Jesus' Landscaping Company

Twenty-seventh Sunday of Ordinary Time

            On Thursday I had the pleasure of going up to Camp Leelanau with the seventh-graders from St. Thomas Aquinas School.  I went to spend time with them and to offer Mass for them on Friday morning.  One of the things they did while there was a ropes course.  I was really impressed when they, while secured to a steel cable, had to jump from one platform to another, which was about 3-4 feet away.  Oh, and did I mention that they were about 20 feet in the air?

            Many of the students did jump, and really demonstrated to me an example of a very natural faith.  The kids had to have faith that they were securely fastened to the steel cables, and that if they jumped, they would land on the other side safe and sound, or just dangle from the cable if they missed.

            In the Gospel passage today, when the apostles ask for more faith, the Lord says that if they had just a small amount of faith, they could make a mulberry tree plant itself in the sea.  The point here is not so much that Jesus is opening a landscaping company, but that faith allows the disciple of the Lord to do what seems impossible.  The Lord is not advocating that, when we want to redecorate our yard, we make an act of faith, and then tell the maple tree to switch places with the oak tree in our front yard, or for the extra mound of dirt in the back yard to fill in the valley in our front yard, but to have faith in the work of the Lord: the salvation of our souls.

            What stands in the way of that salvation is not a mulberry tree, but sin.  Sin blocks the relationship that God wants to have with us by putting other, lesser goods higher than the will of God, which should be the greatest good that we’re pursuing.  It leads us to think that, rather than being a servant, who should be waiting on the master, and making sure he is happy, doing only what we were obliged to do by our status as servant, that we are the master who should be waited on.  It gives us a false view of reality.

            Now, we probably all know this, both intellectually and by experience.  And I’m sure that many of you have prayed that your temptations might cease.  Your words probably echoed the sentiments of Habakkuk from our first reading: “How long, O LORD?  I cry for help but you do not listen!  I cry out to you…but you do not intervene.  Why do you let me see ruin; why must I look at misery?”  We may wonder why the Lord allows us to fall into the same, maybe major or grave, or minor sins.

            Or course, it isn’t the Lord’s fault that we sin.  When we sin we are exercising our free will.  But the Lord doesn’t just leave us to ourselves.  He gives us the great gift of the sacraments to assist us in making the Lord’s will our own, and choosing actions which are in accord with His will.

            In baptism, when either our parents or we first ask for faith, the Lord answers our prayers.  He gives us this gift of faith, to trust in the Lord and to overcome the obstacles of sin.  That’s right: all of you have the grace to avoid all mortal sins by virtue of your baptism.  And you have an even greater gift through Confirmation when the baptismal promises are reaffirmed and the gift of grace is increased.  By your baptism, God gives you all the sufficient grace for avoiding mortal sins.  He allows you to move the trees of sin which stand in the way of your holiness, into the abyss of the sea of darkness where sins belong.  We can think of the graces of baptism and confirmation like a spring, welling up in a river.  As long as we do not block the spring with the rocks of sin, then the waters will flow freely.  But we must allow, by our freedom, to let those waters flow.

            This teaching, that we all have the ability to remain free from mortal sin, may seem new to us.  You might be asking yourself, ‘Well, if I have this gift, how come it hasn’t worked yet?’  The gift is not forced upon us.  Like any other gift, it does not become ours if we do not receive it in freedom.  ‘Well then, Fr. Anthony, how do I receive it?’ 

            St. Paul tells us in the second reading: “stir into flame the gift of God that you have.”  Of course, when talking to St. Timothy, St. Paul was talking about his ordination, when St. Paul laid hands on St. Timothy to impart to him the spring of graces of the Sacrament of Holy Order.  But the same principle applies to our baptism and confirmation: we have that grace like hot embers, and all we must do is to stir that gift into flame by the fuel of our prayers to God, asking for His assistance to avoid sin and be faithful to the Gospel.  Just as a loving father does not give a snake to his child asking for a fish, or a stone when his child asks for a piece of bread, so our Father, if we truly want to avoid major sins, will give us the grace to avoid those sins and remain faithful to him. 

“God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather of power and love and self-control.”  We have the ability to do great things because of our faith in God granted to us by baptism, and confirmed in confirmation.  Let us remove the obstacles in our life that prevent that grace from flowing, so that we might enjoy forever the eternal banquet that Jesus has prepared for us, where He, the Master, will wait on us, the servants as a reward for our fidelity to Him on earth.

Preacher of Grace

The link below is to a site from the Eastern Province of the Order of Preachers.  This particular post talks about "Predicator Gratiae" ("Preacher of Grace") a phrase from which I took my own title for the blog.  It helps give an explanation about preaching in the Dominican tradition.

http://godzdogz.op.org/2010/11/praedicator-gratiae-preacher-of-grace.html

Another Lazarus at Our Door

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            I don’t know about you, but for me, I find it difficult when a person comes up to me and says, “I’ve got good news and bad news; which do you want first?”  I’m guilty, myself, of using this phrase.  But I always hate hearing it.  And I’ll tell you why.  When someone comes up to me and says that, I’m always wondering which I should choose: should I choose the good news first and hope that it carries me through the bad news?  Or should I start with the bad news first and then get built up after I hear the good news?  And just how bad is the bad news and how good is the good news? 

            So, rather than saying, “I’ve got good news and bad news,” I want to start by commending this community for recognizing the poor in our community and reaching out to them.  By our Matthew 25 collection at the end of Mass, where we find those who are in dire need and assist in their plight, by our distribution of food, and many other activities, we are doing a good job at identifying the Lazarus who is poor and sitting right at our doorstep.  We should not be complacent, as Amos warns us, nor should we rest on our laurels.  Rather, we should continue to exercise generosity to those in need and practice the Corporal Works of Mercy to feed the hungry and give drink to the thirsty.

            But there is another Lazarus, lying at each of the doors of our lives, including my own, whom, I would guess, we ignore on a regular basis.  This Lazarus, too, is covered with sores.  And yet we ignore him.  This Lazarus is the fallen-away or “ex-Catholic.”

            At a recent prayer breakfast in Los Angeles, Archbishop Timothy Dolan, Archbishop of New York, and a personal hero of mine, stated that the largest Christian denomination in the United States today is “former Catholics.”  What’s the reason for this?  Why the great exodus out of the Church?  As Archbishop Dolan says, “we are now living in an era where people believe they can have Christ without his Church; people want a king without a kingdom; they want a shepherd with no flock; they want a spiritual family…with God as their Father and Jesus as their brother and them as the only child.  They want to believe without belonging; they want a general without an army; they want spirituality without religion; they want faith without the faithful.  They want Christ without His Church and for us as Catholics, no can do: Jesus and His Church are one.”

            Why do I bring this up?  Because this is the challenge that we face as those who remain: to bring the Gospel to those who were already baptized, but who live as if they are strangers to Jesus.  The “former Catholic” is the Lazarus of our day, and we so often ignore them.  Last year we had 1200 Catholic students registered here at St. Johns out of a MSU population of about 44,000. If every baptized Catholic on campus came here on Sunday, we’d need a Church bigger than St. Thomas!  I know that there are more Catholics out there who do not come to Church, do not receive the abundance of graces, spiritual support, and love that are available from being connected with the Church.  And just as they exist within my own family and friends, so I’m sure that your roommates, friends, family, and co-workers include those who have fallen away from the practice of their faith.

            But, in general, we tend not to say anything because “we don’t want to offend them;” or “they’re good people.”  Christ didn’t command the disciples to “Go and make disciples of all nations, unless they’re already good people.”  The greatest insult we can give people is to not share Jesus with them and bring them back to the fold.  If Christ is the greatest treasure in our life, then why don’t we want to share that message with others?!?  Why would we deprive people of the treasure of the Church to which they have a right, just as the poor have a right to our assistance?

            Of course, if we’re afraid that we’re going to offend them, then we do need to examine our message.  Are we trying to coax them back by assuring them that if they don’t, they’ll go to hell?  For some that might work, but for most it doesn’t.  We need to convincingly, lovingly invite others back to the practice of the faith of their baptism.  But to do that, we actually have to talk to them.  At Sparticipation, when we handed out flyers for St. Johns and encouraged others to come, there were many I talked to who, at first were going to pass us by.  But after an invitation from me, or from one of the students or staff working, they at least picked up information, and I am willing to bet that some of you here are here because someone welcomed you to practice your faith, to go to Mass, to be a part of this community. 

            To spread the Good News, we must know it ourselves.  And we try to offer many opportunities to grow in both love and knowledge of Jesus Christ and His Church through Fr. Joe’s Bible Study, Men’s and Women’s Groups, retreats, and many more ways.  We try to make sure that you are well equipped to invite others back to the Church, and to answer their concerns about the Church and Her teachings so that you can be evangelists: people who spread the Good News.  And, of course, if the Catholics you know all practice, then we can spread that Good News to those who are not connected to Christ through His One Church.  The mission never ends.

            Each of us knows at least one Lazarus, if not more, who is suffering on our doorsteps because they are not connected to Christ through His Church.  Their wounds of ignorance and sin are festering and need to be healed by Christ, the Divine Physician, through His sacramental graces.  Don’t ignore them; invite them back so that they and we, at the end of our lives, can celebrate with Abraham in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Gospel Standards

Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            One of the nice things to have in any educational setting or profession is standards.  You want to make sure that there are controls to ensure that a person is reaching the expectations of the job, or actualizing the potential that he or she has inside.  We have standardized tests for school to make sure that kids are learning the right material and are competitive with other students across the country and the world.  We have standards for the members of the Armed Forces as they go through Basic Training to make sure that they can physically, mentally, and emotionally endure the trials of being a solider.  We have standards for businesses to make sure that a good product is being delivered and that people are doing all they can to help the company succeed.

For the past few weeks we’ve been hearing tough words from Jesus: “‘Strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter, but will not be strong enough’”; “‘when you are invited, go and take the lowest place’”; “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother…he cannot be my disciple.  Whoever does not carry his own cross…cannot be my disciple…anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.’”  These are very high standards for us as Catholics.  Hearing these readings should have caused each one of us to take stock of how we are responding to the great riches of being Catholic and having a life in Christ.  Some of us, hearing these words seriously and taking them to heart, may have even started to question practices in our lives, or maybe even our eternal salvation.

And the reason why we hear these tough words from the Word of God is to cause us to soberly realize that salvation, while a free gift, calls for a great response from each one of us, not a mediocre retort.  Faced with this realization that a great response is needed, the temptation can be to try and lower the bar so we can reach it.  After all, in the name of compassion, or what we understand as compassion, we so often loosen our standards if no one can reach it, sometimes even if the standard is what is needed.

But Jesus does not lower the bar.  He does not loosen the standard.  Instead, He shows mercy.  He forgives us when we do not meet the standard set for us.  Take, for example, what St. Paul tells us in the second reading.  Jesus does not lower the bar and decide that all those who murder Christians can get into heaven, since some people who want to go to heaven are murdering Christians, and after all, we’re all basically good.  Rather, he forgives those who have murdered so that they can witness to God’s mercy.  St. Paul himself says, “I was once a blasphemer and a persecutor and arrogant, but I have been mercifully treated.  […] Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.  Of these I am the foremost.  But for that reason I was mercifully treated, so that in me, as the foremost, Christ Jesus might display all his patience as an example.”  St. Paul does not explain away what he has done, nor does he excuse his actions, but relies upon the mercy of God so that St. Paul can share that mercy with others and be a living witness of God’s mercy.

Sheep in the Judean countryside

And God’s mercy is so great, that to some it looks foolish.  If we examine the first parable in today’s Gospel, we see how “foolish” and “wasteful” is God’s mercy.  God is like the shepherd who leaves 99 sheep to find one that has wandered off.  Losing one sheep out of 100 is not bad odds.  And leaving the other sheep which do not wander to find one that does could endanger the 99 safe sheep.  But God is not satisfied with the 99.  He wants the one, wandering sheep to return to the fold.  He is not happy with 99% of His flock being safe and sound.  He wants 100% of his sheep to be safe.

That is how great God’s mercy is: that there is more rejoicing for one sinner who has returned than for 99 righteous people who never left.  That is how much God wants to share His mercy with us: to the point of appearing foolish or wasteful.

Often, we do not live up to the standards set before us by Jesus in the Gospel.  We don’t turn the other cheek, or love our enemies, or pray for those who persecute us.  We all struggle with particular sins, some minor, some major.  Rather than saying, “It’s ok to do this sin or that sin; I’m only human,” we should rather turn to God for mercy to be forgiven of the sins that draw us away or separate us from God, and strive again for those high standards by the grace of God. 

And the way we do this is to return, again and again, to the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  In this way we respond to God’s grace so that we can be found, and lead the choirs of angels and saints in heaven to rejoice for us sinners who have repented.  Maybe we only usually go twice a year during Advent and Lent.  Let’s make an effort to go four times a year.  Maybe we go every other month.  Let’s try to go every month.  Maybe we go every two weeks.  Let’s stay faithful to that practice so that we can receive the great mercy of God, and be living witnesses of the mercy that God wants to show every one of us.  Between St. Thomas and St. Johns, Reconciliation is available at least every other day each week.  What a great opportunity it is for us to have God and the heavenly host rejoice over us. 

Maybe we’re a major sinner like St. Paul who needs major conversion.  Or maybe we just struggle with the same minor sins every month.  God is waiting to forgive us and show us His mercy in the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  May we first receive mercy, and then spread the Good News of how deep God’s love and mercy is for us to those we know who are in need of God’s mercy.  

Cabrera and the Cross

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

            As of late, I haven’t had time to watch the Detroit Tigers play baseball much.  And, after the All-Star Break, I haven’t missed much.  But, one of the interesting things to see, especially if you have really good seats, or are watching Fox Sports Network, is to look at the Latino athletes.  As they get up to bat, the first thing they do is to sign themselves, at least once, with the sign of the cross.  While some may claim it’s superstitious, I prefer to hope that they realize that prayer is an important part of life and any job, including playing major league baseball, and that they are praying each time before they bat to do their best, and hopefully be successful.

A mosaic of the nailing of Christ to the Cross
in the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem

            It is interesting to think that the cross, in Roman times the most horrible way to die, and the sign that there was no dignity left in you, has become the sign of our faith.  The cross was used for non-Roman citizens, and crucifixion had been perfected so as to induce the most pain for the longest period of time.  The person who died by crucifixion actually asphyxiated.  The nails were only to hold him in place, and to increase the agony when the person tried to push up so as to allow his lungs, which were filling with fluid, to operate.  Add to this the ignominy of hanging there naked, and you get the idea of what a horrible death this was.

            And yet, in today’s Gospel, Jesus says that we cannot be His disciples unless we carry our own cross and follow Him.  We have become so used to this phrase that it does not strike us as it struck the Jews then.  But this was no easy saying for the Jews and Greeks to accept then, and the reality of the saying even today does not made it any easier.

            We see the cross from the resurrection side of things.  Even with the crucifix, which reminds us of the horrible death that Jesus underwent, so much did He love us, and so obedient was He to the Father’s will, we know how it ends.  It’s like reading the end of a book first, and then reading the rest afterwards.  But often, when our own crosses come to us, we are not so hopefully and cheerful.

            We don’t have to look far for suffering.  It finds us.  But Jesus reminds us that, if we are to be His disciple, then we must be sure that we are ready for that suffering, that it is a battle we can win and a price we can pay lest the enemy overwhelm us or others laugh at our inability to follow through and pay the price.  Suffering is part of what it means to be a Catholic.  If they mocked, scourged, and put to the death the Master, the servants, that is, we, should not be surprised to be treated any differently.

            And yet, many of us are not scourged for believing in Jesus, nor are we asked to witness to our faith with the ultimate price of our blood.  But, if we are faithful to the teachings of Christ, which are found in their fullness is the teachings of the Church, then we likely have been already, or will be mocked in the future. 

            But even if we are not mocked, we still have our crosses to carry.  And the way we carry, or avoid them, tells a lot about who we are as disciples.  It’s easy to say, “Yes, Lord, I’ll carry my cross with you.”  But when our teacher or professor gives us a lot of homework, and we can’t have fun with friends as much as we want, we seem to avoid that cross.  Or when the kids are on a sugar high, there was a bad day at work, and now we’re too exhausted to cook dinner, we don’t want to deal with that cross.  Or when mom or dad are not doing so well, and we have to try and work around their schedule to visit them at the nursing home on a regular basis, when we barely have time for ourselves, we turn and walk away from that cross.

            The life of a disciple sometimes involves the big crosses like suffering for our faith from verbal and sometimes even physical assaults.  It sometimes means doing great things for Jesus in very visible ways.  But more often than not, being a disciple means accepting the little crosses that present themselves daily to us, and uniting them to Christ.  It means doing our homework rather than going to the party, because God has called us at this time in our lives to be students.  It means giving to the kids even when we feel we have nothing left.  It means caring for family members even when we are constantly giving for them and are receiving nothing in return.  Because in those moments, when we have to die to our own wills and do the will of the Father, we are imitating Jesus, who had to allow Himself to be nailed to a cross, even though He is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.

            Some people do think that baseball players like Cabrera or Ordoñez are superstitious when they make the sign of the cross.  But, as all our little crosses come our way and call us to make a sacrifice, it’s not a bad idea to make the sign of the cross over ourselves, reminding us that this is what Jesus meant when He said, “‘Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.’”  May we, by the little and big ways we suffer, fill up what is lacking in the Body of Christ, and, because we have suffered with Christ, be found worthy to share the same reward in heaven with Him.

"The Lord" and Humility

Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

            One of my favorite spiritual books is The Lord by Romano Guardini, a German monsignor who was born in 1885 and died in 1968.  The Lord is his meditation on Scriptures, and is a very rich and deep reflection on the life of Jesus Christ.  I would encourage all those here in high school or older to read it.

            One of the chapters in the book is on humility, the virtue that we hear about in our readings today.  Humility is a very misunderstood virtue, and Guardini first seeks to clarify the word.  He writes, “We use it to describe someone who bows to the grandeur of another; or who esteems a talent that surpasses his own; or who appreciates without envy another’s merit.  That is not humility but honesty.  […] When St. Francis knelt at the throne of the Pope it was not an act of humility (since he believed in the papal dignity) but only of verity; he was humble when he bowed to the poor.  Not as one who condescends to help them, or whose humanitarian instinct sees in every beggar a remnant of human dignity, but as one whose heart has been instructed by God flings himself to the ground before the mystery of the paltriness as before that of majesty.”  Humility is the virtue, the secured habit, whereby we lower ourselves with whatever greatness we might have, to another person’s need and want and baseness.

            We might think of humility when we assist the poor: when we who have such great resources spend time and donate food, money, clothing, or other goods to those who do not have such great resources.  Certainly this parish community in East Lansing is known for its generosity to the poor.  But why do this?  We can fall into the traps that Romano Guardini mentioned: condescension, whereby we pretend to debase ourselves and do the poor a favor by spending time with them or giving them something; or simply a humanitarian instinct, whereby we realize that we are all human beings, with dignity because we are created in the image and likeness of God, and therefore we should help each other. 

            While it is true that we all do share a common dignity through our being created in the image and likeness of God, this is not the virtue of humility.  That would be more of the virtue of solidarity.  No, humility seeks to lower ourselves without losing any of the greatness which is ours: both actually lived out, and that greatness that we only have in potential.

            We see the virtue of humility most perfectly in Jesus Christ.  When the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity became a man, he did not condescend to us, in the sense that He pretended to be nothing more than one of us.  Rather, He comes down to us to dwell with us without losing any of His divine greatness.  He humbles Himself.  And so, in our Gospel, when Jesus talks about going to the lowest place at the table, He is simply telling us what He has done.  He is the guest at the table of God the Father, and Jesus goes to the lowest place, to earth, and even to the very abode of the dead in His passion, but brings His greatness even there.  As St. Paul tells us in his letter to the Philippians, “Jesus did not deem equality with God something to be grasped at.  Rather, He emptied Himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in the likeness of man.”  Jesus did not abandon His divinity when He became incarnate, but neither did He claim any privileges while on earth because of it.  He, of all persons, had the right to claim the highest place and remain there.  But, He humbled Himself, and allowed God the Father to call Him up to the head of the table, at the right hand of the Father.

            And so, when the author of the book of Sirach, Jesus, son of Eleazar, son of Sirach, tells us to “conduct your affairs with humility, and you will be loved more than a giver of gifts.  Humble yourself the more, the greater you are, and you will find favor with God,” we listen to his words because we see them practiced in a most perfect way by Jesus, Son of God and Son of Man.  God favors humility because God is the source of humility and the summit of humility. 

But His humility is not limited to the Incarnation.  Jesus, from all eternity, was pouring Himself out to the Father, giving all that He is, with the exception of His identity as the Son.  And so the Incarnation was simply a continuation of that. 

But the Incarnation is not the end of Jesus’ humility.  Even now, as He sits at the right hand of the Father in heaven, Jesus continues to humble Himself, by allowing bread and wine to be changed into His body and blood at this altar, and letting Himself, the infinite God, be received into us, mere finite humans.  To paraphrase our second reading today, “We have approached Mount Zion, and the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and countless angels in festal fathering, 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 that speaks more eloquently than that of Abel.” 

In this Eucharist, we are allowed to come to the antechamber of heaven.  While what we can see seems earthly, the reality we approach is the Wedding Feast of the Lamb from the Book of Revelation, where all the angels and saints are present, adoring the Lord, the judge of all.  We have come to the sacrifice where the Lord of All humbles Himself to be received by us.  So then, let us approach with honesty, mindful of the greatness that God brings down to us sinners.  And as we serve the poor, let us not do so because it simply provides physical needs for others, but in imitation of Jesus Christ who gave us of His greatness and riches, so that we, who were poor because we were separated from God, could become rich and be called to a higher place.  As long as we simply give because “it’s the right thing to do,” then we are no different from those who do not know Christ.  But, if we give because we are trying to live out in our lives the great humility of Jesus, then we will be witnesses of true humility first shown to us by Jesus.

GPS on the Narrow Road to Salvation

Twenty-First Sunday in Ordinary Time

            It seems like you can’t drive down the road these days without seeing a GPS in at least half of the cars.  Whether it’s sticking to the inside of the windshield, on the dash, or even a part of the car, so many people utilize these great devices.  I have to admit that, especially when I’m new to an area, or when I’m going to a parishioner’s house for dinner, they make my life much easier.

            If you’ll allow the metaphor, the Chosen People were the cars that had the GPS already installed in the vehicle.  God had chosen them to share His holiness with the outside nations.  But, in order to come into a relationship with God, you had to join Israel, which for males meant circumcision (not really a great selling point if you’re simply looking at it from a secular point of view).  Also, the Jews, in order to keep ritually pure, which allowed them to worship at the temple, would often keep away from the goyim, the people of the other nations. 

            So if you were an Israelite hearing the message of our first reading, you would have been shocked.  God was telling His people that no longer would GPS only come equipped in Israeli cars, but would be installed in the cars of the goyim, of the nations of “Tarshish, Put and Lod, Mosoch, Tubal and Javan,” places that were outside of the relationship with God.  In fact, they were at enmity with God because their way of life was contrary to what God had created us for.

            Of course, if you were open to it, this was good news: God was promising to bring the people of the world into a right relationship with Him, and that they would be able to see His glory.  The goal of Israel, to help people to come to know the true God, was going to be accomplished by God Himself by revealing Himself to those who before were outside of the Chosen People.

            This should be especially good news for us, because most, if not all of us, if we trace our ancestry back far enough, do not come from Jewish stock, but from Gentile, goyim stock.  And we see this promise to invite all the nations into a right relationship with God fulfilled in Jesus, who, though sent to the Jews, called the Twelve Apostles and their successors, the bishops, to spread the new covenant, sealed in His own blood, to all the nations, the Gentiles, the goyim, so that they, too could enter into a right relationship with God, find forgiveness for their sins which separate them from God, and be able to enter into eternal life.

            Our Gospel today also reflects the reality of salvation, and the possibility of not receiving it.  If it were just humans saying that it’s tough to get to heaven, then we would have reason to doubt their word.  Perhaps they were misinformed, or confused about what the Lord was saying.  But it is not a human person saying this to us: it is a Divine Person, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity who tells His disciples and us in the Gospel today: “‘Strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter but will not be strong enough.’”  These are hard words for us to hear, because they don’t reflect the nice, fluffy Jesus that we like to hear about.  But, Jesus is the full revelation of the Father, not just the easy revelation of the Father.  And so we have to treat His words seriously. 

            Jesus is telling us that, although we were created for eternal happiness with God in heaven, there are so many pitfalls because of our own sins and those of our neighbors which can distract us from the narrow gate.  It is as if our GPS didn’t accurately give us the right course from time to time.  Because of this, we can sometimes think that we’re going the right way, the way that “feels” right, when, in fact, we are moving farther away from God.

            Baptism does unite us to the Body of Christ.  And we certainly do have a right to claim Christ as our Lord and Savior through Baptism.  And yet, Jesus also said in today’s Gospel, that simply being close to Him is not enough.  Recall that some said, “‘“We ate and drank in your company and you taught in our streets,”’” but even this is not satisfactory.  We cannot simply have a free pass because we have Baptism and the sacramental life of the Church, right doctrine, and governance by the successor of St. Peter, the Pope.  No, we must strive, each day, by the grace given in those sacraments, to unite our lives more and more to Jesus’ life, and live like He did.

The Second Vatican Council affirmed this, when it stated in Lumen gentium, the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, that, “He is not saved, however, who though part of the body of the Church, does not persevere in charity.  He remains indeed in the bosom of the Church, but, as it were, only in a ‘bodily’ manner and not ‘in his heart.  […]If they fail moreover to respond to that grace in thought, word and deed, not only shall they not be saved, but they will be the more severely judged.’”  Simply receiving the sacraments and going to Mass on Sunday, simply as routine, are not enough.  The Lord wants more of us.  In fact, he wants all of us.  He loves us so much that He wants us to respond to His grace and not just give lip service to our faith, so that we can enjoy eternal happiness with Him forever in heaven.

So how do we respond to the graces?  We still have to receive the sacraments and go to Mass, but we need to be open to the graces and let them change us, and after the graces have changed us, start to change the world so that it reflects the Gospel.  We are called to evangelize: to take the prophetic graces we receive in Baptism, and critique and offer advice on how to change the world so that the poor are justly assisted; the rights of all human beings, from natural conception to natural death, are protected; the building block of society, the family, is upheld according to God’s plan for marriage and family life.  This can be done in conversation and correspondence with family, co-workers, and our government representatives, and in many other ways, all with the motive of speaking the truth in love.

As Jesus said, it is not enough that we eat and drink with him.  We must take the great grace of being His brother or sister and spread His love, His truth, His way to others so that we and they will be on the narrow road to salvation, guided by the GPS of the Church and the graces which flow from her, a GPS which does not lead us astray, so that we can recline at table in the Kingdom of God with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and all the prophets and saints.

Space Mountain and Faith

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            The first roller coaster on which I rode, at least that I can remember, was Space Mountain in Disney World.  And I remember being a bit nervous.  My parents had warned me about how fast it was, but it seemed like a rite of passage to actually go on the ride, now that I was tall enough, and brave the giant monster.

            What I hated the most, though, was that the roller coaster was in the dark, and not knowing where I was going.  Once I got on the ride, I was looking ahead to try to see the little lights that lined the rails of the coaster, in order not to be surprised by where the ride as taking a dip, or making a sharp turn.  I wanted to know exactly what was ahead.

            Today, our second reading and Gospel focused on faith.  Faith is a gift from God whereby we believe things that we cannot see, or, as the Letter to the Hebrews states, “Faith is the realization of what is hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”  But the frustrating part can be that growing in faith is really growing in darkness, as a wise Archabbot once told me while I was on retreat.  If faith is the evidence of things unseen, then the more we grow in faith, the less we see. 

            This can be hard for us, because we like to know where we are going.  We like safety.  We tend not to like surprises, especially when it comes to major life events.  We would rather be in control, or at least be able to the see the tracks of the rollercoaster of life, rather than going up and down and sideways in the dark.

            But our confidence, and the reason we have faith, comes from the one in whom we place our trust and faith.  If we place our faith in God, then we can be at ease, because, as Jesus said in our Gospel today, “‘Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom.’”  No matter how high we may rise, or how low we may fall, or how much we get tossed from side to side, the Father is always there with us, loving us, and helping us to grow closer to him.

            But faith can be hard.  It can be hard, especially for those of us who are Type A personalities, who like to be in control of everything, rather than to let God be the Master of our life.  Sometimes our life can be like the disciples being tossed around in the boat in the middle of the sea, and it seems like Jesus is sleeping.  At those moments we cry out like the disciples, “Master, don’t you care that we’re about to drown?”  But Jesus is with us, and so we’re not going to sink or drown.  He has control of everything and is helping us to grow closer to Him by giving us opportunities to put more faith in Him.

            Of course, it still is not easy.  And it’s especially not easy in our own very skeptical age.  We can be like the Doubting Thomas who refuses to believe without proof.  We are so used to proving things by science, that we can start to think that if we can’t prove it, then it’s not real; if I can’t feel it, then it doesn’t really matter.  And yet, it is at these times that we most need faith. 

            Look at Abraham.  By faith he left modern-day Iraq and took his whole family to follow God, who called him to go to the land of Canaan.  And then he had faith in God who promised that He would multiply Abraham’s offspring like the stars in the sky, even though Sarah was sterile.  And then he had faith in God when, even with the promise God had made, Abraham was willing to sacrifice his only son, his beloved Isaac, because Abraham had faith that if God could raise up a son from parents who were as good as dead, then he could certainly create a great nation even without Isaac.

Or look at Blessed Teresa of Calcutta.  As it turns out, from the time she founded her order until the day she died, she was called to have a great deal of faith, because God rarely seemed or felt close to her.  But, she had faith that the same Jesus who had called her to quench His thirst by serving the poorest of the poor would not abandon her or the order she founded.  And how was she rewarded for her faith?  The same way Abraham was: “[they] acknowledged themselves to be strangers and aliens on earth” and so they were prepared for heaven, their true home, by trusting in God, even in the toughest times.

The fact is that the closer we get to God, the more we have to put our trust in Him, and trust less in our own visions and plans.  We can’t be so concerned with seeing the tracks ahead of us, but must trust that, even in the darkness when God seems the farthest away, He is still quite near, and is giving us the grace, His inner life, to help us to grow so that we can accept His gift of salvation.  In the times when there is a sharp turn in life, we must trust that God is our safety and security, and the closer we cling to Him in prayer, the safer and more secure we will be.  Let our prayer be the prayer of St. Faustina, who communicated to us the great devotion of Divine Mercy: “Jesus, I trust in you.  Jesus I trust in you.  Jesus I trust in you.”

Our Modern Security Blanket

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            One of my mom’s favorite comic strips has been “Peanuts.”  I’m not sure how often she actually reads the comic strips, but she always loves the television specials that come on: “The Great Pumpkin,” “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” and so forth.  One of the unforgettable characters of the Peanuts is Linus, the little guy who carries around his security blanket everywhere he goes.  And while I have seen him swat Snoopy away from time to time, it really doesn’t live up to the security part of the name.  It’s more just there for Linus to feel good and safe.

            Now, while most of us would say that a security blanket does not, in fact, make us secure, we seem to have a different idea about money.  We all seem to think that if I just save enough, or I just make enough at my job, then I will be safe and will have nothing to worry about.

            Our current economic state should have divested people in that false belief, especially with how many people have lost their jobs, or have had to relocate in order to make it.  But we shouldn’t need a recession to remind us that our security is not in green backs, stocks, or 401ks, but in the Lord.  All we had to do was turn to the twelfth chapter of Luke, which is where today’s Gospel can be found.

            If we would have looked there, we would have seen, not that the Lord condemns having money, but that he condemns thinking that our safety and security lie in our possessions.  More than just losing money, the rich man, who has plenty of money and is not in danger of losing any of his possessions, forfeits his greatest possession, his soul, because he did not trust in the Lord.  Can you imagine going to the pearly gates, and the Lord saying to you, “You fool!”?  Yet, because the rich man trusted in his possessions, but was poor in what mattered to God, the rich man merited to hear those harsh words.

            Again, the Lord is not condemning having money or possessions in themselves.  But He warns against greed, and not treasuring what is important to God.  And why is greed so bad?  Shouldn’t we want to get ahead, make a good profit, and live comfortable lives?  The problem with greed is that money seems to take on a life of its own, and always seeks to master us, rather than being mastered by us.  As soon as we get a little money, then the cash almost seems to whisper to us, “You need more!  You need to save up more of me so that if you lose your job I will be there to support you, comfort you, and get you through the tough times.”  What the cash in essence is truly saying is, “I am the Lord, your God, who brought you out of the land of recession.  Therefore, you shall love your cash and guard it with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.”  It makes of itself an idol.  Which is why St. Paul tells us in the second reading to put to death the parts of us that are earthly, that is, that are in opposition to God: “immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and the greed that is idolatry.”  Money so often becomes a god to us, at whose altar we are sometimes all too ready to worship. 

We put all sorts of things behind how much money we can make, and we find good reasons for doing it: it’s for the kids; it’s for the retirement fund; it’s for the Church.  We rationalize trying to get more and more money so that we can have all the fancy toys, the big houses, the fastest cars, and the finest meals.  And as if it’s not bad enough that we do it ourselves, we pass the message on to our kids that money is the most important thing.  Sure, we would never say that directly.  But when we say that choosing a college is important because if you get into the right college for the right line of work, you can get a good job, we are often insinuating that getting a good job means making good money.  I can’t tell you how many people went to the University of St. Thomas in St. Paul, Minnesota, and got a degree in business, not because they had any interest in it, or felt that God was calling them to be a good, holy businessman or woman, but because they were convinced that’s where the money was. 

Of course, the security that money gives us is about as protective as Linus’ blanket.  As our first reading stated, “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.”  In other words, you can’t take it with you.  When you’re dead, it doesn’t really matter how fancy your casket is, or how big of a monument you have at the cemetery.  What matters then is if you were rich in the things of God.

Again, I’m not saying, and the Church does not say, that money and capital are bad.  In many ways there are very good means to an end.  Money helps us to provide for our families.  It is the just compensation for the effort we put forth, with our hands or with our minds, that benefits society.  It helps the poor by providing basic needs, and can build beautiful churches for the proper worship of the True and Living God.  As long as money is only a means to serving God according to our vocation in life, then it remains simply a thing.  But, be on guard, lest the money we save up starts to take control of us, and starts to rule us, and become a god to us, and we hear from the Lord, “You fool!”  If, however, we control our money, use it to provide for our families, and are generous with it to feed the poor, clothe the naked, give drink to the thirsty, and aid us in the worship of God, then, instead of hearing you fool, we can hope to hear, “‘Come, my good and faithful servant.  Since you were faithful in small matters, I will give you great responsibilities.  Come, share your master’s joy.’”

Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

          Part of the joy of growing up is the ability to do things by yourself more.  When you reach a certain age you don’t have to hold an adult’s hand when you cross the street; when you get older you don’t have to have drive with an adult, and the list goes on and on.  Of course, in all of this, parents want to help.  They want to show you how it’s supposed to be done, while still respecting your freedom.  I can remember a few times when I would be putting something together, and I could tell that my dad really wanted to help me.  “Do you want a hand?” he asked.  But I, more intent on asserting my independence and ability to do things for myself, said, “No, thanks.  I’ve got it.”  Of course, when I couldn’t get it right, I immediately went back to dad for help.

            So often in life there are others who know how to do something, and they want to teach us, to pass on the lesson.  And private prayer is no different.  Hopefully each of our parents taught us a particular group of prayers like the Our Father or Hail Mary, or maybe the Guardian Angel or St. Michael the Archangel prayer, or Grace Before Meals.  They showed us how we are to pray when we’re by ourselves or in small groups.

            Some people stay there with those form prayers, and Catholics are particularly good at that.  When confronted by others with questions like, “Why don’t you pray in your own words?” we usually respond, “Why should I reinvent the wheel?  Someone else (often a saint) has created these prayers, and they match the way I like to pray, so it works for me.”  There is some truth in the fact that as we progress in the spiritual life, it is often good for us to be able to approach God with words of our own that comes from the depths of our hearts.  It’s not bad to use form prayers, and I often will, but there are also times where my own words can best express what’s going on in my heart and soul.

            This is where we see Abraham with the three guests we heard about last week.  Abraham is pleading with God, in his own words, to spare the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.  Notice that he doesn’t deny the sins that are going on, but he’s begging because he knows that his nephew and his side of the family live there.  So he begs God using words of his own to spare the city if only fifty, or forty-five, or forty, or thirty, or twenty, or ten innocent, that is, sinless, people are there.  Of course, we know how the story ends: there aren’t even ten innocent people there, so the city is destroyed, but not before the angel of the Lord saves Lot, and tries to save Lot’s wife, who destroys herself by disobeying the Lord’s angel.

            So if private prayer was sufficient, why did the disciples of Jesus ask Him how to pray?  Didn’t they want to simply talk to God in their own words?  The disciples realized that Jesus was forming a new community, an assembly of people, which in Greek is translated ekklesia, which is where we get the words ecclesial, meaning of the Church.  The disciples realized that Jesus was forming a Church, and they wanted to know if this new assembly, taken from the Chosen People of Israel, would have its own prayer as a community.

            And Jesus does not disappoint.  He gives them a prayer which we pray every Sunday, the Our Father.  But the approach is interesting.  The disciples don’t assume that they know how to pray within this new community.  They ask Jesus, the Master, to teach them how to address God.  They know that they need to learn how to pray to God in a way that pleases Him. 

            We have a prayer that is for the community, that includes the Our Father, but is not limited to it: the Mass.  The Mass is the prayer of the Church, offered for the Church for her benefit.  It is the prayer that Jesus gave us, through His spokesman, His Vicar, the Pope.  But sometimes we’re not like the disciples.  Instead, we assume we know best how to pray to God, and that no one can tell us how we should pray as a community.  We assume that if we could make the Mass according to our modern mind of what’s best, then that would be the prayer that God wants to receive, even though He may have said something different.

            To put it in another context, it would be like someone asking for an iPod touch for a birthday, and us deciding that we know what’s best, and what he or she really wants is a set of speakers for the car.  It doesn’t respect the desire of the one who asks.

            While the Mass is our community prayer, it does not belong to us as if we have authority over it.  It does not even belong to me as a priest, or to any parish priest.  I’m only allowed to do what the Sacramentary, the book which tells me how to celebrate Mass, tells me to do.  Sometimes it’s not specific, but many times it is.  Only the Pope and the Bishops are allowed to alter the way certain aspects of the Mass are celebrated, and even the Bishops can’t change that much, because the Pope guards the unity of the entire Church, whether it’s in America, Africa, Asia, Europe, South America, or Australia, and the way that Jesus wants us to pray to His Father.  It’s not about us.  It’s about God, and how He wants to be worshipped. 

            And this is a challenge for us, including me, at times.  I’m a pretty by-the-book sort of guy, that’s true.  But sometimes I think that it would add to the Mass if we added this, or tweaked that.  But in those moments I have to remind myself that the Mass is not mine.  It’s the expression of how God wants us to pray in community, and it belongs to the entire assembly, the entire Church, not just particular groups. 

So, when we’re praying privately, then there are more ways to express that conversation with God.  And I hope that we take advantage of the myriad of legitimate ways to express the longing our souls feel for God.  But when we’re together, we have the very teaching of Jesus, through His Vicar, on how we are to pray as a community.  May our attitude when it comes to the Mass be the same as the disciples who begged Jesus, “‘Lord, teach us to pray.’”