enough for all.  We don’t have much, but our Lord makes it “super-substantial” (what the Greek word in the Our Father literally means while we say “daily” bread).  He makes it–by the power of the Holy Spirit and through the ministry of a priest who acts in His Name and Person–a way that we grow in grace, a way that we have our very God inside of us.
    And just as we prepare to celebrate the Passion of the Lord, so we should prepare to receive the fruit of the Passion of the Lord which is the Eucharist.  How do we prepare?  For Lent we fast and abstain.  And so the Church asks us (tells us) that we are to abstain from all other food except water and medicine for one hour before we receive Holy Communion (unless our health requires some other sustenance).  As we give alms during Lent, so during this Mass God asks us to give of the blessings He has given us for the benefit of the Church, and for this parish particularly, to support the spreading of the Gospel right here in Flint.  Lent invites us to enter more deeply into prayer, and so, as we’re able, we should seek to pray before Mass to prepare our minds to focus on the holy things which are present before us, as the veil which separates heaven and earth is pulled back and we join with the angels and saints in worshipping the Father through the Son in the power of the Holy Spirit.  For some, especially parents of young children, praying before Mass may be very difficult or seem nearly impossible.  But even as parents seek to keep their children from crawling or running away, or walk in the back to try to calm their child down, there is the chance to offer that desire to focus on the Mass as a prayer to God, the sacrifice which is proper to parents in their vocation when the children are young and don’t understand the greatness of what takes place each Mass.

    Later in John chapter 6, our Lord teaches that unless we eat His flesh and drink His blood, we do not have life within us.  Receiving the Eucharist in a state of grace imparts to us the new life of Christ to which the Passion points.  Lent is not an end to itself.  It always points to Easter, just as the Passion always points to the Resurrection.  Christ wants us to share in His new life, which prepares us for the new life that never ends as we worship God with the angels and saints in heaven.  We usually think backwards when we think about the Eucharist, as we think of the Last Supper and the Crucifixion.  But the Eucharist also points forward to the end of time, when God will be all in all.  And so, as we receive the Eucharist in the present, we become partakers in the past, present, and future salvation accomplished by our God.  That is why we can pray with St. Thomas Aquinas:
 

O sacrum convivium!
in quo Christus sumitur:
recolitur memoria passioni eius:
mens impletur gratia:
et futurae gloriae nobis pignus datur.

Or, as one Dominican translation renders it:

O Sacred Banquet
in which Christ becomes our food,
the memory of His passion is celebrated,
the soul is filled with grace,
and a pledge of future glory is given to us.  

Let us pray:

O God,
in this wonderful sacrament
you have left us a memorial of your passion.
Help us, we beg you,
so to reverence the sacred mysteries
of your body and blood
that we may constantly feel in our lives
the effects of your redemption.
Who live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit,
God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

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.

Stopping the Anger and Violence

 Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  How providential is it that, a week after another horrible shooting, this time in the Chicago suburb of Highland Park, our Gospel wants us to focus on anger.
    Our Lord begins with the commonly-known prescription that we are not to kill.  It is important to note that, while in English we say kill, the meaning behind the original word is closer to “commit homicide,” or kill and innocent person.  We might also use the word murder.  But Christ says that the prohibition against murder is not sufficient for being in right relationship with God.  Indeed, I imagine all of us here can say, without equivocation, that we have not murdered anyone.  But beyond murder, and really, leading to it, is anger, hatred, and de-humanizing the other.  
    Again, the word anger, like kill, needs a little unpacking.  Anger, St. Thomas Aquinas says, is the reaction to a perceived injustice.  When we talk about the emotion of anger, we have very little control over that feeling.  Whenever we feel that someone acts unjustly toward us, that emotion appears.  That, in itself, does not merit blame.  But when we take that emotion and use it to attack, demean, or belittle the other, that is when anger can be thought of as a sin.  So, as one calls another a name, or puts another down, whether in thought, word, or deed, we start to walk down the path to murder, to killing the innocent.  
    We may think of putting others down as a far cry from murder (and it certainly is), but demeaning another is the first step on the path that leads to the destination of murder, if those actions of anger are not quenched.  Indeed, in the Catechism of the Catholic Church promulgated by Pope St. John Paul II, the fifth commandment not only includes treatment of intentional homicide, abortion, euthanasia, and suicide, but also treats respect for others (and the sin of scandal), respect for bodily integrity, and working towards peace.  Gossip, in its own way, is also connected to this, as a way that we speak ill of others, killing, as it were, their good name.
    But how do we stop what are becoming regular acts of violence, often mass violence, in our society?  How do we work to thwart other people not only demeaning others, saying cruel and harmful things about others, but even the taking of innocent life?
    Like so many things, it will start in small ways, especially in the family.  The change from a culture of death to a culture of life will not often gain wide notice in the press.  Like the mustard seed that starts as the smallest of seeds but becomes a large bush, the transition from death to life will fly under the radar until it breaks forth in a way that cannot be ignored.
    Starting in the family, then, is the respect for human life.  Two grave offenses against human life have run rampant in our country for decades, and are even widely promoted by some.  Those two offenses are abortion and pornography.  Is it any surprise that there is a disregard for some lives by members of a society that often trumpets the killing of an innocent and defenseless baby in the womb?  Is it any wonder that human life can be snuffed out so easily by some when another human being is used merely as an object of pleasure to satisfy personal lust?  
    Society cannot fix these problems, the recent Supreme Court ruling that abortion is not a constitutionally protected action notwithstanding.  While governmental action can help, at the end of the day respect for each human life begins, is sustained, and finds its greatest success in family life.  The family knows best how to show respect for life, even from a young age.  
    I think of a family I know rather well, and one of the adult children recently had a baby.  The toddler sees the baby, and often wants to hold that baby, like the adults do.  The adults, for their part, allow the toddler to hold the child (while supervised and supporting the baby’s head and neck), and in doing so are teaching the sacredness of human life in a way a toddler can understand.  As toddlers grow, they can become a bit more aggressive, especially with siblings, when they don’t get their way.  Teaching children that they can’t simply hit or kick a sibling (let alone an adult) when that other person gets in the way is teaching the sacredness of life.  
    As children grow into teens who have more freedom and make more decisions on their own, even as they face more temptations, the lessons become even more important: not to tease others because they are awkward (as every teen is at some point); not to drive in a way that puts others at risk, especially under the influence or even simply with a phone; not treating another person, whether a classmate or as communicated through social media or the internet, as a way to satisfy the desire for sexual union.  All those ways and more promote the dignity and sanctity of life.  

Fr. Anthony as an 8th grade graduate (left)

    I remember when I was a teen, and made a transition from one Catholic school to another.  Despite the stud you see before you today, I was very weak and awkward as a teen.  I was a bit of a nerd, and didn’t have great social skills.  I remember being asked by one of the boys in my class if there were any girls that I thought were cute.  Not knowing that this guy was just out to make fun of me, I gave him an answer of a girl I thought was quite breath-taking, only to find out that the girl I named was his girlfriend.  He teased me quite often about it.  But I had a home where I could escape teasing and could know acceptance and love, which helped me navigate through the tumultuous waters of teenage social interactions.  Many teens now, with Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, don’t have a refuge where they can regroup and have their dignity reaffirmed.
    For us adults, we can work on watching how we talk about others, what we say to others, and how we communicate when we don’t get in our own way.  It seems like many more adults are living like toddlers: when I don’t get my way, I yell or destroy stuff, whether it’s at a customer service representative for a company, or in riots when a government decision isn’t what I wanted it to be.  
    If we want to end these mass shootings, there may be political action that could help.  I’m not a political science expert, so I’m not going to weigh in on what can be done in this forum.  But I do have knowledge about the human person, as revealed to us through Jesus Christ, and how the practice of religion helps society.  And so I can say, without hesitation, that if we want, not only to stop the symptoms, but stop the disease of the lack of respect for human life, it will start in our homes, in our families.  Have dinner together as a family, without phones.  Show love for your spouse and for your children in concrete ways.  Monitor video game, internet, and phone usage.  Support each other in the family.   The perpetrators in these mass shootings often do not have a strong family life, do not have a support system to reaffirm their dignity when others do put them down, and often turn to violent video games as the first place they vent their anger.  I’m not here to blame this or that factor, but only to say that we can do better, and it starts in the family.  
    Christ teaches us today that murder does not begin at that drastic action.  There are many smaller actions of anger that precede the more notorious tragedies.  One tried and true way to stop these mass shootings is to teach the dignity of every human being, from natural birth to natural death, which happens best when a family communicates by what they do and by what they say, the love of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Our First and Most Important Friend

 Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    Some of the greatest blessings in life are friends.  They are there for you to share in your joys and comfort you in sorrow.  The best friends help you to be the best version of yourself, which is sometimes easy, and sometimes a bit painful.  St. Augustine of Hippo had a beautiful reflection on friendship from his book The Confessions:
 

Friendship had other attractions which were very important to me – we could talk and laugh – help each other in small ways – we enjoyed doing lots of things together – reading some book – going somewhere – sometimes we would be very serious together – sometimes we were able to act the fool together.  Sometimes when we argued with each other it was not a bitter argument but like the kind of argument you might have with yourself.  In fact, sometimes the argument was the kind only friends can have when they have some disagreement – it sometimes made our usual harmony more meaningful.  Each of us had something to learn from each other and something to teach in return.  If someone was absent for some time they were missed and we welcomed them back warmly.

Maybe as I read St. Augustine’s description, your own memories with friends came to your mind, and the good and difficult times you made it through.
    But, as good as friendship is (and St. Thomas Aquinas calls friendship one of the highest goods on earth), we hear a very different message from the Prophet Jeremiah today as he proclaims, “Thus says the Lord: Cursed is the one who trusts in human beings, who seeks his strength in flesh, whose heart turns away from the Lord.”  Did St. Augustine and St. Thomas decide that Jeremiah got God’s message wrong?  Does God not want us to have friends?  
    Friendship is a gift from God, and in fact, Jesus calls tells the apostles, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.  You are my friends if you do what I command you.  I no longer call you slaves…I have called you friends.”  So maybe Jeremiah did get it wrong!  God seems to encourage friendship, which necessarily entails trust in other humans.
    Of course, there’s a way to see this to brings together Jeremiah and Jesus, and Scripture and St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas.  As with everything, it deals with the proper ordering of goods.  Ordering good things is one of the harder tasks in life, because we don’t have to reject what is evil, but decide which good is a higher good than another.
    As good as friendship with our fellow human beings is, our friendship with God is even more important.  And this is the message that Jeremiah is getting at in the first reading.  If all we do is trust in our fellow man, then we’re missing out, and in a great way!  There are things that only a human friend is going to accomplish (short of a miracle): helping you work on your house, throwing a birthday party, and the like.  And so it can be very natural in any need to turn to a friend to find comfort or to rejoice.  But our human friends are limited by time and space, whereas God is not.  So to neglect going to God first is to wrongly order our loves.  And, ironically, the Psalmist says, “Unless the Lord build the house, in vain do the builders labor.”  And St. Paul tells us to rejoice in the Lord always.  So even with fixing up a house, or throwing a party, we should start by turning to the Lord.  We may still need friends to accomplish the manual labor, but unless that effort is done according to the will of God, it won’t be as successful as it could be, and may even be a disaster.  
    In my own life, the temptation to turn to friends first is most evident and most seductive when I’m feeling down.  Again, there’s nothing wrong with turning to a friend to find some comfort and consolation.  But my friend, as well as he knows me, does not know me as well as God does.  And my friend cannot see how certain things are meant to happen in the grand scheme of things.  So his advice is going to be limited by whatever finiteness he has, whereas God is infinite, and is limited by no external factors.  When I need a friend to lean on, God wants me to turn to Him first.  I might still turn to my human friends, but God gets first billing, or at least, that’s what he deserves and that’s what will help us the most.  
    Relying on God first is precisely the principle behind all of the Beatitudes that we heard today in the Gospel.  The poor, the hungry, those who weep, and those who are hated do not seem to be blessed.  But they have to rely on God first, and when you get that right, everything else can be put into its proper place.  Those who are blessed are those who know that they need God, first and foremost.  Those who are cursed are those who think they can get by on their own, and do not need God.  Why?  Because God has made the world contingent on Him and His will, and truly to succeed in life means acknowledging and living by that reality.  We may not always like it, but that’s the way the world works.  In the same way, we have this force called gravity.  We may not always like it, but if we try to live as if gravity didn’t exist, eventually we get to a place where gravity imposes itself on us, whether we like it or not, and reminds us that we have to live according to that force.  
    Friendship is a great gift.  “There is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship,” wrote St. Thomas Aquinas.  “Friendship is the source of the greatest pleasures, and without friends even the most agreeable pursuits become tedious.”  But, friendship with God, and relying on Him first is the key to any true friendship, and not only natural but supernatural friendship.  May we not only develop our friendships on earth, but also the friendship that will last into eternity: our friendship with God.

Adjusting Our Seating Chart

 Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

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

Bishop Carl Mengeling

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