Don't Lift Your Arms, Lift Your Heart

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    Well, it’s August.  And you know what that means: school is just around the corner.  By this time, parents are probably looking forward to the start of school, and I’m reminded of that Target commercial, where the kids are standing in the school supplies aisle, looking dejected, while the parent goes up and down the aisle on his cart like a scooter, and the song, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” plays.  Hopefully, summer break was restful and relaxing, and it is a great time to get away, to experience “Pure Michigan,” and to put behind you the worries of work or school. 
    Vacation is the perfect time to set aside the daily grind.  This is especially true if you can set aside your smart phone, and truly disconnect from the hustle and bustle of the daily routine.  I know that can sometimes be difficult, but I know that when I really get a chance to unplug from work, it’s like a burden being lifted from my shoulder, so that I can come back with renewed energy to shepherd this parish.
    St. Paul tells us today to “seek what is above.”  He reiterates himself: “Think of what is above, not of what is on earth.”  So we know that he really means it.  He does not mean that we can ignore our daily responsibilities indefinitely.  But he does tell us to concentrate on heavenly things, the things that make us open to God’s grace, rather than the things of earth, by which he means the things that are sinful, like “immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and…greed.” 
    Jesus, too, reminds us to not obsess about earthly things, because they can disappear so quickly.  The man in the parable is not condemned for working hard and gaining riches, but for only making plans to make more riches and focusing on his wealth.  As Solomon said in the first reading, “Here is one who has labored with wisdom and knowledge and skill, and yet to another who has not labored over it, he must leave property.”  It’s not a problem if riches are not the focus of life; it’s just another reality of this passing world.  But if, instead, we have made money our main focus, our god, then the thought of losing it would be devastating.  But not as devastating as realizing at the end of our life that the things that last don’t really have to do with money, or any earthly things, but the things that are above.
    Lifting up our hearts is like our weekly vacation from the world, a weekly reminder to set our hearts on the things which are above.  It’s no accident that this invitation comes right before the Eucharistic Prayer, the holiest part of the Mass, where the bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Jesus.  Jesus Himself invites us to come to him, we who labor and are burdened, and have a rest.  That doesn’t mean you can fall asleep right now!  But it does mean that we can be at ease and not concern ourselves with work, with our daily anxieties, with our smart phones, but just be in the presence of God.
    Church buildings are meant to put our minds and hearts at rest, like we were in the Garden of Eden (before the Fall).  Church architecture is meant to put our mind at ease, because our minds understand that this type of building is different than a school, a gym, a bank, or a store.  The music is meant, not to get us riled up or excited, but to help us rest.  We train our readers so that they can read well and not make us wonder, “What was that he or she said?”  We train our servers to assist at the altar and not draw attention to themselves, but let our attention be put on the prayers that we say and hear, and the symbols that we see and hear (and sometimes smell).  The more a church looks like a church, the easier that is.  The more that we keep to what the Church has perfected over our two millennia in our sacred liturgy, the more the symbols and signs speak to us what they mean, rather than muddling the message with our own words and meanings. 
    If our hearts are focused on what is earthly, then rest, the rest that God wants us to have on His day, our Christian Sabbath, will not seem like rest.  It will seem odd, peculiar, and yes, boring.  But if we are practiced at setting our hearts on things that are above, then our earthly liturgy will prepare us for the heavenly liturgy, that rest that is our inheritance as children of God. 
    Especially in our days when life seems to be moving so quickly and our hearts and minds go from one concern to another, we need to reclaim the rest that we deserve, that God wants for us, each Sunday we come to Mass (and at daily Masses, too!).  Every time you hear, “Lift up your hearts,” don’t lift up your arms, but “seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God.”  In the words of the ancient hymn from the Divine Liturgy of St. James, “Let all mortal flesh keep silence, / And with fear and trembling stand; / Ponder nothing earthly minded, /  For with blessing in His hand. / Christ our God to earth descending, / Our full homage to demand.”
We’re reminded of this every time we come to Mass.  In the preface dialogue, I invite the people to “Lift up your hearts.”  I’m not inviting you to lift up your arms, which is very simple, but misses the point of that invitation.  The invitation is not to lift up our arms, but to lift up our hearts.  That’s much harder, but it’s much more powerful. 

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!

Lift Up Your Hearts

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            “Lift up your hearts.”  “We lift them up to the Lord.”  Do we?  We say or chant this response at least every Sunday when we gather for the celebration of Mass.  But maybe it’s become so common that we don’t even think about what we’re saying or chanting.

            This response should remind us of what we heard in the second reading today from St. Paul: “If you were raised with Christ, seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God.  Think of what is above, not of what is on earth.”  It’s so easy to get caught up in everything that is going on around us.  But, as Christians, our first priority is to be on God.  That is why the priest, in the name of Christ, reminds us right before the highest point of the Mass, to set our hearts, that is, all of what we love, on Godly things, on the mysteries of the death and resurrection into which we are about to enter.  In our English translation we follow the Latin, Sursum corda, “Lift up your hearts.”  In our second reading we heard the word “think,” but even that word in Greek, froneite, can also mean feel.  This is because the heart has always been seen as the decision maker.  And while we pride ourselves on being reasonable, how many times have we done stupid, reckless, or illogical things because we have loved something or someone?  Our heart, the part of us that makes decisions, should be drawn upwards toward the Lord.

            Because heaven is what is most real.  This is part of the Christian paradox.  Just as the poor are blessed, the lowly are raised up, the last are first, the greatest is the servant, so what is most real is life in Christ, especially in its perfection in heaven, whereas the earth that we inhabit now is passing away.  What should concern us most are not the things that we can sense, however good they may be, but the things that only our souls can begin to grasp onto because they are immaterial.  That is why we are reminded to lift up our hearts, to set our heart and soul and mind and strength on God, rather than on the vanities of the world.

            Because, as our first reading and Gospel state, setting our hearts on the things of this world leads to vanity and misfortune.  “Here is one who has labored with wisdom and knowledge and skill, and yet to another who has not labored over it, he must leave property.”  The man who is so rich in the things of earth that he has to build another barn, dies before he can store away his excess goods, and realizes that, because his heart was on being rich, he is actually poor in what matters to God.

            Now, as we set our hearts on the things of God, does that mean we neglect our earthly obligations to family, work, church, and the poor?  Certainly not.  When we make God our top priority, when we set our heart on Him, we realize that He lets the sun shine on the good and the bad, and allows the rain to fall on the just and the unjust.  If God is so abundant in his love, how can we, then, not take care of our family members, our employer or employee and co-workers, our fellow members of the body of Christ, and those for whom God Himself says He has a special love: the poor?  Setting our hearts on God means that we place God first, not that we neglect everything else.  In fact, because God has made us stewards of creation, neglect of our responsibilities to other persons and the world is precisely not putting God first.  We cannot make God just another part of our earthly concern, nor can we make the earth another god.  We set our hearts on God, and so take care of each other to the best of our ability. 

            Because, even as we set our hearts on God, we also learn to what extent we can assist others.  St. Paul writes about this in his second letter to the Corinthians:

…not that others should have relief while you are burdened, but that as a matter of equality your surplus at the present time should supply their needs, so that their surplus may also supply your needs, that there may be equality.  As it is written: “Whoever had much did not have more, and whoever had little did not have less.”

Money is not bad.  Jesus never condemns wealth in itself.  But when our hearts are not set on God, then greed takes over, and the riches become a god, rather than being an opportunity to be an icon of the generosity of God. 

In many ways we are a generous parish, on both sides of Burcham, and hopefully our Mission Appeal speaker will see that.  We have been very blessed.  Do we only use our income when we experience some benefit, whether it is getting back some service, or even just feeling good?  Or are we generous even when we get nothing in return?  “Seek first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given you besides.”