We Can't Fix It Ourselves

Third Sunday after Epiphany
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Perhaps it’s just a guy thing, but I guess that at least the men here, and possible the women here, have had a time in their lives when someone said that they had a problem that needed to be fixed.  It could be a big problem or a small problem, but somehow something is not working.  And while the person may have worked on the issue for a while, the new person says, “Lemme take a look at it,” and goes to whatever is malfunctioning.  Maybe the person looks at it, maybe taps a few buttons, or maybe even tries some real troubleshooting.  Not always, but at least sometimes, the second person looking at it is just as lost as the first, and says something like, “Yeah, I can’t really figure out why it’s not working.” 

    Our Lord in the Gospel today first heals a leper by touching Him.  This would have shocked people, since leprosy was so contagious, and lepers had to stay away from the public.  But Christ “fixes” him by healing the disease.  And then the centurion comes with another person to heal, and the Lord is about to go over to help that one.  But then a funny thing happens: the centurion says that physical presence is not necessary; a simple word will suffice.  The Lord, unlike us with our limitations, “fixes” the servant from afar; no tapping, kicking, or troubleshooting involved.  He wills it and it is done.
    Our world is, in many cases, broken.  But we can’t fix it.  No matter how many times we take a look at it, or how many times we tap here, kick there, re-read the manual, and press buttons, the healing of the world cannot be accomplished by human effort alone.  It needs Christ.  But how many times are we like the proverbial man, wanting our chance to take a look at it and fix the broken appliance? 
    Instead, the Lord invites us to have the faith of the centurion, and to trust that He can fix it, even without taking a second look, because He is the manufacturer, and knows exactly what is needed.  We are often closet-Pelagians: we figure if we simply do the right things, teach the right things, fast on the right days, then we will be saints.  We leave no room for God to fix us, and then wonder why we keep ending up broken.  We lack faith in God’s ability to heal and save.  And when we lack that faith, then like in Capernaum where people didn’t have faith in their local friend, Jesus, He’s not able to do many miracles. 
    How many times do we think that if we just did something ourselves, or if something within human control changed, then the world would be better?  We can go from the macro to the micro scale: if we had a different president; if we had different politicians; if we had a different pope; if we had a different bishop; if we had a different pastor; if we had a different spouse; if we had better-behaved kids.  All these different scenarios are where we are the agents of change and healing.  The Church survived and survives persecutions and bad governments; the Church survived bad popes, bishops, and priests; family holiness comes with the family we have, not the mythical family where everything seems perfect.  And all that is possible, not because the people were so great, but because God is, and the people relied on God for fixing the world.
    This is not to say, of course, that we shouldn’t do our best to elect politicians who promote what we know are universal goods; that we shouldn’t expect our pontiff to speak clearly and charitably about the unchanging truths of the faith; that bishops and priests shouldn’t be models of holiness and sound preaching; that families shouldn’t do all they can to respond to God’s grace and live in harmony and charity with each other.  Of course all those things are good.  But there has never been a time when everything was perfect in the Church, not even when our Lord walked the earth.  And the biggest changes came simply from individuals deciding to open themselves up to God’s grace and respond by doing their best to follow God’s will rather than their own.
    This also impacts what happens when others harm us.  St. Paul reminds us not to take revenge into our own hands, but to do good to those who wrong us.  Revenge belongs to God, because God is the only one who can effectively change the world for the better at its root.  When we decide to be agents of vengeance, we do not mete out perfect justice, but add at least a little bit of injustice to the equation, to try to convince the other not to wrong us again.  But that only leads to a vicious cycle where the other person, not truly aggrieved, takes revenge on us, giving us a little more than what justice demands, etc., etc.  Again, revenge is the Pelagian tendency in us that says that I have to be the one to fix the world, and hopefully God will bless my efforts.  Instead, St. Paul tells us to overcome evil with God, which will be its own revenge upon a person who does us wrong. 
    On this last Sunday before the -gesima Sundays, God invites us to have faith in Him and how He works, to trust in His timing and His ways over our own.  Yes, we should still cooperate with God’s grace, and achieve whatever good we can, but not as if we’re going to fix the world.  The good we do will be a response to God’s grace, which is the only thing that can fix the world.   Whenever we try to take God’s place, we do a very poor job of it.  Let God be God, who with the Son and the Holy Spirit live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.  

Revenge

Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  When I was (I think) in first grade, there were these fifth graders at my parochial school who liked to pick on me.  They weren’t horrible, but they would sometimes just grab on to my arms, which I didn’t like.  One time they were holding my arms on the playground, and I could feel the frustration welling up inside of me, wanting to break free of their grasp, but not having the physical strength to wrest myself away from them, so I did what I could: I bit one of their arms.  They let go, and I was free; at least until a teacher found out and I had to go to the principal’s office, and eventually write an apology letter to them.
    Revenge is a primal urge that we all can have.  We experience some sort of injustice, no matter how big or small, and we want to make it right on our own terms.  The sense that something is not right and should be addressed, which leads to the emotion we call anger, is a sign that we recognize good and evil.  If we didn’t want wrong things to be righted, that would not be a good sign of the state of our soul.
    The problem is that our view of what is truly just is not always accurate, since it is limited by our restricted view of reality (as compared to God’s omniscient view of reality), and our passions for justice often goes beyond what is truly just.  When we respond to someone who has done us wrong, we tend to give them a little more than they gave us, just to make sure that they know not to mess with us again.  It’s like kids in the back of a car, where one looks at the other in a funny way, so then the other pokes the first with a finger, and then the first hits the other with a hand, and it just keeps escalating (until mom or dad says, “If I have to pull this car over…” and metes out their best justice to get them both to stop). 
    Which is why St. Peter and our Lord both instruct us this weekend not to give into revenge.  St. Peter tells us not to render evil for evil, but a blessing instead.  And Christ tells us that the true life of God to which He calls us does not suffice not to kill someone, but to stop that anger in the heart, which is where all action begins.  Murder, which the commandment forbids, is the end result of seeking to administer justice on our own terms, which often, as I said, goes beyond true justice.

St. Paul the Apostle

    St. Paul, quoting Leviticus and Deuteronomy, reminds us that vengeance belongs to the Lord.  So our desire to exact punishment on those who have done us wrong is also a form of pride, a desire to supplant God and put ourselves in His place.  St. James takes up a similar theme in his epistle when he writes, “There is one…judge who is able to save or to destroy.  Who then are you to judge your neighbor?”  When we try to take revenge, we are trying to take the place of God, falling to the temptation that the enemy gave to Eve in the garden, when he enticed her to evil by suggesting that eating the fruit would make her like God.
    But if we truly wish to be like God, then we should seek to reconcile whenever possible.  Yes, God is the judge of the world, and He will judge justly.  But He is also merciful, because in Him justice and mercy have embraced.  He is patient with us sinners, giving us so many opportunities to turn away from our sins and repent, so that we can have union with Him.  That is why our Lord not only teaches us that we should seek to root out anger in our hearts so that we don’t turn to revenge, but also encourages us to make sure that we reconcile before we offer our sacrifice to God in the Mass.  How can we be in communion with others through Holy Communion if we are at the same time seeking their downfall? 
    Instead, God wants us to bear others faults patiently, as he bears ours.  This doesn’t mean that we can’t correct and call others to right behavior, but no matter what, not to carry a grudge if others have done us wrong and have not repented.  A great way to accomplish this is through the Sacrament of Penance, which we often call confession.  Through the sacrament, we are not only reconciled with God, but we are also reconciled with the the community, both of whom the priest represents.  We turn to our brother and ask his mercy for our offenses, and then God invites us to be merciful with others, just as He has been merciful with us.  And having been reconciled with God and with the community, our gift is then acceptable to God, because it is truly offered in communion with Him and with the rest of the Church. 
    A good examination of conscience today will ask ourselves: against whom do I seek revenge?  What harm have others done to me that I have not forgiven?  What anger do I bear in my heart towards my neighbor?  What might they bear against me?  If I truly wish to be like God, then I should offer opportunities to show mercy, just as we have been shown mercy by our Lord Jesus Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit is God for ever and ever.  Amen.