Waiting

First Sunday of Advent

    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.].  Advent, I would argue, is a time that is particularly good for our current culture.  I say that, because Advent is a time of waiting.  And we are, as a culture, really bad at waiting.  We are bad at waiting because, more often than not, we don’t have to wait for anything.  If I want to know something, I do a Google search or ask Siri, and almost instantaneously get a response.  If I want food, I pre-order it on my app so that it’s waiting for me when I arrive.  I spend the money for Amazon prime so that I can get almost anything I want within two days of ordering it.  If I need to send a message I can get it to the person immediately by email or texting.  We really don’t wait for that much in life anymore.
    There are obvious exceptions.  We generally still wait for weddings (though even those are happening much more quickly these days, as people, sadly, decide not to get married in the church).  We wait for babies to be born (though as a man, I’m not sure I can truly appreciate the desire of a woman, especially in the last weeks of her term, for the baby to exit the womb).  Those two precious events necessitate waiting, but the wait is worth it, as the joy of celebrating is even greater after the weeks and months of desiring that momentous event.
    Advent’s wait is primarily twofold: the remembrance of the waiting of the Chosen People for their long-awaited Messiah, and our waiting for that same Messiah, Jesus Christ, to return to us in glory.  The waiting of the Chosen People began before they were even a people.  Adam and Eve, after their fall, heard God’s promise of a redeemer, as God told the snake who had led to the Fall: “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; He will strike at your head while you strike at his heel.”  Even then, at the beginning of creation, God promised a redeemer, the offspring of Eve, who would strike at the head of the serpent.
    Fast-forward some centuries to Abraham, our father in faith.  Scripture scholars estimate that Abraham lived sometime between 2100 and 2000 BC.  When God called Abraham out of Ur of the Chaldeans, God promised that Abraham would become a great nation, and a source of blessing for “all the communities of the earth.”  Of course, that happened through our Savior, the son of Abraham, but it took some over two thousand years for that promise to come true. 

From atop Mt. Nebo, where Moses recounted the Exodus for the Chosen People

    Fast-forward to around the 1400s BC to Moses, reminding the Israelites of all that had happened to them since they left Egypt.  Moses prophesied, “‘A prophet like me will the Lord, your God, raise up for you among your own kinsmen; to him you shall listen.’”  The Gospel according to St. John makes clear that some believed our Lord to be “the prophet,” the fulfillment of Moses’ prophecy.  But they had to wait almost a millennium and a half.
    Fast-forward to around the year 1000 BC and King David, resting from all his enemies, desiring to build a temple for the Ark of the Covenant.  God promises David, as the prophet Nathan tells him, “‘I will raise up your heir after you, sprung from your loins, and I will make his kingdom firm.’”  Christ is the Son of David.  As our Lord entered Jerusalem for His Passion, the people chanted, “‘Hosanna to the Son of David; blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”  And Christ even asks the Pharisees, “‘Whose son is [the Messiah]?’  They replied, ‘David’s.’” 
    Fast-forward to 445 BC, and the composition of the Book of the Prophet Malachi, the last prophet in what we call the Old Testament.  Through Malachi, God promises to send a messenger to prepare the way, and to send Elijah before the day of the Lord, and even that “there will come to the temple the Lord whom you seek.”  But even this was 445 years before our Lord was even born!  If you put the average age of a person at 45, that’s nine generations between Malachi and the Nativity.  Or, to put it another way, if you were around at the time of the first Christmas, the prophecies of Malachi were at the time of your great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather.  That’s a lot of waiting!!  And you thought waiting for Michigan to beat Ohio State in Columbus was long!!
    And we have been waiting almost 2,000 years for Christ to return in glory.  God continues to speak to us through His Church, and we hear about, and maybe even experience, miracles by which God reinforces His presence and love for us.  But we can become complacent, and think and act like Christ will not return.  He, Himself, tells us in the Gospel according to St. Matthew, that it will be like in the days of Noah, where Noah had prepared the ark according to God’s command.  Sill, there was some waiting before the rain fell, and people probably thought Noah was nuts.  But once the rain came, they had wished they had prepared. 
    Christ also tells us, in the Gospel according to St. Luke, that when we see the signs, we should be ready for the His return.  Those signs have been with us each century, which is Christ’s way of telling us to always be ready, because He could return at any time.  Our wait could be over in a heartbeat.  Have we given up on waiting because it’s been so long?  Or are we ready each day for Christ to return in glory? 
    It can be difficult to wait so long.  It can be difficult to live as we are supposed to when we don’t get what we want immediately.  The works of darkness can seem so tempting when we think we have time.  Instead, God calls us to put on the armor of light, to put on the Lord Jesus Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.  

Examining Our Year with the Fruits of the Spirit

 Last Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  As we come to this last Sunday of the liturgical year, the last Sunday after Pentecost, it’s a great chance to take stock of the previous year.  Like many of us do daily examinations of conscience at the end of the day, this “evening” of the liturgical year affords us the opportunity to see how we grew in grace.
    We ask ourselves, did we allow ourselves to be filled with the knowledge of God’s will?  Did we please the Lord, and bear fruit in our spiritual lives?  Did we endure, were we patient?  Did we rejoice in the Lord and give thanks to the Father?  Was the trajectory of our lives showing more and more that Christ delivered us from the power of darkness and transferred us into His kingdom?  Did we forgive, as God had forgiven us?

    St. Paul mentions bearing fruit.  In another epistle, the Apostle lists the fruits of the Spirit that we should bear: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  Those are great points of meditation for us as we examine the past year.  Am I more loving now than when I started Advent last year?  Do I show the joy of being a believer in the Lord?  Or, to use a phrase, if you’re happy and you know it, tell your face.  In my interactions with others, does my love manifest itself by waiting for others and putting up with their own shortcomings, just as God puts up with mine?  Do I seek Christ in others, and therefore treat others the same way I would treat Christ?  Do I seek the good, and not run to what is bad and troubling?  In my relationship with God and others, am I loyal, someone others can count on?  Or do I only turn to God when I need something, and not stay with Him when times are good?  When I correct others, do I act out of anger and vengeance, or do I see, the other’s conversion?  Do I give in to every passion that comes my way, or can I restrict the desires of my body and soul to make sure that they are in accord with God’s will.  This is what God asks of us as we, day by day, get closer to the end of time.
    We can spend a lot of time fretting about the end of the world.  Indeed, our Lord tells us that there will be many confusing reports, with false messiahs and false prophets arising.  But if we are persevering in following God, then the end is not scary, but rather the culmination of our response to God’s grace.  Notice, though, that I did not say, “if we are perfect in following God.”  I’m a perfectionist, and so I strive to do everything right.  But I don’t.  And I need to worry less when I mess-up, and just make sure that I learn from my bad choices, and seek to do better.  As long as I continue to strive to do God’s will, even when I miss the mark (which is what the Greek word 𝛼𝜇𝛼𝜌𝜏𝜄𝛼, which is the word for sin, literally means), as long as I keep striving to hit the bullseye, then God will have His victory.
    Another temptation, as we look back on this past year and examine how we responded to God’s grace, is to presume that, going forward, we simply need to try harder.  We certainly do always need to seek to be more open to God’s grace.  But the work is not, primarily, ours.  The work is primarily that of God.  Even in the epistle, St. Paul prays that we may “be filled.”  This is an example, in grammar, of what we called the Divine passive, which means that God is doing the act, even if not explicitly named.  Yes, we need to cooperate, but any good thing that we can do depends on God’s grace.  So it’s not simply that we do x or y, but that we, each day, open ourselves up to God’s grace more and more, and respond to that grace.  That’s how we make sure that we belong to Christ’s kingdom, through “whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins,” and who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, God for ever and ever.  Amen.

"But for Wales?"

Thirty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Fr. Mychal Judge

    For what would you give up your life?  Probably when we think about giving up our life, we think of our soldiers who have sacrificed their lives serving our country.  Or maybe we think about our first responders, especially firefighters who rushed into burning buildings, never to run out, or our law enforcement officers who rush towards danger when everyone else is running away, who were killed by gun shots, stabbings, or even by being hit by a car that wasn’t paying attention.  One of my heroes is Fr. Mychal Judge, who, as a New York City Fire Department chaplain, ran into one of the towers on 9/11 to try to rescue any survivors and show them the way to safety.  There is an iconic photo of first responders carrying out his lifeless body on a stretcher, an image of what laying down one’s life for the good of another looks like.
    So as we heard the first reading, we may have wondered what the big deal was.  These seven brothers and their mother refused to eat pork, because the Law of Moses, received from God, didn’t allow the eating of any cloven-footed animal that did not eat cud.  We might think that death is a bit extreme option, rather than eating a BLT. 
    Thinking about the cost we are willing to pay for what matters reminds me of a scene from “A Man For All Seasons,” about St. Thomas More.  Richard Rich, a former friend of Sir Thomas, perjured himself in order to obtain the office of attorney general of Wales.  St. Thomas, on finding the reason why his so-called friend should lie in court, said, “Why Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world.  But for Wales?”  In other words, was the perjury worth the promotion?

St. Thomas More

    Many tend to view life from a utilitarian point of view.  I would dare say that at least some of us here have utilitarian morals: as long as it turns out ok, then it’s ok to do.  In other words, the ends justify the means.  If I can do some greater good, even if I have to do something evil, then it’s ok.  But those are not Catholic, nor even Christian morals.  The ends never justify the means.  Even the pagans knew that.  One cannot achieve good by doing evil, as they run in opposite directions. 
    Early Christians had to deal with this dilemma, too.  As the persecutions continued against the new, Christian religion, more and more friends and family became known as followers of Christ.  So those who were responsible for their punishment, their own kith and kin, would sometimes seek to ease the requirements in order to avoid punishment, and, in most cases, death.  Instead of worshiping a false idol, or worshiping the emperor, some Christians were given the option to simply sign a document saying that they worshiped the emperor.  It was just a small lie, one that would save their lives.  Surely the good that could be done by the Christians in the future would be outweighed by their single act of infidelity to God.  Christ is merciful; just turn to Him for forgiveness afterwards. 
    There’s a word for those who did sign: apostates.  In other words, those who abandoned God.  At the end of the day, the pork wasn’t the big deal.  But what was a big deal was disobeying what you knew to be something that God had communicated.  The food wasn’t as weighty as the rejection of God’s ways, signified by the kosher laws.  The holy mother and sons in Maccabees were models because, rather than disobey God and reject His ways, they chose earthly death.  But, they also had hope that, while others could harm the body, God would reward their faithfulness, not only with the soul, but in the resurrection on the last day. 
    There’s another story from the Old Testament, this one long before the Maccabees, about King Saul and the prophet Samuel.  God had told Saul to place all Amalekite people and property under the ban; they were to be destroyed because of how they had previously oppressed God’s Chosen People.  But King Saul decided to keep some sheep and oxen, and spare the life of the king.  Samuel found this out, and confronted Saul.  Saul replied, “‘I did indeed obey the Lord and fulfill the mission…. I have brought back Agag, the king of Amelek, and…I have destroyed the Amalekites.  But from the spoil the army took sheep and oxen, the best of what had been banned, to sacrifice to the Lord your God.’”  It seems like Saul was doing something good.  He saved the best sheep and oxen so that they could be sacrificed to the true God.  But Samuel responded, “‘Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices as much as in obedience to the Lord’s command?  Obedience is better than sacrifice.’”  And, because of Saul’s disobedience, he loses the kingdom, which will eventually be transferred to David, son of Jesse.
    Our view ought to be a heavenly one, not an earthly one.  What is best is not necessarily what helps us in this life, but what helps us in the life to come.  It is so easy to get caught up like the Sadducees, and see things from our limited vantage.  Instead, God sees all from an eternal vantage, and encourages us to trust Him, even when our minds can create some reason why going our own way appears better.
    I have not often taken the view that we, as Catholics, will have to undergo another persecution in our country.  I’m not quick to talk about the possibility that fidelity to God will cause us suffering.  But the more our State and country move away from God, the more likely we will have to choose between comfort in this world, and comfort in the next.  Already many Catholics have abandoned the position that all life is sacred, including the infant in the womb.  They have chosen their own logic, and why abortion is fine in some, if not all, circumstances.  Those who oppose are called backwards, anti-woman, anti-science, and misogynist.  If Proposal 3 passes, there will be no safeguards for conscience protection against abortion in our State.  Nurses and doctors may be required, in some circumstances, to perform or assist with an abortion, or lose the job.  What will be more important? 
    And what will be more important for you?  Staying faithful to the Catholic faith, to what God has revealed to us for our happiness?  Or abandoning the faith that Christ taught for social status, economic advancement, or even simply family harmony?  What is more important for you?  Status?  Money? Family?  Or God and heaven?  “Why Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world.  But for Wales?”
 

Already and Not Yet

Feast of Christ the King
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  As we celebrate Christ the King, we celebrate what is, but also long for what is to come.  We see this even in our Lord’s description of His kingdom.  In the Gospel according to St. Mark, in the very first chapter, Christ says, “‘This is the time of fulfillment.  The kingdom of God is at hand.”  In the Gospel according to St. Luke, in chapter 21, the same Christ says, “‘behold, the kingdom of God is among you.’”  And yet, as we heard today, Christ also says in the Gospel according to St. John, “‘My kingdom does not belong to this world.  If my kingdom did belong to this world, my attendants [would] be fighting to keep me from being handed over….  But as it is, my kingdom is not here.’”  So, which is it?  Is the kingdom at hand and even among us, or is it not here?

    Yes.  Yes it is at hand; yes it is among us; yes it is not here.  As with so many aspects of our faith, we need to unpack the idea of Christ’s kingdom.  The Incarnation is the presence of the Kingdom of God, where all is right.  Christ holds all things together in himself, and in Christ we have the perfect union of God and man, which is part of the kingdom.  In Christ, the human soul is subject to the will of God perfectly, and the body is subject to the human soul.  In Christ, love and truth have met, justice and peace have kissed (to cite Psalm 84).  
    But, and you don’t have to look hard to realize this next point, we’re not living in the fullness of the kingdom.  Our bodies do not always obey our souls, which do not always obey the will of God.  Love is distorted to mean delight or even license; justice is often available to the highest bidder and is applied differently if you have money and/or power than if you don’t; civil unrest, battles, and wars still plague our cities, State, nation, and world.  Sorry, Belinda Carlisle, but heaven is not a place on earth.      And yet, as followers of Christ live the Gospel, heaven does break into earth more and more, and the kingdom establishes itself more perfectly.  When we love to the best of our ability with the love of God, the kingdom grows.  When we proclaim the truth of the Gospel, the truth that the Church continues to unpack throughout the centuries, the kingdom grows.  When we not only give each other his or her due, but also help others to thrive, the kingdom grows.  When we are able to pray for our enemies and do good to those who persecute us, the kingdom grows.  This is not to say that we are the ones who bring about the kingdom; that work is always primarily the work of God, with which we participate.  The approach that we have to usher in the kingdom tends to go wrong pretty quickly, due to our own sinfulness.  Just look at the approach taken in Central America which sought to bring about the kingdom, but which ended up being Marxist regimes that oppressed the people and led to class warfare and societal instability.
    It is Christ who brings about His own kingdom, and He will fully establish His reign at the end of time, when His angels will separate the sheep from the goats, the wheat from the chaff, and will cast down the beast and its followers for eternity in Hell.  That will be a dies irae for those who work against God, and the battle will be swift and decisively victorious for Christ.
    It will be decisive because Christ already decisively conquered on a tree.  His sacrifice, re-presented for us in an unbloody manner on this altar, was the defining battle of all time, when Satan was conquered once-for-all, and sin and death were trod underfoot.  So Christ already achieved victory, but that victory has not been extended in totality yet.  And that is why we wait.
    And as we wait, we show if we want to be victorious in Christ, or conquered with the ancient foe.  We demonstrate whether we prefer to serve in heaven or reign in hell.  Our actions are our response to the invitation of eternal salvation in the kingdom of God.  Are we going to the wedding feast of the kingdom, or do we find excuses why we cannot attend?
    If we wish that kingdom to spread, if we wish to cooperate in spreading that kingdom, then it begins here.  If Christ is the kingdom of God in its fullness, then when we receive Holy Communion worthily, the kingdom of God is among us and even within us.  Coming to Mass, offering ourselves with the host and the wine, and then receiving in a state of grace the Eucharist allows the kingdom of God to be planted inside of us at least each week, or even every day.  The more that we receive the Eucharist in a state of grace, the more likely it is that we will respond to spreading that kingdom in our lives at work, at home, on vacation, at sporting events, etc.  
    That kingdom also spreads most easily through the domestic church, the family.  When parents demonstrate love, the children learn to do the same.  When children and parents tell the truth, God’s kingdom is strengthened among them.  When parents make sure that every member of the family has the ability, not only to survive but to thrive, the justice of the Kingdom of God grows.  When children learn how to say “I’m sorry” when they have done wrong, and when children see their parents apologize for their sins in confession and in the home, Christ’s kingship is established more and more.  And then those children are more likely to do the same in the homes and families that they make for themselves.  And the kingdom spreads even more.  
    If you wish to help the kingdom God, then love, not only your neighbors, but also your enemies.  If you wish to help the kingdom of God, tell the truth, be honest in contracts.  If you wish to help the kingdom of God, stand up for what is right, no matter how unpopular it may be, correct with charity, when appropriate, and administer discipline as your state calls you.  If you wish to help the kingdom of God, admit when you’re wrong, and forgive when others have wronged you.  It will help show the “already” of the kingdom, and will allow us to persevere in the “not yet,” until Christ reigns fully, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, for ever and ever.  Amen. 

The Domestic Church

Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time
    One of the great blessings in my life as a priest, when I have the opportunity, is to visit people’s homes for dinner and/or house blessings.  It’s good to see families in their home environment, even with all the messes and drama that can happen from time to time.  As the ritual for a house blessing states, the blessing is a sign that the family is welcoming Christ into their home.

Zacchaeus' sycamore tree in Jericho

    In some ways, this practice of inviting the priest into the home stems from the Gospel we heard today, when Jesus invited Himself to visit the home of Zacchaeus.  Zacchaeus, for his part, was very happy to oblige, and “received [Jesus] with joy.”  We don’t know what was on the menu for the meal Zacchaeus prepared, but we do know that some became very upset, because Zacchaeus collected taxes for the Romans, and that job often included taking more than even what the Romans asked for, to line a tax collector’s pockets.  Still, Jesus says that He came to the house of Zacchaeus because He came to seek out and save those who were lost.
    How do we welcome Jesus into our homes?  Do we welcome Jesus into our homes?  A phrase that has been used, especially since the Second Vatican Council, but which dates to the early church, is the domestic Church.  No, this is not the calm, passive, housebroken Church (as in a domesticated animal).  The term domestic comes from the Latin domus, meaning house.  But the phrase domestic Church does not refer to having Sunday Masses in the home, either.  The domestic Church is the family, “as centers of living, radiant faith”, as the Catechism of the Catholic Church says.  The Catechism continues:
 

It is here [in the family, the domestic Church] that the father of the family, the mother, children, and all members of the family exercise the priesthood of the baptized in a privileged way “by…prayer and thanksgiving, the witness of a holy life, and self-denial and active charity.”  Thus the home is the first school of Christian life and a “school for human enrichment.”  Here one learns endurance and the joy of work, fraternal love, generous-even repeated-forgiveness, and above all divine worship in prayer and the offering of one’s life.

Families are not something added on to the faith; they are part and parcel of the faith, and the way that the faith is passed on and learned, in all its facets.
    This presumes that the exercise of the faith is not something that happens only on Sunday.  If the only time that we have contact with God is at Mass, even though the Eucharist is the source and summit of the Christian life, then we are starving ourselves of the life-giving sustenance of our relationship with God.  Our faith is not meant to be observed only in these four walls on Sundays and holydays.  Our faith is meant to permeate our entire life, especially what happens in our homes with our families.
    Part of the symptom that people do not live their faith out at home is the desire to force all sorts of devotions into the Mass.  The Catholic Mass has a particular set of structures, music, gestures, which are noble, yet simple.  The more emotional, dramatic aspects of our faith are good, but are meant to be lived out more during the week outside of Mass, especially in the home.  Praying the Rosary, Praise and Worship music, clapping hands, spreading hands, lectures on this or that aspect of the faith can all be good things, but do not belong in the Mass.  People are hungry for the devotional life, because it is important to our life in Christ.  But the devotional life is not meant to be forced into the Mass. If people more fully lived out the faith at home, they wouldn’t feel the need for those devotional aspects during Sunday Mass.
    So what does living as a domestic Church look like?  What are things that every family should do?  The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops lists a number of things that families could and should do to more fully exemplify their role as the domestic Church.  I’ll list a few.  
 

-Read Scripture daily as a family, pray together, not just before meals, but in the morning or evening, in a time that works best for your family.  Don’t only use formal prayers (which are good), but also heartfelt, unstructured prayers, too.
-Pray a family Rosary, or even simply a decade.
-Have a crucifix in a prominent place in the home, and in each room.
-Utilize an Advent wreath or a poor box for Lent.
-Visit different churches and shrines as a family.
-Show love for each other, and connect that love to the love that God has for us.
-Talk about how God is helping you in good times and bad.
-Make Mass a priority each Sunday and holyday, as well as going to confession regularly.
-Install a holy water stoop inside a door so that people can bless themselves on entering or exiting the home and as a reminder of baptism.
-Show the importance of donating time, talent, and treasure to the Church by what you say and do.

Those are just ten ways; there are many more that you could invent or find.  But the important thing is that, whether you are single person, a family of two, or a family of ten, that Jesus is welcome in your house, and that Jesus’ presence in your house is evident.

    Too often we constrict our relationship with Christ only to going to Mass on Sundays and holydays.  We enter God’s house, the church, but we fail to invite Him back to our house, the domestic church.  Be like Zacchaeus today and everyday: welcome Christ to your house with joy.

Measuring Faith and Virtue

 Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  At the house of former parishioners in East Lansing who have become like an extended family to me, there are marks at one of the closet doors with names and dates.  Maybe your family has a similar tradition, where the grandchildren’s heights are measured from time to time, and noted on the frame of a door.  It’s been fun to see the grandkids come back and see their heights at different stages of their life.
    Of course, as a kid, you’re always making sure you’re standing up nice and strait, trying to get every extra centimeter that you can.  And, if you measure yourself too closely in time, you’re not going to see much, if any difference in your height. It may appear that you’re not growing at all!
    In our Gospel today we hear about a man who didn’t have to see to believe.  He first approaches the Lord for the healing of his son, and our Lord somewhat rebuffs his request: unless you see signs, you will not believe.  Already, the Savior is noting that the people won’t believe unless He does something spectacular.  Still, the man has faith, and begs our Lord to do something, otherwise his son will die.  Christ assures him that his son will live, though the man cannot see the proof of his faith until he returns home, and his son is fine.  In fact, the son is healed at the moment that our Lord had said to the man that his son would be healed.  That sign (the term the Evangelist John uses for miracles) then leads others to believe.
    Still, think about the man walking back to his home.  We don’t know how far it was, but the walk must have taken at least a day, as the man inquires when the healing happened, and at which hour it took place.  The answer was that it took place a day earlier.  From what we can tell in the Gospel, the man never doubted that what our Lord said would happen would, in fact, happen.  Walking home, perhaps we would wonder if our faith would really be rewarded, if this Jesus was truly able to do something, especially so far away.  Would we doubt?  Would we lower our expectations so that we wouldn’t be disappointed?  None of these things the man seems to do.
    When it comes to our faith and our trust in the Lord, are we like the man who has faith?  Or are we like the crowds that need to see signs before we believe?  Do we have confidence when God says something will happen, even if we do not immediately see the results?  
    In some ways, we can be like kids who want to measure faith every day like we measure our height.  And, like our height, we may not see very noticeable results.  We pray for trust in God, we pray to be open to His will, but each day we don’t seem to make much progress.  Or maybe it’s working on a particular virtue, or eliminating a particular vice.  We ask God to strengthen us to choose the good, or support us in times of temptation so that we don’t fall, but we see no real movement.  Are we willing to be patient, not only with God, but also with ourselves, in growth in holiness?
    I do not consider myself a millennial; nor do I see myself as part of generation X.  I’m the micro-, in-between generation that some call xenials (with an x).  I know life before everyone had a cell-phone; I’m comfortable with cassette tapes and VHS.  We couldn’t simply pause TV if we had to go the bathroom; you had to rush to the bathroom and hope you finished your business by the time the commercials were ending.  But I have, like many millennials and later generations, gotten used to getting what I want immediately, thanks to the Internet and having a phone with me almost all the time.  And so patience is not always my strong suit.  I do work at patience, and I ask God to help me, but day-by-day, I didn’t seem to make any progress.  
    One day, a few years ago, I flew to Australia, to visit a priest friend of mine in Sydney.  My flight left in early November.  The day my flight left was the day in 2019 when we got pounded with 8 or so inches of snow.  I arrived at Bishop airport in Flint, and my flight was delayed.  I waited all day in the airport, only to find out that the flight was cancelled, and I would lose a day of my vacation, as United tried to rebook a whole plane of customers who had to go to Chicago, and then continue their travels.  Normally I would have been upset and frustrated.  I would not have normally been calm and collected when talking to the gate agents.  But, for whatever reason, I was patient.  And that virtue that I had been working on, I noticed that I was better, after all those years of praying for more patience.  God had answered my prayers, but I had to trust in His timing, and the work that had to be done in my soul before I would be open to that virtue.  
    Can we trust God, even when we don’t see miracles, even when we don’t see the work that He is doing?  God’s work is so often invisible, and so our cooperation in that work is also an act of faith.  We do have to go out on a limb to have confidence that God will change us, He will perfect us, as and if we allow Him to do so.  We may not see much progress day-by-day, but after a year or more, I’m willing to bet that we will notice that we are different, that we have grown in virtue.  Be like the man in today’s Gospel: no matter how long the walk takes to see the fruit of your faith, do not doubt God, but have confidence that, if we but trust in God to transform our lives, He will not disappoint us.  He will, in fact, outdo our expectations: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Magic Eye

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    When I was in grade school, one of the more popular items at our annual Book Fair were books that were called Magic Eyes.  On each page there was a picture, but if you stared at it a certain way, a different, 3-D image would seem to pop off the page.  As I say it, it doesn’t really sound that interesting, especially with the fact that you can now have virtual reality goggles.  But in elementary school in the early ‘90s, it was pretty cool.
    What God sees and what we see can be as different as the Magic Eye books.  Our view is often limited to the externals: how someone combs his hair; what kind of clothes she wears; skin and facial features; etc.  But what God sees goes much deeper than that.
    As Jesus told the parable about the Pharisee and the tax-collector (sometimes called the Publican), He is not only talking about how to pray (the publican) and how not to pray (the Pharisee), but He’s also making a point that had been made several times before in Scripture, that appearances can deceive.  The Pharisee seems to have it all together: he doesn’t commit major sins, he gives to the temple and synagogue, and he doesn’t cooperate with the pagan Romans.  The Publican, on the other hand, seems very downcast, and won’t even raise his eyes to heaven.  He simply, quietly, asks God for mercy from the back row.  And yet, it is the Publican who is justified (put into right relationship with God), not the Pharisee.
    This point had been made in the first book of Samuel, as the prophet Samuel seeks a new king of Israel to replace Saul, who had disobeyed God.  Samuel goes to the house of Jesse, and sees some studly looking men.  And yet, God does not choose any of them.  Instead, God chooses David, the youngest, not as much to behold, who is out tending the sheep, to be the new king of Israel.  Or, think back to to Book of Job.  Job does everything right, so much so, that God brags about Job.  But then Satan asks to take away Job’s prosperity, and then even his health, because Satan is convinced that Job will walk away from God if his good fortune were taken away.  God allows Satan, in the story, to do anything, other than kill Job, which Satan does.  Job loses everything, and his luck is so bad, his own wife says, “Curse God and die” (what a lovely woman!).  Job’s friends come, and try to convince him that he must have done something wrong, so he should repent, and then God will give Job good stuff and health again.  But Job maintains his innocence, all-the-while still trusting God.  In both those stories, and many more, physical strength and material blessings do not mean that God loves you more, nor does lack of goods mean that God hates you. 
    In fact, as we heard from the Book of Sirach, God “hears the cry of the oppressed…is not deaf to the wail of the orphan, nor to the widow.”  Those people seemed like God wasn’t on their side.  If you’re oppressed, you don’t have control of your own freedom.  If you are an orphan, you have no parents to take care of you, and there was no welfare state or foster homes to make sure you were taken care of properly.  If you were a widow, your husband, who made money to feed you, was dead, and you had to rely on the generosity of your children and other family.  In other words, these were all people who had very little, if anything.  And yet, God hears their cries. 
    Even St. Paul is an example of how what looks like failure can actually be success in the eyes of God.  St. Paul did found many churches, groups of believers in Jesus, but none of them were particularly large communities, and they almost always seemed to have problems.  St. Paul writes this second epistle to St. Timothy from house arrest, and is about to die for preaching the Gospel.  He references in another letter how many of his co-workers abandoned him.  And yet, he is sure that “the crown of righteousness awaits” him, because he has, “competed well;…finished the race;…kept the faith.” 
    So how do we measure success?  When do we think God favors us?  Is it when things go well?  Or is it when we have struggles?  In truth, God can favor us in either set of circumstances.  We may have come to church this morning and are on cloud nine because we just received a promotion, or our grandkids just made honor roll.  Or we may be struggling in marriage, doing everything we can to pay the bills and buy food with a meager salary.  God loves us either way.  He hears our prayers when we come to Him in humility, recognizing that whatever we have is from Him: a gift of good things; or the allowance of suffering to strengthen us and bring us closer to Him.
    How, too, do we view others?  Do we see the externals and presume that the person who appears to do well is blessed by God?  Do we presume that the dirty, homeless person must have done something wrong, and we should avoid him or her?  Or do we look deeper, trying to see Christ in every person, regardless of affluence or poverty?
    [Eric, you have chosen a beautiful time to join the Catholic Church.  Unlike decades past, we have lost a lot of clout politically.  Unlike before, what we hold as truths to be revealed by God regarding the dignity of the human person, from natural birth through natural death; the importance of work and using God’s gifts and talents for the building up of society; the definition of marriage given to us by God; that our bodies are good and tell us something factual about ourselves, which cannot be changed by desire or surgery; that the family is the building block of society and should not be infringed by the government; these things are now no longer popular or widely held.  People are leaving the Catholic Church in droves.  This is a beautiful time because God often works best when things seem to be stacked against us.  And you are choosing to witness to what God has revealed through his one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. 
    It will call for great determination to live out that faith.  It may even lead to suffering.  But again, what the world sees as failure–sticking to God when the rest of the world seems to be abandoning Him for more palatable beliefs–is often success, and what the world sees as success is often failure.  And your one voice today, professing your faith with us, will be joined the myriad voices throughout the millennia who have professed that same faith, unbroken and untarnished, though many have sought to destroy it and change it throughout its history. 
    Do not be afraid to live as a Catholic, in all that the word Catholic entails.  Do not be afraid of seeming to be a failure to others by professing an ancient faith that critiques so much of what modern man seems to hold dear.  You may not do it perfectly, none of us do, but if you persevere in doing what you can to follow Christ, no matter how your life looks from the outside, you will merit to hear the words we all hope to hear one day: “Well done, good and faithful servant.  Come, share your Master’s joy.”  

Loving Father and Mother

 Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

My sisters and I on a family vacation

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  My sister, Amanda, was married six months before I was ordained a deacon, so I cantored for her Mass.  My sister, Allison, was married after I was a priest, so I was able to celebrate that wedding Mass.  In both cases, I was blissfully unaware of all that goes in to planning a wedding reception.  But at some point after they were both married, the topic came up, and I learned about the cost and stress that accompany planning a wedding reception, and trying to see how many people will come.  They both mentioned how difficult it can be when a person RSVPed that they would attend (and so food had to be ordered for them), but then didn’t show up to the actual reception.  Perhaps that’s why the king in today’s parable from the Gospel was so upset, though I doubt my sisters were at the point of sending an army and destroying those who were AWOL.
    But the king was certainly mad, not only at those who abused his servants who announced the impending nuptials and killed the messengers, but even at those who would not come to the wedding, due to farming or business.  Was it simply because the king wanted his son’s wedding to be filled with guests?  Or was the king worried about all the food that had been ordered that no one would eat?
    Our Lord uses this image of a wedding, and God often uses the image of a husband and wife throughout the Scriptures to talk about His relationship with us.  So this parable is not simply about a party from two people getting “hitched.”  God is talking about the marriage that is taking place between God and us, His Bride, the Church.  In Christ, divinity and humanity are wed in an unbreakable bond.  Christ takes to Himself His Bride, the Church, and they become one flesh.  Those who are invited to the wedding are both guest and bride.  And God wants all His children, all those whom He created in His image and likeness, to be in attendance.  Nothing is more important, nothing more pressing.  And for those who seek to keep the bride away, a harsh punishment awaits.
    St. Augustine wrote a homily for the thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost which dealt with this idea of marriage between God and His Church.  He writes:
 

Let us love the Lord our God.  Let us love His Church: Him as our Father, her as our Mother; Him as our Lord, her has His handmaid; for we are the children of His Handmaid.  And this marriage is joined together by a great love: let no one offend one partner, and seek to gain the favour [sic] of the other.

The love that we have for Christ extends to His Bride, the Church.  If we truly desire to love one, we must love the other.  We cannot hate our Father and at the same time love our Holy Mother Church.  Nor can we hate our Holy Mother Church and then claim to love the Father.  
    We probably don’t think of ourselves of hating one or the other.  But what do our actions say?  St. Augustine continues, “Let no one say: ‘I do go to idols; I also consult those who have familiar spirits, and the fortune tellers.  All the same, I have not left the Church of God.  I am still a Catholic.’  While clinging to your Mother, you have offended your Father.”  The particular sins in the time of St. Augustine may not be our particular sins, but he could ask today: do we make more time for sports than for God?  Do we read our horoscopes?  Do I put more trust in my own planning and will than the will and providence of God?  Those are probably more current ways that we may offend our Father.
    St. Augustine then looks at whether we can love our Father and yet hate our Mother.  He writes:
 

Again another will say: ‘Far be it from me to do such things.  I have nothing to do with soothsayers.  I do not go looking for someone possessed by a spirit, nor seek advice through sacrilegious divinations; nor do I go to the worship of demons.  And neither do I serve idols.  But I am however a Donatist.’  What does it avail you not to offend your Father, since He will punish your offenses against your Mother?  What does it profit you to praise the Lord, to honour [sic] Him, to preach Him, believe in His Son and confess that He sits at the right hand of God the Father; while at the same time you blaspheme His Church?  Does the example of human marriage not move you to correct your error?

How easy it can be to say that we love God, and then not respect or not follow the Church and those whom God has put over us to govern us in the Church!  The Doctor of Grace continues, “If you have some patron, to whom you pay respects each day, whose doorstep you wear out with your attentions…supposing you were to make just one accusation against his wife, would you enter his house again?”  If someone came up to you with the kindest of words, showering love and giving you gifts, and then proceeded told you that your wife is a wicked woman, and that you married down, would you ever see that person again?  We cannot simply say we love God without loving the Church which is His Bride and our Mother.
    Certainly this is a difficult time of the Church.  It is difficult when the liturgy which we, and I include myself in that we, love and which helps us grow in holiness and adoration of our Father, has been restricted by Pope Francis (though in our own diocese, Bishop Boyea has been very gracious in basically letting us continue as we did before).  Every time Pope Francis gets on a plane, I get nervous about what he might say, and how I will need to explain it.  Certainly, select bishops (the bishops of Belgium, the homeland of my maternal grandmother, comes to mind) are tearing themselves away from the Church as did the Donatists.  
    But will we stay faithful to the one Church of Christ, which subsists in the Catholic Church?  Instead of saying vile things about this bishop, or the pope, can we simply say, “I don’t understand” or “It saddens me that…” and, “I pray that God will resolve this issue”?  I am trying to move more and more to this approach, not always successfully, but I believe it is helping me grow in holiness.  And it pains me to see the calumnies and/or detractions hurled at others.  If others be wrong, then do not join in their error.  But do not add sin to sin by speaking uncharitably about another, be he prelate, priest, or layperson.  
    “Hold fast…Dearly Beloved” St. Augustine continues, “let all of you with one mind hold fast to God our Father, and to the Church our Mother.”  The Church has not erred on faith nor morals, as promised by Christ to St. Peter, our first pope.  Stay with our Holy Mother, the Church, no matter how the waves break against her hull, and stay with our Triune God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

As We Forgive Those Who Trespass Against Us

 Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  When we think about participating in the divine, what occasions first come to mind?  I know for me, the sacraments are the most obvious answer.  The mysteries of our Lord’s life, Pope St. Leo the Great says, have passed into the sacraments.  Specifically, I think about the Mass, the joining of heaven and earth that takes place here in our church.  Not only do we hear God’s Divine Word, proclaimed for us in the Scriptures, we also receive God into us through the Most Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist, which is the very Flesh and Blood of Christ.  The Eucharist best exemplifies the way in which we can become like God, as St. Augustine reminds us that the intent of the Eucharist is to make us more like the one whom we receive.
    But another way to participate in the divine is through the act of forgiveness.  We heard this very familiar story about the paralytic being brought to our Lord.  He forgives the man’s sins, at which the Pharisees become indignant because only God can forgive sins.  But, to demonstrate His authority to forgive sins, Christ then heals the paralytic as well.
    The Pharisees were not mistaken in their estimation that only God can forgive sins.  In fact, our Lord demonstrated His divinity to them by this miracle.  So any time you hear someone say that Jesus never asserted He was God, point them to Matthew, chapter 9.  There are other times that our Lord reveals His divinity also, but this is certainly one of those times.
    So, if only God can forgive sins, then how can we say, “sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris”; “as we forgive those who trespass against us”?  How can we forgive if forgiveness belongs to God?
    As a good Thomist, we can consider forgiveness in two ways.  The first way, which is reserved to God alone, is the remission of sins.  When God deals with sin, He eliminates it, wipes it away, and makes it so it ceases to exist.  Only the consequences of that sin remain (and even those can be dealt with through pious acts).  When we examine who forgives our sins in the Sacrament of Penance, it is God.  Yes, God uses the ministry of the priest to convey that forgiveness, but it is God who forgives, which is why the priest is bound to secrecy (we call it the seal of confession).  Those sins have been absolved by Christ through the ministry of the priest, but their use belongs only to Christ, not even to the minister, who then does not divulge or act on those sins in the future.  It is the sacrifice of Christ which washed away the sins of the world, the sacrifice of the unblemished Lamb of God.  We cannot add to that, but we can participate in it.
    But, as with so many aspects of life, God allows us to participate in His work.  We see this in the garden of Eden, as God calls Adam and Eve, not only to continue to care for the garden of Eden, but to create with Him and order with Him, and even to create new life (procreation).  God, further, calls humans to speak for Him when He calls prophets to proclaim His Word, both of comfort and of conversion.  We see that especially with Moses, Samuel, and the prophets that follow them.  God also allows men to exercise governance over His people, as seen through Kings David and Solomon, and the kings of their line.  God shepherds His people through kings who cooperate with His will.  
    But God also allows us to participate in His forgiveness.  He gives us the gift of saying “I forgive you” to a person, and not having it be empty words, detached from reality.  When we forgive someone, something in that person changes, and something in us changes.  We participate in the mercy of God.  It may not eliminate that sin (because a person has offended not only us, but also God), but it does eliminate the attachment of that sin that exists between the two  or more people.  God’s mercy flows through us, and the burden of sin can be lifted from hearts.
    To be Catholic is to be a person of forgiveness, because Christ tells us that the measure we measure out to others, will in turn be measured out to us.  He calls those who show mercy blessed because they will be shown mercy.  And He condemns the servant who was forgiven a great debt, but who could not forgive others their smaller debts.  We are merciful because God was first merciful with us, just as we love God because He first loved us.

    And He showed that love for us by sending His Son to die on the cross so that we could be forgiven.  God’s forgiveness wasn’t an ethereal reality.  God demonstrated His forgiveness by the spit that was hurled upon the face of Christ; by the skin viciously torn out from his back and side at the scourging; by the bruises and scrapes and split skin that came from falling under the weight of the cross as He carried it to Golgotha; by the holes in His hands and feet from the nails that pierced them; by the gall put to His lips; by the thorns pressed into His Sacred Head; by the gash in His side to prove He was dead, whence came Blood and Water that are the streams of Divine Mercy.  God forgave through the crucifixion.  Though He doesn’t ask us to be nailed to the cross in the same way, He does ask us to forgive in the same way.
    And the easiest way to forgive others is to first recognize that we need to be forgiven, not only directly by God, but also by our neighbor.  I wish that I could tell you that I’m a perfect priest, that I always make good decisions, that all my words are the words that our Blessed Savior would speak.  But that would be a lie.  I myself am beset by weakness, and sometimes I act out of my pride; or choose a hurtful word when a loving one works much better; or I choose the easier path instead of the virtuous one; and so many other ways that I fall short of the image of the Good Shepherd, to whom I am configured by sacred orders.  I am a sinner; sometimes it is hard to admit that I am wrong and have followed the wrong path.  And so I ask your forgiveness, as your brother and your father.  For any ways I have hurt you, or not demonstrated the love of Christ the Good Shepherd, I seek your mercy.  And perhaps, to those in your life who have hurt you, you can also show mercy.  
    One of my favorite quotes from saints is from St. Maximus of Turin, who preached, “Sinner he may indeed be, but he must not despair of pardon on this day which is so highly privileged; for if a thief could receive the grace of paradise, how could a Christian be refused forgiveness?”  If our Lord could shower His mercy on St. Dismas, the good thief, in the moments before He died, how could he not have mercy on us whenever we come to Him as He reigns in glory?  And, having received that mercy, our Lord also instructs us: “Go, and do likewise” to the praise and glory of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Healing and Thanksgiving

 Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    While it’s not November yet, based upon our first reading and Gospel, it could be fitting to set the roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing (or dressing; however you call it), cranberry sauce, and corn out on the table, because the evident theme to these readings is thanksgiving.  Naaman gives thanks to God for his healing, and the Samaritan leper gives thanks to Christ for his healing.  So thanksgiving is certainly part of the readings and part of the message that God is communicating through His Word.
    But besides thanksgiving, there is another theme that is prevalent in both the first reading and the Gospel: healing.  Healing is what led to giving thanks to God in both readings that I mentioned.  Naaman had leprosy, and so did, obviously the ten lepers.  What else is common?  In both cases, the healing comes from God through a very ordinary means.  Naaman is told to wash in the Jordan River; the ten lepers are told to go show themselves to the priests (which is how the community could be sure, according to the law of Moses, that the leprosy had been healed).  There was no special drink or salve.  They didn’t have to find some rare flower with healing properties, or do extraordinary feats of strength to be healed: they were all healed in ordinary ways.
    We say “thank you” when someone has done something for us or given us something.  This very Mass is an act of thanksgiving, united to the thanksgiving sacrifice of Christ on the cross.  And this Mass not only thanks God, but also has the opportunity to heal us in very ordinary ways.
    But do we seek God’s healing?  If a doctor were to give us a prescription that alleviated our suffering or took care of our symptoms, we would say thank you, since we no longer have to go through pain or illness.  God offers us, not only healing of body (which still sometimes miraculously happens), but especially healing of soul: healing of the wounds that afflict us from injuries we have taken from family and/or friends over the years.

    We are now engaged in a spiritual battle to protect all life, including that in the womb.  Bishop Boyea has asked us to pray a daily Rosary through election day for the defeat of Proposal 3.  We should vote no on Proposal 3, because it would make abortion on demand available, even up to right before the delivery; because it would allow the butchering of a baby inside the womb (what we antiseptically call “partial-birth abortion”); and because minors could obtain abortions without their parents knowledge, among other evils of the proposal.  
    But I have heard stories, and I’m sure they have happened, of people walking out of homilies, or walking out of talks that remind people how horrible abortion is.  Most of the accounts I have heard have the people walking out being women.  And as I thought about healing, I thought about the almost 630,000 women in the US who had abortion in 2019 (the latest US stats I could find).  
    I have no doubt that women who have had an abortion feel deep spiritual, emotional, and psychological pain.  I have no doubt that listening to someone speak about how wrong an abortion is can be a struggle, because that person is having to relive the pain and is being confronted with truth, a truth that no one can escape: that the direct, intentional killing of a human being, no matter how developed, is a grave sin.  That sin causes pain; it causes one to be wounded.  And sometimes it seems easier to ignore the pain, ignore the wound, than to get treatment for it.  
    The good news is that Jesus came to save, He did not come to condemn.  Yes, Jesus calls for conversion, for changing our lives so that we say no to evil and yes to good.  But if we have evil in our past (and everyone does), Christ can heal us of that evil, and the wounds that the evil caused.  We don’t have to carry those wounds with us any longer.  Healing is possible, the healing that leads to thanksgiving, just like it did in the first reading and Gospel.
    One woman was relating to me her story that she had procured an abortion.  She felt like she had no other choice, even though she knew, in her heart, that it was wrong.  But she went through with it because she felt trapped.  Eventually she had a conversion, and asked God’s forgiveness for what she had done.  That night, she had a dream of her unborn child, who was rejoicing in heaven, and the child told the mother that she forgave her.  That mother felt such relief; her wound was healed.  
    To any woman here who has had an abortion: God loves you and wants you to be whole and healed.  He doesn’t want you to carry around the burden of what you did.  God wants to set you free from that pain and guilt.  To any person here who knows someone who has gotten an abortion: remind them of God’s love for them, and that God doesn’t want them to be in pain, but to be healed and to be made whole by God’s forgiveness, available to us through the Sacrament of Penance.  Do not say it with judgment, but only with the love of Christ, who calls all sinners to Himself, no matter what the sin.  
    Healing leads to giving thanks to God.  Whatever your wounds, whatever your pain.  Bring it to God and let Him heal you.  Sometimes it happens in the most ordinary ways.