Club or Family?

Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

In the 1990s, American Express had a slogan which was used to try and get people to obtain their credit cards.  That slogan was: “membership has its privileges.”  Some of us, many of us, probably belong to one sort of club or another which does give us certain benefits.  Membership at a Country Club means you can use their golf course and have access to their facilities.  Membership in some commercial clubs means you get perks for buying a particular brand or quantity of an item.  If you are a member of a frequent flyer program, eventually the miles you fly or the points you amass on your credit card can be used to get you a free trip to a certain location. 

It’s fun to be part of a club, and to receive those perks that you get from belonging.  Some people, though, have taken the mentality of belonging to a club into the church.  The church is just another social club to which they belong.  They were made members through baptism, and even though they didn’t get a card to show that they’re members, there are still perks to belonging.  Sure, the membership usually does have one day a year where all the members want to show that they belong: Ash Wednesday, when you get a black cross on your forehead to show that you’re a Catholic.  And many people today have the approach that their membership also gets them an exclusive suite in the heavenly condo association.  Of course, the flip of side of the social club membership approach to the church is that if you are unhappy or don’t like what is being said or done, you just move to a different social club that is more in line with what you want to receive in terms of rewards for membership.

This approach to our Catholic faith is poison!  It is detrimental to the entire church.  It is detrimental to our souls.  But it’s not new.  For the past two weeks and this week we hear Jesus talking to the Jews and telling them that just because they belong to a particular ethnicity and religion does not mean that their spot in heaven is assured.  I’m sure this wasn’t the approach of every Jew, but apparently there were enough people with this mentality that Jesus felt he had to address it, especially to the chief priests and the elders.  The slogan of Jesus for the past two weeks and this week, if we had to reword it, is: just because you are part of the Chosen People does not mean that you’re a shoe in for salvation.  All these other groups–tax collectors, prostitutes, pagans–are finding salvation because they accept Jesus as the Messiah. 

Today’s Gospel is almost exactly the same words as the passage from Isaiah that we heard in our first reading.  And the Jews would have known that pretty easily, especially the scribes and Pharisees.  And just as Isaiah was telling the caretaker of the vineyard, the Jews of his day, that they needed to actually care of God’s vineyard, so Jesus was telling the chief priests and the elders that they needed to stop killing God’s messengers who were sent to ensure the vineyard was being cared for properly, or else they would lose care of the vineyard themselves and others would be given the responsibility.  They would lose out on what they were supposed to have received.

The same message can be applied to us: baptism and membership in the church is not a “get out of hell free” card.  Just because we were baptized does not mean automatically that we are going to heaven.  It sets us on the path to heaven; it gives us help to get to heaven; it even facilitates the pilgrimage.  But it won’t get us there itself.  Baptism is the beginning of a responsibility to care for ourselves by growing in relationship with Jesus Christ, so that heaven feels like home by the time we die.  If we don’t follow through on that responsibility, then heaven will be foreign to us, and won’t be the place we want to go. 

Instead of a social club mentality, we should have the mentality that the church is like a family.  Being part of a family does carry with it some perks: we belong; we are loved; we may even have a rich family that provides us with a nice inheritance.  And as Catholics we do belong to God; we are loved by God; and God has set aside for us His grace and His life so that we can become more like Him.  And the more we are like Him, the more heaven seems like home.  But families are only as strong as long as they love each other.  And families can only love each other (at least in a real way) if they know each other. 

If we are going to be part of God’s family, then we need to know God.  And that doesn’t happen by sleeping with a Bible and Catechism under your pillow (which wouldn’t be very comfortable anyway!).  We might as well tell our students that to learn how to divide fractions, understand great works of literature, unlock the marvels of creation, play an instrument, or excel in sports, that they should sleep with a math book, Romeo and Juliet, a test tube, a saxophone, and a pair of cleats.  Knowing God happens by opening that Bible, reading who God has revealed Himself to be.  Knowing God happens by studying our faith.  Now, I know we’re all super busy.  And we certainly can’t do it all.  But more often than not, we probably do nothing.  And if we do nothing, then we don’t know God.  And if we don’t know God, then we’re not really being an active part of that family.  And if we’re not being an active part of that family, then God will respect our free will, but will find others who will care for the vineyard.  God will never turn us away, but he won’t force us to love Him, either.  The choice is ours.  Will we care for His vineyard?  Will we be an active part of God’s family?

A Different Side of Jesus

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            If you only see me at weekend Masses, your idea of my interests is probably a little skewed.  That’s not any condemnation of you or me, just probably a good presumption.  It’s not that I’m being disingenuous during Mass.  But the Mass is a formalized ritual: it has structure, a certain rhythm to it, and rules that are supposed to be followed.  And in formal situations, I embrace the formal.  Not just to be formal, but because the formal expresses a certain reality, that is an important part of our relationship with God.  The ritual nature of the Mass allows us not to wonder about what’s new this week, but allows us to go deeper into what we are celebrating.  If the Mass were noticeably different each week, we wouldn’t have the opportunity to go below what is perceived by our senses, and go to the things to which the sensible realities point.

            But I’m not always formal.  And that’s why, those who only see me at weekend Masses, are often very surprised to see me in boat shoes during the summer, or listening to country music (neither of which, I don’t think, could be categorized as formal).  The boat shoes are simply relaxing and cool me off during the warms months.  The country music moves my soul, and to me sounds more like life as I’ve experienced it (though I have not done everything you hear in country songs!).  There’s something about country that helps me enjoy a beautiful day while singing “Cruise” by Florida Georgia Line, or even helps me commiserate during sad times in life while singing “I Drive Your Truck” by Lee Brice.  Those who see me chant at solemn Masses would probably be surprised to see me enjoying a cold, adult beverage and singing at the top of my lungs at an Alabama or Scotty McCreery concert.

            Sometimes we can also get overly focused on only one perspective of Jesus.  This isn’t a bad thing in itself, but it’s important to recognize that Jesus has revealed Himself in many lights.  What do I mean?  I mean as we look at the Gospel, we see Jesus who welcomes the children, and the same Jesus calling the Pharisees and scribes a brood of vipers and whitewashed tombs.  As we look at the Gospel we see Jesus the just-judge reminding us that as we did to the least of our brothers and sisters, so we did to Him, and the same Jesus telling the woman caught in adultery that she is forgiven and only needs to go and sin no more.  Most people probably focus on one of those aspects (merciful or just, welcoming or challenging), when in fact, we miss who Jesus is if we do not acknowledge the other aspects of Jesus that do not come naturally to us.

            For example, we might think of Jesus as the perfectly fair one.  And there are times in Scripture where Jesus advocates giving each his due.  However, in today’s Gospel, His generosity is accentuated.  Jesus reminds us that God is generous with His love, which we cannot earn, and it doesn’t matter how long we’ve been at this disciple thing: God will continue to shower His love on us.  The workers who worked more expected more (which would be fair).  But Jesus’ teaches us about God’s generosity even to those who have not earned it.  For the first to be last and the last to be first does not quite seem fair.  But in this passage, Jesus emphasizes God’s generosity, not His fairness.

            The attributes of God that we tend to focus on also tend to be the things we want.  For one who knows he or she is not worthy of God’s love, the mercy of God is probably the sweetest part of the Gospel.  For one who wants the world to follow the plan of God and has worked hard to follow that plan, the consequences of sin is the best part of the Gospel.  Or, the attributes of God that we tend to focus on are a reflection of ourselves.  God just tends to look like a better version of us that legitimizes our own view points.  Someone once said that Jesus’ mission was to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.  Maybe that doesn’t quite do it justice, but the Gospel is meant to challenge all of us because while we can know who God is, we can never exhaust who God is.  There is always a way in which each of us needs to be challenged by God to grow in certain areas, and to be comforted by God to rest in Him in certain areas.  As long as we live, we are never done being challenged by God; we are never done being comforted by God. 

            That is why the Prophet Isaiah reminds us in our first reading: “Seek the Lord while he may be found.”  If we only look for God in the ways we are expecting, we will miss the many blessings and challenges that the Lord has in store for us to help us to grow in relationship with Him.  When I was in high school, I had a crush on a girl, and wanted a way to talk to her.  I found out she liked country music, and started to listen to it on my own.  My crush went away, but my love of country didn’t.  Because I was willing to try something new out of the desire for a deeper relationship, I was able to appreciate what is, in my opinion, the best form of music on the radio.  If we are willing to try something new for God–a Bible study, a new form of service, serving at Mass, joining the Knights of Columbus or CCW or the choir–who knows the truly great things that God has in store for us?!? 

            God has revealed Himself in Jesus, and we can truly know who God is, though we can never exhaust that knowledge.  Stretch yourself; get to know God in a way that you haven’t before.  Pray in a new way.  Seek the Lord while He may be found.  Call on Him while He is near.

Anchored to the Cross

Feast of the Triumph of the Holy Cross

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

Power and Responsibility

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

           

On 28 August, I had the chance to attend Bishop Raica’s ordination as the fifth bishop of Gaylord.  It was a beautiful (and long) Mass with so many symbols of Christ’s abiding presence with us, especially in His Body and Blood, but also in the person of Bishop Raica, who now acts in the Person of Christ the High Priest and as a successor to the apostles with authority govern, sanctify, and teach. 

            I think we can get caught up with power and authority.  We want power, and we want it badly.  We want to control our own lives, our own destinies, and we want to be able to not have others exact that power over us.  No matter whether you have very little power or a lot, I think we all want to have more and more power.  When we look at the issue of power and authority in the Church, the scene is often expressed as a battlefield with the priests and the bishops on one side, and the laity on the other, trying to fight for control of power in the Church.  So often, when the question of why the Church cannot ordain women comes up, the argument quickly turns to power: power to teach the faith (as if we just make it up as we go along); power to decide where the money goes; power to administer the sacraments.  The question, not just from women, is often, “Why should an old man (though Bishops Boyea and Raica I’m sure would not think of themselves as old) be able to tell me how to live my life?”

            But our first reading reminds us that being named a watchman or shepherd is not about getting a cushy job.  True, there are fewer earthly concerns that I have to worry about: I have a house provided for me, a food allowance, and a certain job security.  But, Ezekiel tells us in the first reading that the shepherds that God has appointed have to worry about the lives of the sheep.  I may not have to worry about a roof over my head, but I have to worry about whether or not I am sufficiently helping people to grow in a relationship with God and to choose good and avoid evil.  St. Joseph is a relatively small parish in the Diocese of Lansing (673 parishioners or so on the books), but that’s a lot of people to care for!!  Ezekiel, prophesying in the Name of God, reminds the shepherds of Israel, the religious leaders, that if they do not warn the people to follow God, to choose good and avoid evil, then they, too, will perish for the sins the people commit, against which they were not warned.  The same holds true for me: if I do not, by my life and preaching, help you to grow closer to God, to choose good and avoid evil, then I will suffer punishment, too. 

            Bishop Raica, on his ordination card, quoted St. Augustine, who took up a similar theme.  And while St. Augustine was talking about being a bishop, the same could be said for a parish priest:

From the moment this burden, about which such a difficult account has to be rendered, was placed on my shoulders, anxiety about the honor shown to me has always haunted me. What is to be dreaded about the office I hold, if not that I may take more pleasure (which is so dangerous) in the honor shown to me than in what bears fruit in your salvation? Whenever I am terrified by what I am for you, I am given comfort by what I am with you. For you I am a bishop, but with you I am, after all, a Christian. The former signifies an office undertaken, the latter, grace; the former is a name for danger, the latter a name for salvation.



Being a priest is not about having a job with honors placed upon it; it is about helping you to gain salvation.  And for those who are only concerned about honor, a terrifying judgment awaits!

            But, Jesus reminds us in the Gospel that it is not only priests who have responsibility for each other.  All of us are called to help each other on the pilgrimage to heaven.  No longer are we to say, with Cain, “Am I my brother’s keeper?”  When someone sins against us, we are encouraged to deal with the issue ourselves, not as if we are judge and jury, but so that we might be able to bring reconciliation to the relationship.  We start just between the involved parties, then bring in witnesses if there is still no healing, and then, and only then, bring in the Church, to apply the wisdom of the entire Mystical Body of Christ so that reconciliation can be obtained.  I’m not in this alone.  Yes, I have certain responsibility as a priest to help guide you in living a Christ-centered life, but we all have a responsibility to help each other live that same Christ-centered life.  If it’s just me, I know I will fail.  But if we work together to encourage one another, and even to hold each other accountable, then the Kingdom of God can be proclaimed more effectively and with vigor in the great unity of our one faith, and the diversity of the People of God.

            I love being a priest!  I love being able to serve you, and hopefully drawing you closer to God.  Are there great responsibilities?  Yes.  To paraphrase Jesus, to whom much has been given, much will be expected.  But I wouldn’t trade it for the whole world!!  Do I love being a priest because of the power and authority?  No.  I love it because it is the way God has called me to serve Him, and, in serving Him, to serve you.  For you I am a priest.  With you I am a Christian.

Bing Crosby and Suffering

Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

           

“You’ve got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative.”  That’s what Bing Crosby told millions of people in song in the 1940s.  And I’m sure, during the Depression and World War II, looking at the little good things in life was a key just to keeping morale up.  But apparently Jesus never heard the song.  Because in today’s Gospel, He’s not very positive.  He not only foretells his own passion–His own suffering and persecution and gruesome death–but He quickly follows that by saying that all His disciples have to be prepared to suffer–to carry their own crosses daily.  That’s not the way you tend to get people to join in a cause.

            We can imagine, then, why it was so hard for St. Peter to accept what Jesus was saying.  If Bishop Boyea told me today that in a few years he was going to be led before a firing squad and shot, I would probably do everything I could to stop that from happening!  He’s a good man, a good bishop, and, as far as I know, hasn’t done anything to deserve being put to death.  Peter was in a similar situation with Jesus.  And yet, Jesus affirmed that His mission was to die, but also to be raised from the dead, neither of which the apostles really understood.

            We would probably all want to prevent someone we greatly admired and loved from suffering.  We don’t see suffering as a good thing, and we try to prevent it as much as possible in our own lives, and in the lives of others.  And yet, Jesus tells St. Peter that his desire to keep Jesus from suffering is not the way that God approaches the world, but is the way a human approaches the world.  So does God love to make people suffer?

            Of course not!  And yet, God’s perspective on suffering, as we see in Jesus, is different, even from the Chosen People’s understanding of suffering.  The Book of Job is the Jews trying to come to grips with the problem of suffering–the dilemma of how a good God could let innocent people suffer.  We’re all too ready to accept that suffering comes from doing wrong, the bad consequence of a bad action, but how could it happen to someone good?  Even the disciples ask Jesus in the Gospel according to John whether the man born blind sinned or his parents.  Suffering is a tough question, especially when it comes to the suffering of the innocent.  We avoid it as much as possible.  But Jesus embraced it as the means to salvation for the whole human race.  So is suffering good?

            The short answer is no.  Suffering only entered the world when sin did.  It is a result of the Fall of Adam and Eve.  The long answer is no, but yes.  Suffering is always bad, but it can become good.  How can bad become good?  I don’t fully know.  But God does it all the time.  St. Paul says that where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more.  God can change the bad in our life into good for ourselves or for others.  God is that powerful!! 

            But while we don’t know exactly how, we do know how we can participate in God changing bad into good: we unite our suffering with Jesus on the cross.  I think we all avoid suffering because we know, perhaps innately, how wrong suffering is.  But, when we unite our suffering with Jesus on the cross, the suffering is not just a deprivation of the good in our lives, but becomes a participation in the life of Jesus.  We more fully unite with Jesus when we suffer, because He came precisely to suffer, die, and be raised.  And the more we share in Jesus’ death, the more we share in His resurrection. 

How do we unite ourselves with Jesus?  It’s as easy as saying, “Jesus, I unite my suffering with you.”  That’s all we have to do.  We can use other words, other prayers, but at the heart, all we have to do is unite our suffering to Jesus.  And Jesus, who is no stranger to suffering–one of His chosen best friends betrayed Him; another denied Him; almost all of them abandoned Him in His hour of need–receives that, and, as God, changes it from bad to good.  A few years back I buried a 51-yr-old father of seven who lost his long battle with cancer; I have buried an infant; I have prayed with a woman who has given so much of her life to support the church as she learned she had breast cancer; those are major forms of suffering that we can unite with Jesus.  Or maybe you have a broken heart as your boyfriend or girlfriend dumps you; you have to start school again (as a student, or a teacher); you didn’t make the team or band you wanted; you feel like everything is going wrong; you stubbed your toe or hit your funny bone; all of those are sufferings that we can unite with Jesus, as well as everything in-between the major and minor.

We can also unite our suffering with Jesus in the bread and wine we offer at Mass.  We may sometimes feel like we are the heads of grain that have been pulverized to make wheat or like the grapes which were pressed to make wine.  Unite that in silence with the words of the Eucharistic prayer which I pray on your behalf to the Father.  And just as miraculous as God changing bad to good, God changes that bread and wine into the Body and Blood of His Son, Jesus Christ.  How many opportunities do we miss each day because we forget to unite our suffering with Jesus!?!  I know it’s true for me; I bet it’s true for you.

Suffering is not good.  We are not encouraged to seek it out (it will certainly come to us without looking for it!).  But neither do we preach a Gospel of prosperity: just because you love God does not mean you are going to have an easy life.  But our God loves us so much, that He knows what it means to suffer.  Our God loves us so much that He changes bad into good.  Take a minute or two after my homily (and each day) and think about the suffering that you have had to endure, no matter how big or how small, and unite it with the bread and the wine, and receive back the Body and Blood of Jesus, which give us strength in our suffering.

Son of God, Madman, or Something Worse

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            Sometimes we can come across Scriptural passages that are difficult to understand.  I think today is one of those passages.  This account of Jesus doesn’t seem to jive with the mental picture most of us have of Jesus.  This is why, when we read the Scriptures, we should always have some sort of guide with us, whether it’s a book, a website, or a person.

            Because it looks today like Jesus is being mean at best, and at worst, racist!  Why won’t Jesus heal the woman’s daughter who is tormented by a demon?  Is it just because she is Canaanite?  Didn’t Jesus come to free captives, especially those who were entrapped by the Devil?  Our first reading from the Book of Isaiah seems to say that anyone who tries to follow God will be welcomed, and the sacrifices they make will be acceptable to him. 

One way to approach this passage is to take the Thomas Jefferson approach.  He was a Deist, that is, he believed in God, but not a personal God.  He believed God just set the world in motion and is now letting it run its course, without any personal involvement.  So, when he came to any miracles (a very personal involvement by God to suspend the laws of nature), he just eliminated them from the Bible.  It made his life much easier.  But, such a view, of course, treats the Scriptures as just another old piece of literature, and not as Divinely Inspired.  Treating the Scriptures as if we can pick and choose which parts we like makes us the masters of God’s revelation, rather than the recipients.

So, if we’re going to be recipients of what God is telling us, how do we deal with this passage?  How do we deal with, “‘It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs’”?  Well, let’s start by actually looking at the whole passage.  Yes, the woman is a Canaanite.  This means she is a pagan.  She does not believe in the true God, but worships many false gods.  She is not part of the Chosen People, Israel.  She also truly has a daughter who is possessed by a demon.  This is not very surprising, because when we deal with false gods, we’re often times dealing with demons.  That’s still true today.  When we mess around with astrology, tarot cards, Ouija boards, and false gods, we’re opening ourselves up to demonic activity.

But look at what Jesus says.  He doesn’t actually say no.  When the disciples want Jesus to send her away, He replies that he was sent “‘only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.’”  She continues to plead for help.  The Lord has what sounds like a very cutting line, “‘It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.’”  Things sound pretty bad.  But then the woman pleads still more, “‘Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters.’”  And then Jesus seems to do a 180: “‘O woman, great is your faith!  Let it be done for you as you wish.’”  Jesus wasn’t trying to put her down, or deny her daughter freedom from the Evil One.  Instead, He was searching out her faith.  He was trying to see if she was just coming to Him because he had done some pretty amazing things, like any other wonder worker, or if she truly had faith that He was Lord.

Of course, we should ask ourselves: who do I believe Jesus is?  Spoiler alert: Jesus will ask his disciples the same question next Sunday.  But we should start soul searching now.  Do we have faith in Jesus?  Or is Jesus just another wonder worker in our life?  Is He one of many gurus?  Who do we go to more for guidance in our life decisions: Jesus, our horoscope, our yoga instructor, or any other false gods we set up in our life? 

It’s probably not news when I tell you that, in the United States, only 25-30% of baptized Catholics attend Mass on a regular basis.  I know you’ve experienced that in our own parish.  I’m personally happy so many of you are here today.  I’m not happy because it means that we’ll make our budget for our weekly collection (though I hope that happens and it does make my life easier).  I’m not happy because our numbers may be getting better than the national average.  I’m happy that you’re here today because it means you have an opportunity to encounter Jesus in the Word of God and in His Body and Blood, and that encounter will help strengthen your faith.  Why do Catholics feel attending Mass each Sunday is optional?  There are a lot of reasons: an unpopular priest; music not to their taste; boring homilies.  But at the heart of them stands the reason that Jesus is just one among many.  The conviction that Jesus is Lord is absent from their lives.  Jesus is more like Santa Claus: if we’ve been good, He gives us what we want.  If not, we go to Hell.  We want good things, so we come to Mass, to extort the blessings of God in a religious quid pro quo.  But if Jesus is not Lord, then it is a waste of time to come to Mass.  Only if Jesus is God–the way we figure out how to live–does coming back each Sunday make sense.

C.S. Lewis puts it this way in his book, Mere Christianity:

A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher.  He would either be a lunatic–on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg–or else he would be the Devil of Hell.  You must make your choice.  Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse.  You can shut him up for a fool, you can spit at him and kill him as a demon, or you can fall at his feet and call him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher.

Maybe, right now, you’re thinking that Jesus is just one great moral teacher, like Confucius, Buddha, Socrates, or Gandhi.  Right now, Jesus is searching out your faith.  And the good news is that Jesus wants to help you have faith that He is Lord.  By coming here, you at least have the chance to affirm that Jesus is Lord, and you want to form your life around Him.  By coming here today you can make your own the prayer of the father who came to Jesus: “‘I do believe; help my unbelief!’”  And if you have faith, not just because you’ve been a good boy or girl, Jesus wants to heal you, to strengthen you, to bless you, and to stand with you, even in life’s difficulties.  Let us proclaim, with our hearts and our lips and our lives, that Jesus is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

Get Out of the Boat!!

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            This is one of those Gospel passages we’ve heard a lot in our life if we’ve been going to church every Sunday.  We probably heard it as children as our parents read the Bible to us or told us Bible stories.  Perhaps it’s so familiar to us that we don’t even really think about it any more, or go deeper.  But the point of repetition is so that we don’t just stay at the surface level, especially when it comes to the Scriptures and the Liturgy.  When we’ve heard a story over and over again, we’re not supposed to think: that’s boring!  We’re supposed to think: I know what the main story is, now what more is there to this that I haven’t found?

            I’d like to propose that St. Peter, who is often the “bad guy” in this story for his lack of faith, be reconsidered.  Certainly, we cannot change Jesus’ words that do mourn Peter’s lack of faith as he is sinking amid the waves.  But, where, we can ask, were the other eleven apostles?  St. Peter was at least bold enough to start out on the waters at Jesus’ command.  The others, at least from the text, never even considered going to Jesus, but just stayed in the boat as the wind and waves crashed around them.

            If anything, we should applaud the fact that St. Peter was willing, at his own suggestion, to walk on water like Jesus.  It was Peter who said that if that specter on the horizon was Jesus, to command him to walk on water.  St. Peter showed a deep faith at first, trusting that Jesus, His Master, and His Lord, would not let him sink.  Instead, we tend to focus on that one line, “‘O you of little faith, why did you doubt?’”

            But where was the faith of the eleven other apostles?  Where were their bold acts of rushing towards Jesus?  But, lest self-righteous indignation start to creep in, whether at the lack of faith of St. Peter or the lack of faith of the other eleven, we then have to turn back to ourselves and consider: where are our bold acts?  When was the last time we rushed to the Lord?

            Besides maybe breaking local speed laws to get to church on time, when was the last time we rushed to see Jesus?  When was the last time we went out on the waters, though the wind was strong and the waves were around us, to be close to Jesus?  For the ancient people, especially the Jews, water was a sign of life, but it was also a sign of chaos and death and destruction.  At the beginning, God has to order the waters of chaos.  Water is what kills the evil generation in the days of Noah.  Water just as likely killed as give life.  And yet, Jesus is out there, with no fear of the chaos, and, in fact, standing over it, with the waters of chaos under the dominion of His feet.  And it is over those waters of chaos that Peter goes out to Jesus.

            We are sometimes afraid to go to meet Jesus because of the chaos that surrounds our life.  Our fear to run to Jesus is related to whether or not we know Jesus.  St. Peter loved Jesus, and was willing to do anything for Him, because Peter had spent months and years following Him.  How much time do we spend with Jesus?  Do we know how to recognize His presence?

            In our first reading, the ways that Elijah does not experience God are classical ways that God reveals Himself, what we call a theophany.  In the Old Testament, God frequently reveals Himself in a strong wind, in an earthquake, in a fire.  But this time, with Elijah, God only reveals Himself in the silence.  And this presence of God is so powerful that Elijah has to hide his face in his cloak. 

            God still reveals Himself in many ways: in the poor; in those who mourn; in a beautiful Mass; in a stunning sunset; and the list goes on and on.  But God often reveals Himself in silence.  And we are not a society that likes silence.  I certainly include myself in that last statement.  I love to have my iTunes playing on my phone, or the radio on in my car, or the TV on, even if just for background noise.  It takes effort for me to have silence, even though I try to get at least a good 45 minutes per day of silent prayer with God.  Silence is difficult sometimes.  Sometimes silence is scary, because in the silence, we can actually hear God speak.  And if we are afraid of what God will say, it’s easier to flood our world with noise.  I try to provide some silence here in Mass: purposeful silence, not just waiting for the next thing to start.  But we need more than what we can get in the Mass.  We need time to be alone with God.  We need time to encounter God in a real way.  One easy way is by spending time with Jesus in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament every Tuesday evening form 5:45-7 p.m.  Jesus is there.  All we have to do is come by and visit. 

Another great way to be alone with God is through a retreat.  In our diocese we are trying to reinvigorate the Cursillo retreat, a time where we get to know God and know ourselves better, and have a personal encounter with God.  We all need a personal encounter with God.  We all need to have a time in our life that we can say that we met Jesus.  If not, our faith will grow weaker, and we will not be convincing witnesses to Jesus.  You cannot give what you don’t have.  If we don’t have Jesus, we cannot give Him to others.  Whether it’s Cursillo, or any other Catholic retreat, we need to encounter Jesus.  Only then will we have the courage to get out of the boat like Peter and rush to Jesus.  I know we’re all busy.  But this is important.  In the coming years, it looks more and more like our faith will be tested in public.  If we don’t have a personal encounter with Jesus, we will deny Him by our words and deeds.  If you knew your eternal salvation depended on a time with Jesus, would you take it?  Because our eternal salvation does rely on personally knowing Jesus, not just knowing about Him.  Retreats are perfect times to encounter Jesus.  Our times of Adoration on Tuesday nights are perfect times to encounter Jesus.  May our faith be strong enough to jump out of the apparent safety of the boat of our lives and rush to Jesus, even walking on water to get to Him, knowing that He will not let us drown.

300 Acres of Pizza

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            Probably a Chipotle barbacoa burrito and a root beer with two slices of lemon.  Or maybe a well-marbled porterhouse steak with a nice glass of red wine (you don’t have to card me, I am of age).  Those are probably my favorite meals.  On a very joyous day in the life of the church, like a holyday or the day of a patron saint, that would be a good meal.

            Every person has his or her own favorite meal.  Maybe it’s a meal cooked by mom.  Maybe it’s fast food.  Maybe it’s whatever is left over in the fridge.  Sometimes it’s just one food.  Maybe it’s more like a top ten…or twenty.  Lots of people like pizza.  According to one website, Americans consumed 3 billion pizzas last year.  That’s billion with a b.  That’s 300 acres, or 57 square miles of pizza.  That’s a lot of eating. 

            There was a lot of eating today in the Gospel passage we heard.  The people ate until they were satisfied, and there were 5,000 men, “not counting women and children.”  They didn’t have pizza.  They didn’t have steak.  They certainly didn’t have a barbacoa burrito.  Loaves and fish were on the menu that day, and that’s what the people ate.  That’s what Jesus fed them.

            Now some people will say that the miracle that happened there is that Jesus got all the people to share with each other, because they felt bad that they had something hidden in their tunics, and all the disciples had were five loaves and two fish.  And certainly, especially in some families, or with college students, sharing is a minor miracle.  But that eisegesis, that reading our modern presuppositions into the Scripture, does not gel with the point that St. Matthew is trying to get across: Jesus fed the people.  Jesus’ concern for them led Him to supply their needs.  We heard in the psalm response: “The hand of the Lord feeds us; he answers all our needs.”  These people were fed by the hand of the Lord.  God the Father took care of His children. 

            Have you ever seen a child try to cook dinner for itself?  It’s a mess!!  The measurements are never right, they can’t use the oven or the stove, and there are spices and liquids all over the place.  I once tried to make zucchini bread for my mom when she was gone and I was being watched by a baby sitter.  Don’t ask me why, but my baby sitter let me.  I thought that all we needed was shredded zucchini, flour, eggs, and milk.  So I mixed them together in a bread pan and stuck it in the oven at 350 degrees for 20 minutes with my baby sitter’s help (don’t worry, I have come a long way since then in cooking).  When it came out, I stuck a toothpick in it, because that’s what you do when you’re done cooking bread.  I had no idea what it was supposed to do, but I had seen my mother do it countless times, so I did it, too.  And then I cut a piece for myself.  It was gooey on the inside, and it tasted nothing like my mother’s zucchini bread.  None of you are probably surprised.

            When we try to feed ourselves, by ourselves, we ruin it, and we end up hungry.  When we are convinced we have everything under control and we know how to do it best by ourselves (like a child), very little turns out right.  We don’t know how to get the good stuff, and we tend to choose the bad stuff given the choice.  The child in the checkout lane never chooses something healthy.  He or she almost always goes for the candy.  We cannot feed ourselves. 

            But Jesus does not leave us to our own devices to starve.  He loves us too much to do that.  His heart is moved with pity for us, because we cannot provide what we need for ourselves.  Oh sure, we can provide work for ourselves (though even those talents that get us a job come from God), and we can make a living, and provide food and drink and a house and healthcare: the basic necessities of life, if we’re diligent, hardworking, and lucky.  But when we die, and we all will, what then?  We don’t know how to bake salvation.  We’ve tried.  It’s ended badly. 

            Jesus offers us salvation.  He feeds us with the finest wheat.  We do not feed ourselves.  When we try, we’re like the Israelites in the desert who tried to get more manna than we needed, only to see it rot.  We’re like the people from the first reading who spend our money on what is not bread and our wages for what fails to satisfy.  If you want to eat, says the Lord through the Prophet Isaiah, come to me.  You will be satisfied.

           

In Israel, in the city of Tabgha, there is a church called the Church of the Multiplication of the Loaves and Fish.  And in the floor in front of  the main altar, there is a famous mosaic.  The mosaic is a picture of a basket with two fish and four loaves.  No, they didn’t count incorrectly.  The fifth loaf is on the altar.  We take what we can do: provide the basics.  We give God the bread.  That bread is made up of many grains of wheat crushed and ground to a fine flour.  That’s our life.  We’re not meant only to give God the hosts.  We’re supposed to unite our lives—the parts that are joyful and the parts of us that have been crushed—with the bread.  And in offering that little bit to God, we receive back what we could have never created on our own: the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ.  God is so good to us.  He doesn’t let us starve.  He satisfies us with the bread from heaven.  Mere men (both men and women) eat the bread of angels, the panis angelicus.  “The hand of the Lord feeds us; he answers all our needs.”