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. 

Do You Pray to God with that Mouth?

 Fifth Sunday after Easter
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”  This is a phrase that is sometimes used when someone uses crude or vulgar language, a colloquial way of telling the person to start using better language.  St. James talks about our speech in the Epistle.  He reminds us that, “if anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue…his religion is in vain.”  That’s pretty strong language about mere words.  But mere words have meaning, they carry strength.

St. James the Lesser from St. John Lateran, Rome

    After all, we worship not a word, but the Word, the “speech,” as it were of the Father, our Lord Jesus Christ, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity.  The words we use matter.  When we use good words, we build up.  When we use bad words, we tear down.  When we use good words, we help to communicate that we belong to the Word who is Sinless.  When we use bad words, we communicate that what we do and what we say do not have to have a relation to each other.  We confuse others by suggesting that following Christ does not make a difference in the choice of our vocabulary.
    Words can be in the context of many areas of life.  Our speech can be about God and His Church.  Or it can be about individuals.  Or it can be about the world or inanimate things.  God gave us speech precisely to glorify Him and to edify others, which is precisely also the purpose of the liturgy, the glorification of God and the edification of man, as Sacrosanctum concilium states.  
    We glorify God through prayer, both public like the Mass and the Liturgy of the Hours, and through private prayers like our devotions, our morning offerings, our prayers of thanksgiving.  We edify man by helping others grow in union with Christ.  Sometimes we do that by providing kind, gentle words that encourage.  At other times we need to warn and discipline with harsher words, but always undergirded with charity.  We are called to talk about our Lord to others, and, as St. Peter states, be ready to give a defense for our hope in the Lord.  We have a duty to stand up for the weak and the oppressed, as the prophets remind us again and again.
    Certainly, not all crude or bad speech is mortal sin.  Gossip is often a sin of speech with which people struggle, as well as detraction.  It can be hard not to talk about others, especially with our friends are doing so.  But if we wish our religion to be pure, St. James says, then our speech needs to be as well.  
    This also, perhaps especially, concerns members of the Church.  Detraction, lies, slander, and gossip can destroy parish communities, and we need to guard against it at all times, and avoid it whenever it rears its ugly head.  Satan is always seeking to divide communities of faith, and how often that happens in a parish among well-intentioned people.  If we are revealing the faults of others, or tearing down others in our words, we are not helping to build a larger, stronger parish community.
    It also goes for clergy and our speech about them.  We priests are especially bad at this.  Like a family, we are all too often quick to point out the faults of our brothers, and put them down, not only in front of brother priests, but also, sadly, sometimes in front of the lay faithful.  None of us, from me to the pope, are above reproach.  And yet do we offer criticism with charity, do we criticize the actions, rather than attacking the good name of the person?  Do we use phrases or terms that diminish the respect that we, and others, should have towards those who are engaged in holy orders?  I know this can be hard when we don’t agree with a priest, bishop, or even the pope.  But do we do so with charity?  If not, it is time that we repent, because our prayers may ring hollow if we praise God and ask Him for help on one side of our mouth, and then berate and belittle those whom God has given to lead His Church on the other.

    A priest I know in Mississippi recently had the opportunity to meet His Eminence, Raymond Cardinal Burke.  This Mississippi priest is a great devotee of the Extraordinary Form, and celebrates it in his diocese.  He works to promote the sacred liturgy and the beauty and transcendence that accompany right worship of God.  He related that Cardinal Burke gave a talk over breakfast, and said, “‘Those American bloggers who do things like call the Holy Father “Bergoglio” are not promoting Catholicism.  There is nothing Catholic about disrespecting the office of Bishop or the Papacy.’”  I know that many, myself included, sometimes struggle with Pope Francis’s prudential judgements and the way he expresses himself off the cuff.  But Cardinal Burke is echoing what we hear from St. James today.  If we are willing to share posts on social media that detract and slander, even if simply by innuendo or suggestion, then I hope we’re willing to share the same just divine punishments with those who composed the post or tweet.
    Our Lord tells us today that if we ask for anything in His name, He will give it to us.  Of course, this presumes that the desire of our hearts is in accord with His Sacred Heart and the will of God.  But perhaps the request, even in the name of Christ, would not be heard if we are trashing the Vicar of Christ, or if we are insulting those with whom Christ identifies, especially the “least of his brothers,” as He says in Matthew 25.  It is certain that our prayer will be more efficacious if we see Christ in others and treat them and talk about them appropriately.  Again, this doesn’t mean that we can’t disagree or criticize, but that we do so with respect.  Perhaps, instead of saying, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” we should rather say, “Do you pray to God with that mouth?”  God wants to hear our prayers and answer them, but He may be more likely to grant the prayers of those who, even in their speech about others, honors the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Frequent Dying and Rising

Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anchored to the Cross

Feast of the Triumph of the Holy Cross

            Just a couple of weeks ago my parents moved to a different house for the first time since 1988.  They didn’t move too far, only from Williamston, on the east side of Lansing, to DeWitt, on the west side of Lansing, but moving, no matter how far, is always an ordeal.  In early August we celebrated the August and September birthdays as the last time we were going to be at the old house as a family.  Some of the stuff was moved already, pictures were taken down, and there were lots of boxes.  Little things became more pronounced, knowing that I would probably never see this house again.

           

When we’ve been in one place a long time, we can overlook some of the real treasures that are right in front of us, because it’s always been there.  Take, for example, the stained glass window just east of the niche for the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe.  There’s a cross there.  I noticed that the first time I came in the church and was looking around at how beautiful everything is.  What I missed, and maybe you have too, is that the cross is on an island, and the waves are rolling around it, and there is an anchor attached to that cross.  I just noticed it earlier this week as I was preparing for this homily.

            The anchor is an ancient Christian symbol.  When the Christians were being persecuted, they didn’t want to give away who they were.  The anchor was a perfect way to show they were Christians, without giving it away to those who didn’t know.  The anchor has the cross in it, so they were professing that they were followers of Jesus, the crucified and risen one, but with a common symbol in use at the time. 

            The anchor was also a symbol of hope.  This may have been based on the Letter to the Hebrews that states, “This [hope] we have as an anchor of the soul, sure and firm.”  The anchor was also the hope for those who were sailing that they would remain where they were, where they knew they were safe, and not be tossed into shallow waters where they might run aground, or into deeper, uncharted waters, without any idea of where they were.

            It is fitting then, that the anchor is attached to the cross, because the cross is where we find our hope, and if we are attached firmly to the cross, then we do not need to worry about running aground and sinking, or getting lost on the wide-open seas.  Our goal, as Christians, is to be firmly holding on to the cross.  Now, that might seem odd to say.  Why would we say that the instrument of Jesus’ horrible death be our hope?  For the same reason that we call the Friday of the Lord’s Passion Good Friday: the cross, and Jesus attached to it, became the way that God made salvation available to us.  The curse (or malediction) of being nailed to the cross (as Deuteronomy 21 states), the curse that belonged by right to us, became the blessing (or benediction) of eternal life won for us by God-made-Man.  In the first reading, seraph serpents were the curse for the Israelites grumbling, but the bronze serpent lifted high for all to see became the way that the Israelites were healed.  Jesus alluded to that in the Gospel today, saying that the Son of Man was to become the new bronze serpent, lifted high for all to see.  Though killing God, deicide, which we continue to bring about by our sins, deserves the worst punishment of all, Jesus took our sins upon Himself, and, lifted for all to see, is the means of our reward.  We should have been damned to Hell for killing God, and yet we were offered eternal life in heaven instead.

            For us to gain that reward, we have to be anchored to Jesus.  Today we will baptize two infants.  We might wonder why we should make such a powerful choice for two persons who cannot speak for themselves.  Shouldn’t we wait to adulthood?  Shouldn’t they choose for themselves?  Many of our Protestant brothers and sisters do wait until the child is old enough to speak for itself.  We all know, too well, I would guess, the waves that want to throw us around on the sea of life.  We are tempted to greed and worship of money; to think that we are the center of the universe in pride; to tear down others with our words or actions; to misuse our gift of sexuality outside of marriage; and so many other temptations.  If we do not have an anchor, we will sink, or be thrown out into deep, uncharted waters.  If these children are not anchored to the cross, it will be so much more likely that they will be lost.  But, as an act of love, their parents are connecting them to Jesus by this Sacrament, and by the solemn promise they make to God and in our presence, that they will help their children to continue to cling to Christ by bringing them to Mass every week, by living a Christ-centered life, and by works of charity.  They are promising to strengthen the rope, with God’s grace, which is the connection between the cross and the anchor.  If the children and their parents stay close to Jesus, then the children will be ready for the Sacraments of Confirmation and the Eucharist, to which Baptism is also oriented. 

            We who have been fully initiated, who are striving to live that Christ-centered life, are also reminded of how we need to be anchored to the cross.  Maybe we have not fulfilled the promises at our baptism.  Maybe we’re not coming to Mass each week.  Maybe we’re greedy or prideful.  Maybe we tear down others with our words and actions.  Maybe we misuse our sexuality outside of marriage.  Maybe we don’t live our faith outside of the walls of this church.  The Sacrament of Penance, which we offer each week, is where Jesus Himself re-anchors us to the cross, so that we can be safe in His love.   Maybe, because we have grown up with Catholicism, we have forgotten the treasures that we have.  I invite you to re-anchor yourself to the cross, and find not condemnation and death, but blessing and life!

The Comfort of the Truth

Second Sunday of Advent

            “Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God.”  When I heard the word comfort, and try to think of what comforts me, I think of a cold, snowy evening, sitting by the fireplace, the living room lit only by a few flickering flames from candles, drinking my family recipe of hot spiced cider, and watching a favorite television show or movie.  For others it might be a hot tub, or a warm beach, or even just a pint of Häagen Dazs.  Or maybe you’ve got your own sense of what comforts you that is radically different from the examples I just listed. 

            It’s beautiful to hear the words of Isaiah the prophet, telling us that God wants to bring us comfort.  “Speak tenderly,” he says, “and proclaim to her that her service is at an end; her guilt is expiated…Go up on a high mountain…cry out at the top of your voice…Here is your God!  […] Like a shepherd he feeds his flock; in his arms he gathers the lambs, carrying them in his bosom, and leading the ewes with care.”  Who doesn’t want to know that the Lord is going to speak tenderly to us, to proclaim that our service is at an end, and that our guilt is no more?  Who doesn’t want the Lord to come as a shepherd, feeding his flock, gathering us in his arms and carrying us close to his chest?

            So what do we do with the middle part of the first reading and our Gospel?  We heard twice, “A voice cries out: In the desert prepare the way of the LORD!  Make straight in the wasteland a highway for our God!”  We have traditionally associated that proclamation with St. John the Baptist who, as St. Mark wrote in today’s Gospel passage, “appeared in the desert proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”  If any of you have seen the movie “Jesus of Nazareth” by Franco Zeffirelli, you can picture how enthused John the Baptist was about his message.  In the movie, John the Baptist is screaming at the top of his lungs: Repent!  And he’s only wearing a camel’s hair tunic and a leather belt around his waist, eating locusts and honey.  In fact, he screams so much that Herod has him arrested for preaching against his so-called marriage to his brother’s wife.  This is not the warm, pastoral scene that Isaiah has at the end of our first reading.  And it certainly doesn’t seem like the comfort that Isaiah prophesies at the beginning of our first reading.  So why is the figure of John the Baptist, the one crying out in the wilderness: Prepare the Way of the Lord, sandwiched between those two soft images?

            What John preaches is the truth.  As St. Augustine says in one of His sermons, Jesus is the word, and John is the voice.  Jesus is what is being proclaimed, and John is the one proclaiming it.  John is preaching repentance, which is the beginning of the comfort that God wants to give.  “But change is hard!  Change isn’t comfortable!”  Change can be difficult.  We’re seeing that as we slowly get used to our new translations, saying “And with your spirit” instead of “And also with you.”  But what is most comfortable is the truth.  The truth is precisely what gives comfort.  It may not always seem like it does, but if Jesus is the Truth, as he says (I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life), then when we receive the truth, we receive Jesus, who is the shepherd, drawing us close to his bosom, and leading us with care, from lies to truth, from darkness to light, from slavery to sin to freedom in God’s commandments. 

            It is true, sometimes the truth hurts, and we don’t usually associate that hurt with comfort.  But that painful truth is like knowing the reality that our infected wound has to be drained.  It is going to be painful at first, probably very painful, but it will actually be comforting to know that the infection is being treated, and the wound will heal properly. 

            So when John is preaching repentance, turning away from sins and being faithful to God, he is bringing the comfort of God.  Because it is only when we recognize that we need to turn back to the Lord, when we recognize the truth, that we can actually start going in the right direction with the help of God, rather than wandering off by ourselves away from the kingdom God has prepared for us, where the fullness of comfort is present. 

            We all need that message that John the Baptist preaches.  We need to hear, time and time again, “Repent!  For the Kingdom of God is at hand!”  We need the truth.  Otherwise we get stuck with the mentality: my sins aren’t that bad!  It’s not like I murdered someone!  It was just a little gossip; I just cheated a little bit; it’s just a little pornography every now and then; I’ll give back the money I took at my next paycheck.  If our mentality, no matter what sins we struggle with, is, “I’m really ok; I’m not that bad,” then we will not receive the comfort that God wants to give us, the comfort of living how God has created us: for Him in love, and with Him eternally in heaven.  If we do not repent, through the sacrament of Reconciliation, then God won’t be able to say to us, “your service is at an end, your guilt is expiated,” because we will have closed ourselves off to the mercy and love that God wants to communicate to us.  Next Sunday, on 11 December, we’ll once again host a Communal Celebration of the Sacrament of Reconciliation with Individual Confessions, with priests from around the Eastern part of Lansing offering you the sacramental grace and peace that comes from hearing the words and knowing the reality: your sins are forgiven; go in peace.  That’s the comfort the Lord wants to give you.  That’s the tenderness that waits for our response.  How will you answer?  Where will you find comfort?