Faith or Money?

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            My dad’s trade is business.  As long as I have known him, my dad has been running the financial operations of a company: first Friedland Industries, a recycling/scrap processing company in Lansing, and now the operations manager for St. Jude parish in DeWitt.  And yet, I would also say that my dad, like so many parents, is also a de facto teacher.  He never went to school to get a teaching certificate, but he’s taught me a lot about what he knows, especially finances.  Whether it was not buying Gushers because they were too expensive and too extravagant, or cutting out coupons for our regular grocery needs; or when I was getting ready to leave for college and he was teaching me the importance of building credit, and how to apply for and properly use a credit card; or when he would make sure that I didn’t spend more than I have, my dad taught me how to use money well.  And it has paid off for me when I lease a car, or when I’m deciding how I want to invest my money to save up for retirement (if I’m ever allowed to retire).

            Whether we like business or not, most of us are very particular about how we spend our money, especially if we are adults.  And we try to teach the next generation the same lesson.  I even found myself this summer, after I returned from school, talking to a Lansing Catholic alumnus about the importance of a credit card, as long as it is used responsibly.  We tend to treat money as a precious commodity, because without it we don’t have a roof over our head, clothes on our back, and food in our bellies. 

            In our Gospel today, Jesus invites us to treat our life in God with the same cunning as we treat our money.  He commends the dishonest steward for making sure that he was taken care of, even after he found out that he was being fired for squandering the master’s property.  This parable comes right on the heels on the parables we heard last week, and they’re in the context of Jesus speaking to the Scribes and Pharisees who were upset with Jesus spending so much time with sinners and tax collectors.

            And Jesus tells the Scribes and Pharisees that the sinners and tax collectors are to be commended, not because of what they have done in the past, but because of how they are changing their life when confronted with their sins.  They are honest enough to realize that their life is not godly, and so they decide they better take faith and religion quite seriously.  Just as the master in the parable was impressed by the dishonest steward making sure he was taken care of after his employment had ended, so Jesus was impressed, not by the sins of those who were following him, but by how seriously they were taking Jesus’ call to conversion, to turn away from sin and be faithful to Him.

            Our culture does not deal with sin very seriously.  How many times have we seen on TV, whether from a politician, or a rock star, or an athlete, “I am sorry if…” or “I apologize if…”?  That is not the message of someone who realizes the severity of the offense.  That’s someone who is not really concerned and just wants to get away with whatever was done.  That’s not the message of repentance.  That’s the message of excuse.

            If we are to be commended, then we have to face our sin head on, and make changes.  We have to truly turn away from our sin and give it the gravity it deserves, especially those grave sins which destroy our relationship with God and make us His enemies, rather than His beloved sons and daughters.  A lot of times people face their sins near the time of death.  When faced with mortality, and recognizing that a judgment is coming, people get very practical about how to make sure they’re not going to suffer.  But, as Jesus said so often, “Stay awake!  For you do not know the day nor the hour.”  We don’t know when our time to be judged will come upon us.  And, to quote Francis Cardinal George, “Jesus is merciful, but he is not stupid.”  

When faced with our sin, and this doesn’t only happen on our deathbed, what is our response?  Are we like the sinners and tax collectors of the Gospel who leave behind their past evils in order to follow Jesus?  Do we do all we can to make sure we are spiritually taken care of, just as the dishonest steward did all he could to make sure he was materially taken care of, or do we figure we’ve got time to keep living it up, and we can always repent later?  Do we treat our spiritual life as seriously as we treat our financial life?

If we do, then God is not just a three-letter word.  Our faith is not restricted to these walls.  It is something that changes the decisions we make.  It guides the way we vote.  It guides what we watch in the theater, on TV, and what we listen to.  It changes the way that we spend our time so that we are giving of our time and talents so that they’re not just used for our work to earn us money, but are used for the benefit of our Catholic family to show our acceptance of God’s grace and love.  It even changes the way we handle our finances: which charities we give to; how much we spend on niceties; how much we give to the Church.  We realize that, just because we don’t personally benefit from the Undergraduate Retreat, Alternative Spring Break, our Catholic schools, Senior Ministry; Youth Ministry; etc., does not mean that we do not volunteer our time or the things we do well, and even our money to these worthy causes. 

Jesus today confronts us with our sins, not to beat us up, but to give us the opportunity to make the changes so that we are taken care of spiritually in the life to come.  Make the change so that you will not be left outside of the gate, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth, but will be welcomed to the wedding feast of the Lamb in the banquet hall of heaven.

The Old Rugged Cross

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

            Sometimes, in writing a homily, an idea just pops into your head by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and He makes a theme known.  As I read over the readings for today on this past Monday, in preparation for writing the homily, there were so many things that I could preach on: from the first reading I saw the theme of the wisdom of God as opposed to the wisdom of the world; from the second reading I saw the theme of the fraternity of Christianity which excludes no one, not even, from St. Paul’s times, slaves who were considered property; from the Gospel I saw them theme of the cost of discipleship and whether one is strong enough to follow Jesus.  So I was wondering in which direction the Holy Spirit wanted me to go.

Then, on Wednesday, as I was driving in my car, I was listening to my iTunes, and I just felt drawn to listen to songs from an album called “How Great Thou Art: Gospel Favorites Live from the Grand Ole Opry.”  And I was driving a song came on which focused my attention for this week.  And that song was “The Old Rugged Cross.”  To me it became clear that the Holy Spirit wanted me to preach about the cross.

We don’t often think of the cross as beautiful.  It was the worst punishment that the Romans had devised to torture prisoners and foreigners.  It was so harsh that it was only applied to those who were not citizens of Rome.  And yet, Jesus says today, “‘Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.’”  Whoever does not carry his own ignominious symbol of defeat, cannot be a follower of Jesus.  That’s not the sort of thing you do to gain a large following.  No one wants to daydream about hanging, naked as the day you were born, in front of soldiers who are jeering at you, while your arms and legs are attached to the cross by nails.  No one wants to aim for being suspended on a rough piece of wood, the weight of your own body causing your lungs to slowly fill with fluid until you can no longer even breath.  And yet, as Christians, that is what we are called to do.

In the song, “The Old Rugged Cross,” the second half of the refrain goes, “I will cling to the old rugged cross and exchange it someday for a crown.”  It so easy to try to forget the cross part, and go straight for the crown.  Who doesn’t want to share in glory?!?  Who doesn’t want the reward?!?  And yet, the only way to do that is through the old, rugged cross.  St. Rose of Lima, the first canonized saint of the Americas, whose memorial we celebrated on 23 August adeptly related an experience of the Lord, who said to her, “‘Let all men know that grace comes after tribulation.  Let them know that without the burden of afflictions it is impossible to reach the height of grace…This is the only true stairway to paradise, and without the cross they can find no road to climb to heaven.’”  If we wish to go to heaven, then we must not only know the cross, but embrace and cling to it.  It may seem harsh, but it was the only way that our Master showed us, who only gained the resurrection after his crucifixion.

It’s also very easy to give the cross lip service.  We’ve become so used to it that we think we can utter beautiful platitudes about carrying our cross.  But when the cross comes into our lives, do we cling to it, embrace it?  Some crosses are big.  I think of the families in our parish who have miscarried, or who have lost a child shortly after birth.  What a cross.  Those families have certainly experienced the dying of Jesus in their lives, and, as much as they have united it to Jesus, will also experience the resurrection of Jesus.  Some crosses are small.  I think of those who talk about co-workers who get on their nerves; family members who always seem to be in trouble or looking for help; drivers who cut you off; the plans that fell through; the professor with whom you don’t see eye to eye; and the list goes on.  Those are also crosses, and more often than not I don’t think we embrace them.  We tend not to thank God for annoying co-workers, bad drivers, ruined plans.  And yet, that is the cross the Lord is presenting to us to carry.  That is what we should embrace.  St. Thérèse of Lisieux is a perfect example of this.  There were a few sisters in her convent who annoyed her to no end (I’m sure Sr. Dorothy and Sr. Liz have never experienced this): one with the sounds she made during prayer; another with her attitude.  What did she do?  She willed to love them and smile to them.  There was food that was prepared that she could not stand, but she smiled every time it was placed in front of her, because she saw in it the cross that the Lord had given her.  And, she smiled so much at that cross, that while she was dying with Tuberculosis, the sisters made some especially for her, thinking that it was her favorite!

To embrace the cross seems foolish.  St. Paul himself says, “but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are called, Jews and Greeks alike, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.  For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom.”  Isn’t that what our first reading is all about: the wisdom of God? God gave us His counsel, His wisdom, in Jesus, who teaches us to take up our cross and follow Him, so that we who share in Jesus’ suffering and death might also share in His resurrection.  May our words and our very lives be the second half of that refrain from “The Old Rugged Cross”: “I will cling to the old rugged cross, and exchange it someday for a crown.”

"Father, Mass is boring..."

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

            There are few things more disappointing to a priest than the words, “Father, I think Mass is boring.  I prefer going to my friend’s church because it’s more exciting and they have better music.”  These words generally come out of the mouths of teens, because they generally speak their mind, whether you like it or not.  But, if I had to guess, I would say that many adults feel this way too, they just have become familiar enough with the rules of decorum not to say it, at least, not to the priest’s face.

            Saying that Mass is boring betrays that one does not know what’s really going on at Mass.  Many of us come because we have always come.  Many come because we don’t want to commit a mortal sin of missing Mass on a Sunday or Holyday.  If you’re a minor, you may come simply because it’s one of the expectations for those who are provided with free room and board by mom and dad.  But do we know what we are doing when we come here?  Do we know the privilege we have?

            In our second reading from the Letter to the Hebrews, the author tells us that we

have approached Mount Zion and the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and countless angels in festal gathering, and the assembly of the firstborn enrolled in heaven, and God the judge of all, and the spirits of the just made perfect, and Jesus, the mediator of the new covenant, and the sprinkled blood which speaks more eloquently than that of Abel.

He is talking about the worship of the Church, and contrasting it with the ways the Israelites worshipped at Mount Sinai, when God revealed Himself, and it was so terrible (causing terror)—with a mountain that could not be touched, blazing fire, gloomy darkness, storm, trumpet blast, and a voice speaking from the clouds—that they begged the Lord not to reveal Himself to them in such a way, but to speak through Moses from that point on.

            As we gather here, in this Church, to celebrate Mass, we are being drawn up to heaven.  The stained glass, the high ceilings, the occasional incense, the candles, the bells, the gold, the special vestments, the occasional sprinkling rite—all of this is meant to tell our senses that we have left earth and have entered into a new reality.  We, at this Mass, have entered into the halfway point between   With angels bowing down in worship, with the saints, our Catholic brothers and sisters who have shown us in countless ways what it means to be a faithful disciple of Jesus, we hear God’s Word proclaimed to us, the Word that brings life, the Word that saves us from sin, the Word that tells us how to live so as to not stay in the halfway point, but to truly enter in to what was promised to us in Baptism: the Kingdom of Heaven.  We are able to see the miraculous, as Bread and Wine become, not as a corporate game of imagination, but in reality, the Body and Blood, soul and divinity of Jesus Christ.  What the angels do not even dare to gaze upon, we hold in our hands or receive on our tongues and Christ becomes one with us.  Our God so loves us that He will not remain separate but pierces the veil between heaven and earth and draws us up to Himself so that we can have communion—union with—Him.  And because of that, our music is different, our words are different.  This is no common place, this is not just another building.  This is sacred space, dedicated to God, and where we are drawn up in anticipation of what heaven will be like, when we are all worshipping God in love before the throne and the Lamb, as the Book of Revelation tells us.

earth and heaven.

            And how do I know that at least some do not understand?  I can tell because, if this Sunday is like other Sundays, or weddings, or funerals, some here are probably chewing gum as I speak.  Some here probably brought in coffee to the Church, or have not observed the fast for one hour before the reception of Holy Communion.  Some here were probably reading the bulletin during the proclamation of the Word of God.  And because some here in coming weeks will just drop the kids off for religious ed and your children will only rejoin you more than halfway through Mass, and they will never fulfill their Sunday obligation.  And that’s just those who are here.  There are so many, including even parents who sacrifice to send their children to our parish school, who won’t even come on Sundays.  This betrays the fact that there is ignorance about what’s going on.  “Father, you don’t know me.  You don’t know my circumstances.  You can’t judge me!”  I certainly cannot judge your soul; that is only for God to do.  I cannot judge your culpability: perhaps you’ve never heard this before; perhaps you have forgotten; perhaps we priests have not done all we can to form you in understanding what the Mass is.  But I can call all of us together, as the Body of Christ, to feel shame for the fact that we have the most precious gift here, and at times we treat it like going to a movie theater, or a play, or a concert.  We treat it just like another weekly event on our calendar that we need to attend for whatever reason.

            Right now in Egypt there are families who are risking their lives, in no exaggeration of that phrase, to go to Mass, because it is likely that radicals could blow up or try to set fire to their church.  Right now in China there are groups of Catholics that gather in secret locations for Mass because if the government finds out that they are more faithful to the Pope than to the Communist government they could go to jail, be tortured, or just “disappear.”  Right now there are many places in the US that see a priest once every month, or even once every few months, and that is the only time they are able to receive Holy Communion.

Our first reading and our Gospel both remind us to be humble.  Let us be humble enough to recognize that we somtimes don’t understand what we are doing, or don’t show the proper appreciation for the great gift that we have in being able to gather each Sunday as the People of God and join in the worship of the angels and saints in heaven as we hear the Word of God and receive that same Word of God, Jesus, in the Eucharist.  And then let us work at being formed to be receptive to the Mass through the many great books that are out there on the Mass, through adult formation sessions, and more, rather than asking the Mass to be formed according to our desires.  Because, brothers and sisters, right now, at this moment, we are participating in the halfway point between heaven and earth.  We are worshipping God and the Lamb, as angels bow down in adoration around this altar as Christ is made present.  We are surrounded by the saints who are filling this room to capacity, joining with us in our worship of God.  We are preparing to receive “Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and the sprinkled blood that speaks more eloquently than that of Abel.”

"We need to talk..."

Twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

           

There are certain phrases in life that you never want to hear from a person.  If you are a student you never want to have the teacher tell you, “See me after class.”  If you’re dating someone, you never want to hear, “We need to talk.”  If you’re meeting with your doctor, you never want to hear, “We found something that we didn’t expect.”  All those things generally mean that there is some bad news coming, whether it’s a poor grade on a test, a break-up, or an illness or disease that was just discovered.

            At the end of our life, standing before the judgment seat of God, we don’t want to hear, “‘I do not know where you are from,’” coming from the mouth of Jesus.  That means that what comes next is not good news, and we should be prepared for the afterlife elevator to go down, rather than up.  So it makes sense that the person might say, as Jesus has them saying in today’s Gospel, “‘We ate and drank in your company and you taught in our streets.’”  But then they hear something even worse: “‘I do not know where you are from.  Depart from me, all you evildoers!’”  These probably sound like pretty harsh words from the Divine Person who is supposed to be a loving Shepherd.

            But both last week and this week the Church presents for us what can seem like the harsher side of Jesus.  Last week Jesus was saying how following Him will split apart families.  This week, He’s talking about eternal salvation and how many will be saved.  When we hear passages like the one we heard today, perhaps we try to theologize it away, by highlighting other passages from Scripture which talk about how God desires the salvation of all.  And certainly we take those very seriously and must read today’s passage in light of those.  But more often than not, we don’t read this passage in light of those other Scripture passages, we just ignore today’s and pretend that the one’s about God’s desire for all to be saved are the only passages that are important.  But we do so at our own peril.

            Because while God does desire all to be saved, God also tells us with great sobriety that “‘many…will attempt to enter [through the narrow gate] but will not be strong enough.’”  Enjoying eternal bliss is not the automatic destination, even one of one who is baptized.  It’s the destination God programmed into us, but sin so often takes us off course.  Just because we’re baptized doesn’t mean that we’re going to heaven.  Salvation is not a gift that is offered once for all and accepted or rejected in one moment, but is a gift that is offered to us each day that we have to receive each day in order for it to become our eternal reality.  Just because I lived a holy life yesterday, does not mean that I will today.  In fact, I could be particularly evil today, which could undermine all the good I did yesterday. 

            If you think about it in an academic metaphor, we don’t start class off with a 4.0, and then only lose it if we don’t turn stuff in, or answer questions correctly.  Rather, God offers us opportunities to respond to the love He first showed us, homework assignments and quizzes and tests, and if we do well, we can get that 4.0.  Or, if you prefer, think about it in terms of lifting weights.  We don’t start off with buff little bodies.  We need to work out in order to keep a good, muscular physique.  When we don’t, our muscles get weak and they appear smaller.  I’m living proof of that.  If muscles just came, I’d be pretty buff.  But because I never lifted weights or did any kind of muscle conditioning, I have these little scrawny arms.  Now, good grades are not the most important things in life, nor are muscles.  But what is true with getting a 4.0 and getting big muscles is true about salvation: it doesn’t just happen without any work. 

            It is not enough to be around Jesus, as if salvation comes by way of osmosis.  We might as well sleep with textbooks beneath our pillow in the hopes of learning the material.  The people in Jesus’ words today were around Jesus.  They ate and drank with Him and He taught them in their cities.  And yet Jesus says He does not know them.  It is not enough simply that we are baptized.  Each day we are called to respond to God’s love that He give us first, and the opportunities that He sends our way to share that love with others.  Each day we are called to offer to God the sacrifice of our lives as we seek to do His will in all things.  We discipline ourselves to choose God not ourselves; to choose love, not hate; to choose generosity, not selfishness; to choose truth, not lies.  Baptism is not a Get Out of Hell Free card.  It is, rather, a catalyst that can be used to propel us towards heaven.  Or it can just sit on a shelf and collect dust. 

            The work of the New Evangelization is to reenergize our own faith, and to bring others back into the practice of the faith in which they were baptized, to work out those spiritual muscles.  And our impetus in doing so is because we want them to go to heaven, just as much as we want to go to heaven.  And we know for them, as for ourselves, that the gate to heaven is not wide, but narrow, and the way to heaven is not the easiest path, but often is the hardest, and that new life in God comes only through death to ourselves.  It means that we form our minds around what God has revealed to us, rather than doing our own thing.  It means we go to Mass every Sunday and Holyday; we give of our time, talent, and treasure to the Church; that we talk about our faith in public and pass it on to our families and friends; that we live a life of chastity; that marriages for Catholics happen according to the laws of God and the Church; that we feed the hungry and give drink to the thirsty; that we do all this and more according to our abilities.  I pray that I, and all of us, and all those to whom we as a parish are called to evangelize, are not spiritually lazy, but do the hard work of responding to God’s love in everyday life, so that when we die, we will not hear, “I do not know where you are from.  Depart from me, evildoers!” but, “Come, my good and faithful servant; share your Master’s joy.”

Trying to See the Tracks

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

           

I remember when I was finally tall enough to ride Space Mountain at Disney World.  I was excited, because everyone kept talking about how much fun the ride was, but I was still nervous because it was my first real roller coaster.  And it was in the dark.  So, as I bravely sat in the little car, my only real concern was trying to see the track ahead of me, so I would know when there was a dip or a sharp turn. 

            “Faith,” says our first reading today, “is the … evidence of things not seen.”  Faith is precisely not being able to see the track ahead of you, no matter how hard you peer into the darkness.  Some people find this exhilarating.  Some people find it scarier than anything else in the world.  But growing in faith means that we are growing in our comfort in the dark: not that our eyes adjust, but that we are less concerned with seeing.

            Faith, then, is all about trust.  Even though the tracks are not seen, the faith-filled person does not worry about seeing because he or she trusts in the one who brought them there.  We can trust that beliefs are true, and that is one aspect of faith.  But even then, our faith that this teaching is true is based upon trust in the One who said it.  Our faith in what God has taught us, through His Word in Scriptures and His Word in the teachings of the Church is based upon the fact that we trust that God is trustworthy.  We only doubt one whom we feel cannot be trusted.

            When we doubt something the Church teaches as part of God’s plan for humanity, we fail to trust Jesus’ promise in Matthew 16 that the gates of the netherworld will not prevail against it, and that despite their own individual sinfulness, the apostles and successors can teach without error what must be authentically believed and how one should live.  Surrounded by the darkness, we choose to trust in ourselves rather than in Jesus and the one Church He founded.  We figure we can do it better our way.  Maybe we trust ourselves more about our responsibilities in the Church: to attend Mass each Sunday and Holyday; to support the parish with our time, talent, and treasure; to go to confession at least once a year when we’re aware of a mortal sin.  Maybe we trust ourselves and our own opinions when it comes to human sexuality, marriage, contraception.  Whatever the issue, the temptation is always there to respond to the darkness, not with faith, but with self-sufficiency and over-confidence in our own opinions rather than by what God has communicated through His Word.

But, faith is not just the evidence of things unseen.  It is also, “the realization of what is hoped for.”  Faith does involve darkness.  But it is also a light, hence the title of Pope Francis’ first Encyclical, Lumen fidei, the Light of Faith.  Faith allows us to realize, even now, what will only be fulfilled in the future.  Abraham had faith in God, he trusted God, that everything would be ok if he left the only land he knew, Ur of the Chaldeans, and went to Canaan.  He trusted that God would give him a son, and that, even though God asked him to sacrifice his own son, that God could raise up another son who would fulfill the promise that Abraham would have “descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky, and as countless as the sands on the seashore.”

The Jews, as we heard in our first reading, had faith that God, who had promised the land of Canaan to Abraham, would fulfill His word, and so even in slavery in Egypt, they foresaw the Passover, the saving of God’s Chosen People from oppression. 

We are called to be a people of faith, to trust in Jesus to light the right path before us through His Body, the Church.  We are called to be the faithful servants who have faith that the Master will return, and so are ready to open the door for Him when He knocks.  When we trust Jesus, we find that we who are His servants are served by Him, as He prepares a meal for us, the Eucharist, and waits on us so that we are spiritually nourished.  And when we have faith in the Eucharist, we see already in these sacramental signs of bread and wine, made into the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ, the eternal wedding feast of the Lamb in heaven.  We participate in a foretaste of it.  Faith in God allows us to see the good things that are in store for us if we are faithful servants, waiting for our Master’s return.  It enlightens us so that what we choose prepares us for the end God desires for us: heaven.  Faith enlightens our work, our recreation, the way we spend our time, the way we use our gift of sexuality, how we use our money, etc.  There is no aspect of our lives that faith does not alter if it’s being lived out. 

Faith is trust in the midst of darkness, the darkness that comes not because God is absent, but because He is so close that our eyes cannot take the brilliance.  Faith illumines every aspect of our lives to receive the good things God has promised to us, even if we do not possess them in their fullness yet.  In these last months of the Year of Faith, trust God: He will not disappoint.  Trust the Church He has founded to authentically communicate what we are to believe and how we are to live: it only leads to perfect happiness.  Do not be afraid!!  Have faith!!  

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.”

How to Pray

Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            Do we know how to pray?  Maybe that seems like an odd question as we are gathered here in the greatest prayer of the Church.  But I think it’s one we need to ask: do we know how to pray?

            Now, probably all of us know prayers.  Hopefully we can recite the trifecta of Catholic prayers—the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Glory Be—from memory.  But the question was not if we know prayers, but if we know how to pray.  Simply knowing how to recite prayers is not the same as knowing how to pray. 

            Jesus in our Gospel teaches us how to pray.  Yes, He teaches us a prayer as well (we get St. Luke’s version of the Our Father today), but He also teaches us how to pray.  First and foremost, we are taught to pray to God our Father.  While God the Father is neither male nor female, and Jesus Himself, having male gender, even uses the image of a hen to describe His own care for Jerusalem, Father is not just an image of God, it is the way we are taught to address God, the Name we are to use in calling upon Him.  Whenever we pray, we should address our prayers to the Father, in the same way that Jesus always did.

            We also see that first we are to praise and thank God.  So often, and this is certainly true in my own life, we skip immediately to asking God for something.  But, if we are to follow Jesus’ model of prayer, then first we give God glory; not because it adds anything to Him by being praised, but because it is proper for the creature to praise and thank God for what has already been given.  Then, and only then, are we to ask God for what we need—daily needs, forgiveness, and the grace to persevere in living a Christian life. 

            This should be the format of our prayer: calling upon God as our Father, praising and thanking Him for his goodness, and then asking God for what we need.  We do the same thing in the Eucharistic Prayer, the high point of our prayer of the Mass: we call upon God, we praise and thank Him, and then we ask for what we need.

            Jesus also tells us to pray with confidence, because our loving Father will never deprive us of any good gift.  When we ask for what we need, we will receive it.  Of course, this has to be read in the light of the line from the Our Father: “thy will be done.”  Just because we think we need something, does not mean we truly do.  While some of us may think it at times, none of us is omniscient.  But God is, and so gives us exactly what we need to further our pilgrimage that hopefully ends in eternal salvation. 

            All too often, we approach prayer to God like making a list for Santa: Dear God, I’ve been very good this year (which may or may not be true), so please give me this, that, and the other thing.  But God is not Santa.  We cannot force His hand, nor do the answers to our prayers come because of any good thing we’ve done.  The answer comes not from our goodness, but from God’s.  And when we try to justify ourselves, to prove to God that we deserve something because we’ve been so good, we end up like the Pharisee in one of Jesus’ parables, who, when he prayed, extolled himself, while the Tax Collector, who stood at the back of the temple and beat his breast in sorrow for sins, and only asked God for mercy for his many sins.  Remember that Jesus said that the Tax Collector went home justified, while the Pharisee did not.

            Our Gospel, as well as our first reading, also reminds us to have confidence in prayer.  “‘Ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.’”  When we ask that God’s will be done, and when we are united to God by conforming our lives to that of Jesus, then what we ask the Father in the name of Jesus will be granted to us.  We see it in the first reading when Abraham pleads for Sodom and Gomorrah.  God truly would have spared those cities if there would have been 50, or 45, or 40, or 30, or 20, or even just 10 innocent people.  Abraham had confidence in his relationship with God, not viewing God as an equal, but knowing that he could make his desires known to God, and that God would listen.  God even saves Lot and his family from destruction, though he does destroy Sodom and Gomorrah for their sinfulness.

            I have seen the results of confidence in prayer in my own prayer life.  In the past year, I have had two experiences of prayers being heard.  Addressing God as Father, praising Him for his goodness and His love, I poured out my soul to God for a young man who had recently buried his father and then had been robbed.  I prayed that what had been stolen would be returned, since this young man had already lost so precious a gift as a loving father.  The stolen goods were returned the next day.  Calling upon God as Father, thanking Him for His generosity, I prayed for an MSU student who had been robbed of his moped.  I called upon God to be faithful, in the Name of Jesus, and through the intercession of St. Anthony, and have the moped returned, and it was on the next day.  Were either of the stolen items precious?  Not really.  Either could have been replaced.  But God, as a loving Father, looked with mercy upon me, and upon these two persons who had been robbed, and granted them back what they wanted.  For whatever reason, that was part of His will.  Maybe, the only reason was to allow me to tell this story to you, to inspire you in faith to have confidence when you pray. 

Will God always give us what we want?  As the Brad Paisley songs goes, “sometimes the answer is no.”  But prayer, true prayer, always brings us closer to God, and that is a gift that is more precious than all the gold in the world.  Whether we are praying using a prayer that we have memorized, or we our speaking with our own words, may our prayer always be like the prayer of Jesus, and so draw us closer to our heavenly Father.  

Putting Yourself in the Mass

Solemnity of Corpus Christi

            It was not uncommon, in medieval art, for the painter to put himself into his work of art.  From what I have heard, one of the faces on the back wall of the Sistine Chapel, in the great mural The Final Judgment is the face of Michelangelo.  Caravaggio put himself into most of his famous paintings.  And even if they don’t put their image into their paintings, a painter pours his or her heart and soul into creating a work of beauty, a work which shows forth the splendor of the truth.

            Today’s readings focus us in on offering what we have, of putting ourselves into what we are doing, no matter how little or how big.  The first reading from Genesis is the story where Melchizedek blesses bread and wine and offers them to God Most High, and then Abram offers him a tenth (or tithe) of everything.  The Letter to the Hebrews makes a big deal out of this event, because one greater blesses one who is lesser, and you only offer a tithe if there is a debt to be paid to another.  Now, Melchizedek must have been pretty important to make Abram, the Father of the Chosen People, the lesser of the two, and for Abram to offer Melchizedek a tithe.  The author of the Letter to the Hebrews focuses in on Melchizedek’s name, which means king of righteousness, and his country, King of Salem, from the root word, shalom, which makes him the King of Peace, and that, unlike almost everyone else in Scripture, there is no lineage.  Melchizedek just shows up without father or mother or ancestors.  For this reason, the Letter to the Hebrews states that Melchizedek was a foreshadowing of Christ, the true King of Righteousness and King of Peace, who is the co-eternal Son of the Father, without beginning.  When you throw in offering bread and wine, too, it is not hard to see why the author equated the two. 

            And in the Gospel, there are only five loaves and two fish to feed five thousand men, not to mention women and children.  But they are offered to Jesus who miraculously multiplies them so that it is enough, and not just enough, but enough to satisfy everyone. 

            And so we often talk about stewardship: sharing the time, talent, and treasure we have with the Church to continue the work of Christ.  Think of anything you like here at St. John or St. Thomas.  We can’t do it without people generously donating their time.  Think of anything you like here at St. John or St. Thomas.  We can’t do it without people coming together to use a diversity of gifts towards a common goal.  No one person has a monopoly on all the gifts necessary to preach Jesus Christ and His salvation.  Think of anything you like here at St. John or St. Thomas.  We can’t do it without people giving of their treasure to fund the staff salaries, the opportunities for retreats and programs, etc.  And the burden is not the laity’s alone to bear.  I also feel compelled to give to our parish each week, to the scholarship fund for St. Thomas Aquinas parish school, to the Capital Campaign we are in for the school, to DSA, and my list, probably like yours, goes on and on, even beyond this parish.

            But, as we celebrate Corpus Christi today, I want to ask you: do you put yourself in the celebration of the Mass?  Do you invest your energy when you come here each Sunday, or is it something to pass an hour on a Sunday morning?  I can tell you that, for me, celebrating Mass is exhausting.  Our sacristans and Mass coordinators and servers and tell you that it’s not uncommon for me to yawn out of fatigue after the first Mass and before the second.  Why?  Because each time I celebrate Mass, I try to pour myself in what I am saying or chanting and doing.  I try to bring all of who I am, and when I offer all of me, it can be exhausting.

            Because we are all members of the priesthood of the faithful, we have a priestly office, even if it isn’t the same as the ministerial priesthood.  All of us baptized are invited by Holy Mother Church to offer who we are to the Father with the Son in the power of the Holy Spirit.  Yes, we pass the basket to collect our treasure.  Yes, we bring up bread and wine.  But united with that bread and wine is supposed to be all of who we are.  Did you have a crummy week where nothing seemed to go right?  Offer it to God, united with the bread and wine as you silently listen to the words of Jesus offering His Body and Blood to the Father.  Did you have a great week where everything was just how you wanted it?  Rejoice and thank God by offering it united to the bread and the wine.  This morning, eight of our parish children have the opportunity to offer their excitement, and maybe a little nervousness, with that bread and wine, as they prepare to receive the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ, the eternal High Priest and Victim for the first time.  All of us, no matter what our age, vocation, occupation, or race, can put ourselves into the Paschal Mystery and offer ourselves to God.    As Lumen gentium, 34 from the Second Vatican Council stated:

all their works, prayers and apostolic endeavors, their ordinary married and family life, their daily occupations, their physical and mental relaxation, if carried out in the Spirit, and even the hardships of life, if patiently borne—all these become “spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.”  Together with the offering of the Lord’s body, they are most fittingly offered in the celebration of the Eucharist.

Pour yourself into this, and every Mass.  Make it not just a routine, but a purposeful time to unite yourself to the Lord by offering your lives with the bread and wine, which will be given back to you as the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity, of our Lord Jesus Christ.  Put yourself into the beautiful work of art that the Mass is.