A Fragrant Aroma

Third Sunday of Lent
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  When we think about powerful senses in humans, the sense of smell may not immediately come to mind.  Sure, for dogs like bloodhounds we might think about the sense of smell as powerful, but human noses aren’t always the most sensitive, especially if you had COVID.  But, in reality, the sense of smell, while not as strong as in other animals, has a certain power to it in humans.  Even though my grandparents have been dead for almost six years now, I can still imagine the smell of their houses, and sometimes if I smell the perfume my grandmothers wore, it brings them immediately to mind.  Or have you ever noticed that schools tend to have the same smell, even after decades have passed since you attended classes there?  Or there’s something about the smell of a roast in a crockpot that just makes you feel at ease.  
    St. Paul, in the epistle today, tells us to be imitators of God and live in love, “as Christ loved us and handed himself over for us as a sacrificial offering to God for a fragrant aroma.”  We probably don’t think about this, but when Jews offered sacrifices in the temple, there was probably a nice smell in the air: the smell of roast lamb, or beef, or even grains and wine cooking.  I’m sure among pagans, people imagined that the gods enjoyed the smell of roasting meat just as much as they did, and that the smell would appease their gods.  Even Genesis 8:20-21 says: “Then Noah built an altar to the Lord, and choosing from every clean animal and every clean bird, he offered burnt offerings on the altar.  When the Lord smelled the sweet odor, the Lord said to himself: Never again will I curse the ground because of human beings.”
    So what is this odor or aroma that pleases God?  Sometimes in the church we talk about the odor of sanctity, though in other speech we tend to use the word odor for a negative smell, which is probably why we use the word aroma when we mean a positive smell.  To me, the smell of holiness would probably smell like Sacred Chrism, which is olive oil with a balsam perfume added to it, or the smell of nice incense.  
    But, of course, St. Paul is not talking about an aroma that our noses can pick up, but rather that we offer ourselves as a sacrifice to God, and that our sacrifice pleases God, like the smell of roast lamb pleases many people.  And the thing that dies in our sacrifice to God consists of our sinful self, while our holy self rises to God like a pleasing aroma.  No longer are we roasting lamb or oxen or birds, nor do we burn up grain, wine, or oil, but we offer ourselves to God the Father, united to the cross of Christ, in the power of the Holy Spirit.  We don’t destroy stuff in order to appease God, but we ask God’s grace to destroy in us all that God does not find worthy.  
    In Isaiah 1:11, God says, “What do I care for the multitude of your sacrifices?…I have had enough of whole-burn rams and fat of failings; In the blood of calves, lambs, and goats I find no pleasure….To bring offerings is useless; incense is an abomination to me.”  But in the same chapter in verses 16-17 God says, “Put away your misdeeds from before my eyes; cease doing evil; learn to do good.  Make justice your aim: redress the wronged, hear the orphan’s plea, defend the widow.”  The point of sacrifice was not simply to cook something for God.  God intended the sacrifice to remind the people that they had to destroy that which was evil in them, and live for what was good, especially caring for those who could not care for themselves: the unjustly condemned, the orphan, and the widow.  

    All the sacrifices of the Old Testament pointed to the one efficacious sacrifice of Christ on the cross, the truly unblemished Lamb of God.  But what pleased God with the sacrifice of Christ?  That He willingly gave up His entire self to God, trustingly putting Himself in the providential arms of the Father.  Psalm 50, the Miserere, anticipates this when it says, “For you do not desire sacrifice or I would give it; a burnt offering you would not accept.  My sacrifice, O God, is a contrite spirit; a contrite, humbled heart, O God, you will not scorn.”  Or Psalm 39: “Sacrifice and offering you do not want; you opened my ears.  Holocaust and sin-offering you do not request; so I said, ‘See; I come with an inscribed scroll written upon me.  I delight to do you will, my God.’”
    God does not want sheep or goats or oxen, or even bread, wine, or oil.  What He wants is us: all of us.  But unlike animal or food offerings, when we give them to God, we lose nothing.  In fact, when we offer ourselves to God, we gain everything.  It’s like the exchange in the Eucharist: we give God bread and wine (which is truly meant to represent ourselves), and He transforms it by the power of His grace into the Body and Blood of Christ, a gift we could never achieve on our own, and which strengthens us to give ourselves to the Father by joining us to the one perfect sacrifice of Christ on the cross, though we celebrate it in an unbloody manner.  
    This Lent, we should recommit ourselves to smelling good.  Not because we have showered and washed off the grime of the day; not because we have put on deodorant to mask our body odor; not because we use cologne or perfume to make ourselves smell manly or womanly.  But we should seek to have the odor of holiness, a virtuous life of grace, the fragrant aroma of a life offered entirely to the providential love of the Father, who with the Son and the Holy Spirit is God, for ever and ever.  Amen.  

Hope that Doesn't Disappoint

Third Sunday of Lent–First Scrutiny
    St. Paul says today in the second reading: “we boast in hope of the glory of God.  And hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”  We probably associate hope more with Advent.  Or maybe when we think of hope we think of campaign slogans.  But Lent helps us to focus on hope, the theological virtue that draws us to have confidence in our salvation.
    Most of the time we use hope merely to denote a wish: I hope I win the lottery; I hope that cop didn’t see me speeding; I hope the Lions win a Super Bowl before I die.  None of those will likely happen.  But hope is more than just wishful (or maybe even delusional) thinking.  Hope draws us to God and enables us to trust that what He said would happen will happen.
    The Chosen People in the first reading today demonstrated the opposite of hope: despair.  God had promised the Chosen People that they would gain their freedom from slavery in Egypt, and that He would return them to the land He promised Abraham.  To put today’s reading in context, it comes after the Ten Plagues, including the death of the firstborn Egyptians; after the Jews had left Egypt; after they had gone through the Red Sea and the Egyptian army had been drowned.  And still, because they are thirsty, they cry out, “‘Why did you ever make us leave Egypt?’”  Even though God had proved He was trustworthy, they doubted God to do what He said He would do.  But even then, God further proved that they could trust Him, and provided them with water in a miraculous way.

    The Samaritan woman, too, was a woman bereft of hope.  We probably missed the short sentence that St. John gave as a clue of her hopelessness: “It was about noon.”  We’re used to driving to Meijer’s or Costco to pick up whatever we need at almost any time of the day or night.  But in the time of Christ, to draw water during the hottest part of the day meant that you did not want to be around others, or maybe that they didn’t want you to be around them.  She’s living with a man who is not her husband, and her five previous husbands have left her.  She likely relied on the generosity of others to survive, or possibly worked in an unsavory occupation just to feed herself.  To the Samaritan woman, God seemed far away, and probably not worthy of trust.  But God comes to her, in the Person of Jesus, to give her hope, living water that gives eternal life.  
    As we sit here on this third Sunday of Lent, do we hope in God?  Do we trust that He will fulfill His promise?  God has promised that if we follow Him daily, eternal life is the consequence.  We cannot see eternal life right now, beyond slight glimpses.  But as we choose what God has revealed is good for us, do we do so with the confidence that as our actions show that we want God more, He will not leave us hanging and dash our hopes against a rock, like the Lions always seem to do?  
    Especially during Lent, when we focus on the price of our salvation–the death of Christ, we might struggle with despair a bit.  We might wonder if the abstaining from meat on Fridays, the fasting on Ash Wednesday and Good Friday, and our daily Lenten penances make any difference.  Or we might think about just what pain Christ suffered for us, and think that we are not worth it.  But God comes to us, like He came to the Samaritan woman, to tell us we are worth the price He paid, and that the little ways that we turn aside from our own will in order to focus on doing God’s will can prepare us for heaven, even if it’s happening a little at a time or even if we struggle to do our penitential practices.  Through our penitential practices, we are meant to allow the grace of God to open up our hearts even more so that they can receive more of the love of God the Father through the Holy Spirit whom God gave us at Holy Baptism.
    And you, our elect, chosen for the Easter sacraments: as we celebrate this first scrutiny, God comes to you to strengthen your hope and help you to persevere.  Christ came to you when you needed Him, and gave you the desire for the living waters which give eternal life, the saving waters of baptism.  He didn’t avoid you because of your past sins, whatever they may have been.  He came to you who did not have the hope of eternal life, which God ordinarily grants through baptism, and gave you hope to live forever with Him if you follow Him for the rest of your life and grow in love of Him.  Maybe you, like the Chosen People, have doubted if God will really do what He has promised.  At Easter, as you pass through your own Red Sea as the water is poured on your head, and as the paschal candle, the pillar of fire, leads you from darkness into light, you will see that God does fulfill His promises, and will give you new life.  You need only hold on to that hope that He inspired in you.
    Hope does not consist in mere wishing.  Theological hope holds on to the promise that God will give us eternal life if we are baptized and follow Him to the best of our ability after baptism.  That hope does not disappoint, because it is grounded in the one who loved us so much that He gave us His only Son, who suffered and died for us because He did not want us to live in despair, but wanted us to have eternal life with Him in heaven.  Allow the Holy Spirit to continue to pour hope into your hearts so that you can reach the true Promised Land, eternal happiness with God in heaven.  

Christ's Friends and Ours

Second Sunday of Lent
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].  One of the great blessings of friendship consists in having someone who can urge you on when you’re being a wimp, or console you when things are legitimately difficult.  Sometimes, on our own, we don’t recognize how much we can do, until someone pushes us beyond our comfort zone.  Sometimes, on our own, we don’t realize that we don’t have to carry a burden alone; others stand by to assist us.  

    As we hear the familiar Gospel account of the Transfiguration, the Gospel we always hear on the second Sunday of Lent, I want to focus this year on the two people our Lord has beside him on Mount Tabor.  While Christ is sui generis, a unique individual because He is both God and Man, Moses and Elijah certainly assist Christ with their witness as Christ prepares for His impending Passion.  I’m not saying that Christ needed Moses and Elijah to learn something, because as God Christ had access to every piece of knowledge and bit of wisdom that He needed.  But still, it helps to have friends to urge you on towards that which is difficult.
    When we look at Moses, we see someone who carries the entire Chosen People in their exodus from Egypt to the Promised Land, from slavery to freedom.  Moses’ experience shows that, while the goal is good, people don’t always move towards what is in their best interest, and do not always trust in God.  From the very beginning, as Moses tells Pharaoh to let God’s people go, the people grumble against Moses because the change isn’t happening quick enough or easy enough.  Even after they leave Egypt because God had struck down the firstborn, they still doubt God’s ability to save them as they come to the banks of the Red Sea with the Egyptians pursuing them behind.  And even after God saves them through the waters of the Red Sea, and destroys the Egyptian army by the same waters, the Chosen People still doubt that God will provide food and water for them.  As much as Moses shows the people God’s fidelity, they still doubt.  And Moses ends up interceding for the people numerous times as God threatens to start over just with Moses.  
    When we look at Elijah, we see a prophet zealous for the Lord who works mighty deeds.  And yet, the political leadership, King Ahaz and Queen Jezebel, still promote foreign deities for the Chosen People to worship.  We think of the great religious showdown on Mount Carmel between Elijah and the prophets of Ba’al, the pagan god.  While the prophets of Ba’al fail to get the pagan deity to consume their sacrifice, Elijah pours water on his sacrifice, but fire from heaven still consumes the sacrifice and evaporates the water around the altar that Elijah had built.  Elijah then destroys the foreign prophets, but has to flee because the monarchs seek Elijah to kill him.  Elijah runs first to a broom tree and hides there, but an angel encourages him to eat so that he has enough strength for the mission.  Elijah then goes to Mount Horeb, and experiences God, not in the powerful phenomena of thunder or earthquake or fire, but in the silence of a whisper.  He feels alone, since he was the last remaining prophet of the true God at the time.  
    Christ has similarities in His mission to Moses and Elijah.  Like Moses, Christ carries the entire people, not just the Jews, who trust when they see amazing signs and miracles, but then doubt shortly after the miracles come to an end.  Christ is the one Mediator between God and men, whose blood saves not just the firstborn, but all those born of water and the Spirit through Holy Baptism.  He takes death upon Himself, in order that God’s justice against sin might be satisfied.  Like Elijah, Christ is also zealous for the Lord, and puts to death not the false prophets, but the false gods themselves, the kingdom of Satan and his minions.  Still, as the only-Begotten Son of God, He, like Elijah, stands alone as the local political leaders, like King Herod and the Roman Governor Pontius Pilate, will seek to put the Lord to death, like King Ahaz and Queen Jezebel before them sought Elijah.  
    So who are our friends who push us on and console us with their experience?  Who are our Moses and Elijah?  In one sense, we can look towards good friends we have who can push us onwards despite our trials and tribulations.  These are the true friends who see the virtue we want, who see how much we might have to struggle for that virtue, but don’t let us give up on ourselves.  Or they might be the friends who see the pain and the suffering we endure, and help us to know that we’re not alone, and that others do truly care for us.  We may not have many friends like this, but even just one or two can make all the difference in the world.
    But, also important to consider are our friends who are saints.  Maybe it’s the saints from the Scriptures, who stories remind us of how God works with those who struggle for righteousness, and how God consoles those who struggle through difficult times, saints like Moses, Elijah, Job, the Apostles, the Holy Women, and others.  If we read Scripture regularly we can understand more adeptly how God works and how we can make it through difficult times.  But we also have the saints who have come after the Death and Resurrection of Jesus who help us by their example and their intercession.  When we’re struggling, do we pray to our patron saints like our name saint, our Confirmation saint, or a saint associated with our vocation or profession?  When we’re sad and feel the weight of the world, do we turn to our Blessed Mother or other saints whose lives inspire us to persevere in the midst of difficulties and struggles?  
    God made us for communion: with Him and with others.  God Himself said about Adam that it was not good to be alone.  Especially during Lent, but even during the entire year, may we rely on good friends, both those on earth and those in heaven, who will push on on when the times get tough, and comfort us when we feel down and out.  May we recognize that we are not alone, but that myriad of witnesses surround us, encouraging us towards the heavenly homeland to which we hope to return.  [Where Christ reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, God for ever and ever.  Amen.].

Attachments

First Sunday of Lent

    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].  When I was in college, Facebook was just starting to be a thing.  At first I refused to get on Facebook because I felt it tried to redefine the meaning of friend.  After a few years, however, I finally caved and set up my own account.  As the years progressed, I got more and more involved and I got sucked in to wanting to have a lot of Facebook friends, though I wanted to know the people in real life, not just online.  As a parish priest, this wasn’t too hard to do, as more and more people from the parish wanted to be Facebook friends.  When the diocese announced new assignments, I would get new requests from future parishioners who wanted to check out my personality via Facebook.  I started to post more and more pictures, and would give everyone a happy birthday greeting as Facebook reminded me.
    Fast forward to a couple of months ago.  I was speaking with a friend who had pulled back from Facebook.  This friend encouraged me to do the same simply as a way to disconnect from unnecessary time on social media.  I agreed to limit my Facebook interactions to twice a day, and backed off of posting pictures and even birthday greetings (so in case you wondered why I didn’t tell you Happy Birthday on Facebook, that’s why).  What I noticed startled me.  I had grown so used to checking Facebook throughout the day, especially on my phone between activities or even while eating meals or watching TV, that my thumb almost naturally wanted to click on the app on my phone every time I went do to something else on my phone.  My thumb seemed to automatically slide up over the app.  It was at that moment that I knew I needed to disconnect majorly from Facebook, though I still post my homilies and post pictures for the parish through my desktop account.  One of my Lenten practices is not to use the Facebook app on my phone at all.

    I think the thing that made Facebook so alluring is that I had fomo: the fear of missing out.  I also subconsciously wanted to brag about where I traveled, or wanted to keep track of the fun things other people did.  Wishing people happy birthday or congratulating people on engagements or babies being born was a good use of Facebook.  But even though my current phone was cordless, I certainly had created an invisible cord between me and my Facebook app that made it harder to back off of Facebook.
    Lent is a perfect time to check the sins and unhealthy habits that have become like second nature to us.  We might not think, at first, that some of our habits are such a big deal.  We may even have good aspects that go along with unhealthy habits or sins, as no action is usually entirely bad.  But as we begin our Lenten observances, taking a step back from things we know we don’t need but which we act like we do need them gives us a chance to focus more on love of God and neighbor.  If you’re anything like me, there are probably things that are not, at their core, sinful.  But they become sinful because we give them so much time and attention or we use them as a crutch to carry us through suffering that we don’t want to undergo.

    Think about abstinence from meat last Wednesday and on Fridays: objectively speaking, it’s not the biggest deal in the world not to eat meat on those days.  We eat much more beef, poultry, and pork than any other generation in the history of the world.  And yet, give us one day where we’re not allowed to do something, and sometimes we can go crazy.  We may even enjoy fish or seafood on days when we get to choose it, but if the Church tells us we can’t do something, we can interiorly throw a temper tantrum that we can’t have what we want when we want it.  When something we want is threatened, we can act quite irrationally.  We become like Gollum in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings who became so attached to the One Ring that it consumed him and made him crazy for the Ring, though the Ring didn’t care for him.
    And in that regard our annual Lenten observances help us to clear away unnecessary things, of any kind, and help focus us more towards God.  Again, they don’t have to be bad to be an unhealthy attachment.  They can simply be neutral attachments that we make unhealthy because of our dependence on them.  
    And the key is not simply giving them up for 40 days, but where we go during those 40 days and where we go after that.  During Lent, do we use the extra time or the sacrifices to draw us closer to God?  Do we unite the ways in which we miss a certain type of food, or certain apps or online activities to the cross of Christ?  And when Lent is over, will we go back to unhealthy attachments by splurging in those foods or apps, or might we recognize that we don’t have to use those things as much or at all in the future?  There are so many different things we can give up that I can’t give a hard and fast rule for whether we need to drop something entirely from our lives or not.  But it’s a good thing to consider.  
    As we hear our Lord go into the desert to fast and to be tempted, we, too, enter into the Lenten desert to leave behind us things that hinder our ability to live as the saints God wants us to be.  Don’t let the fear of setting aside something beloved keep you from the greater love and relationship you can have with God by giving up something unnecessary, however precious you think it is.  Lent helps us to remember what we heard in the Gospel, “‘The Lord, your God, shall you worship and him alone shall you serve.’”  [The Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen].

Motivation Matters

Quinquagesima

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Motivation matters.  When I first started exercising five or so years back, I did it because my friends exercised.  Then I continued to work out because I wasn’t super pleased with the way my body looked, and wanted bigger arm and chest muscles and more toned abs.  And while I still like working out with friends when I can, and while I am still working on growing muscles a little and trying to get away from the “dad bod” look, what really motivates me right now is that I know working out helps me be the best person I can be, as well as reduces stress and releases endorphins.  Working out is part of a healthy lifestyle: anima sana in corpore sana (asics).  
    As we get ready for Lent (and buckle-up: it’s here on Wednesday), we likely have a number of practices we want to take on for penance.  Maybe it’s eating less of a certain type of food, or maybe adding extra prayers to our daily prayer routine, or maybe donating time or money to the poor more.  These, in addition to our usual Lenten practices of fasting on Ash Wednesday, the Lenten Ember Days, and Good Friday, as well as abstaining from meat on Ash Wednesday, the Lenten Ember Days, and Fridays should bring us closer to God and put to death the old, sinful man in us who acts more like a toddler and wants immediate gratification always.
    But why do we do these things?  Does the Church want us to earn our salvation?  We can’t.  Does the Church want us to go on a diet?  Maybe it would be a healthy practice, but our food penances have nothing to do with our waistline.  What motivates us to take on penances, not only during Lent, but throughout the year?
    The Apostle tells us today that our motivation should be that special type of love we call charity: the love the mirrors, to the best of our ability, the love of God.  No matter what we do, St. Paul says, even if it looks like it is a powerful demonstration of God’s grace in us, if we do it without love, we gain nothing.  Love, he tells us, has to motivate our every action.
    And charity, as a special type of love, does not spring from thinking of ourselves first.  When we think of ourselves first we are like Olympic athletes who train only so that they can get an award and beef up their athletic resume or brag that they stand as the best in the world.  So many times when we do penances we may rely on selfish motivations, even if they are clothed in generosity or piety.  When we act out of the desire to have something for ourselves, we do not demonstrate charity.  We are then like the hypocrites that our Lord will condemn on Ash Wednesday who fast and give alms in order to be seen.  Instead, God calls us to act out of charity, out of the desire simply to please the Beloved, God Himself, no matter what it could mean for us, or even if we gained nothing at all.  True love doesn’t do something good so that I can get something good back.  True love does what the beloved wants simply because the beloved wants it, without thought of repayment.
    Truth be told, we all probably struggle with mixed motives.  Even our best acts probably do not find their entire root in charity, but are commingled with a little selfishness.  All too often, we are blind to our selfishness and hidden motives that infect all our deeds.  And so we, like the blind man our Lord encountered near Jericho, need to cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!”  And maybe our selfishness, our pride, our vainglory tells us not to cry out to Jesus, because we’re good enough, or it’s close enough.  But we need to persist and cry out again and again, “Son of David, have pity on me!”  We need to ask the Lord to help us to see ourselves and see our mixed motives, and then ask that the Savior send His grace to purify our motives and change our self-interested love into true charity, the love which seeks only to please God.
    Will we ever fully be there?  Probably not on this side of eternity.  We will always see ourselves dimly, as in a mirror.  But if we keep crying out for God’s help to love as He loves to the best of our ability, then we will see God face to face one day, where our love will truly be selfless, will truly mirror the charity of God.  
    In this last Sunday before Lent, we should all examine our Lenten practices in the light of, “how does this help me grow in charity?”  We don’t have to do them perfectly in charity, but we should strive to do them as perfectly in charity as we can.  May we not take on penances in order to look holy, or to seem to others to be pious or ascetic, or even because we hope to get something good out of it, but may our penances help us grow more deeply in love with the one who saves us: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Bars Low and High

Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time–Rite of Sending
    Do the red and say the black.  When it comes to the sacraments, that’s what the Church asks priests and deacons to do.  The red refers to the rubrics, the words literally written in red type-face, that say what to do.  The black refers to the words that the minister should say.  When the priest or the deacon does the red and says the black, we know that God makes the sacrament take place.  So, for example, if the priest, while pouring water over the head, says the words, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” the person truly has received baptism.  If the priest changes the words, or uses a different liquid other than water, the sacrament didn’t take place.
    But that’s a pretty low bar.  Sometimes a priest will say, “As long as I do the red and say the black, I know I’m good.”  But there’s so much more to exercising ministry well than just doing the minimum.  A priest who deeply loves Jesus and wants to communicate that saving, sacramental grace will do more than just the least required.  I could say in a monotonous and quick-paced voice, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” and people’s faith that this person has just become a child of God and a member of the Church and had original sin washed away would not increase.  Do we really want our celebrations of the sacraments, especially by those ordained to act with the power of Christ, just to be the minimum?

    You may wonder right now what that has to do with you?  I’m not, after all, preaching to a seminary crowd, even if we have future priests in the pews.  But in our Gospel, Jesus, the new Moses, gives a new law that goes beyond the bare minimum and actually helps support the conversion to which God calls all His children.  The Ten Commandments are good and help us to lead a good life.  But they’re more of the minimum, not the fullness of living as a child of God.
    Not many, if any, of us have murdered someone, which the fifth commandment prohibits.  I can honestly say, as I’m sure many of you can, that I have not even planned on how to murder someone because I wanted them dead.  I have not even planned on getting a room with a woman of ill-repute to commit adultery.  I have never considered putting my hand on a Bible to make God as my witness and then lying.  So I, and probably many of you, have managed to reach the low bar of not breaking those three commandments.
    But how many times have we harbored serious anger in our hearts?  How many times have we wished ill on another person because of some wrong they have done to us?  Or in what ways have we used another person, even if only in our minds, to give us some sexual gratification?  How many times have we wished that we could get away with adultery without suffering any consequences?  How many times have we lingered on a image, be it in person or online, of a scantily clad member of the opposite sex?  Or when are the occasions where we “bend” the truth, or convince ourselves that it’s only a white lie and it won’t hurt that many people?  Or when do we make the mental calculation that a small lie will not hurt someone else’s feelings?
    What Christ reveals to us today is that He calls us not only to do the right things, but to go deeper and make sure our hearts really belong to Him.  If we truly wish to follow Him, we have to allow His grace to transform every part of our lives: not just our external actions, but even the desires of our hearts.  Some transformation of the world would certainly happen if no one murdered another, or committed adultery with another, or swore to God and lied.  But imagine how much better life would be if we didn’t give room for rage and vengeance, and didn’t use others at all as objects of our lust, or we knew that a person’s word meant clearly what was said.  As Louis Armstrong sang, “What a wonderful world”!
    My dear catechumens: today you will be sent, in a manner of speaking, to the Rite of Election.  Your formation up to now has included how Catholics are to live, what they are to do and what they are not to do.  But you hopefully have been growing more and more in love with God: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  And during these next weeks, especially during the Scrutinies during Lent, we will ask God to draw you even closer to Him, and transform your hearts.  While a major change will occur at your baptism, where God will wash away all your sins, you, like all of us, will need to continue to work on allowing God’s grace to transform our hearts and desires throughout the rest of your life.  
    But God promises, both to you and to all of us, to give us what we need to meet, not just the low bar, but even the higher bar of Christian perfection.  God promises, especially through our worthy reception of Holy Communion, to make us disciples not only on the outside, but on the inside, where our actions begin.  Especially through our upcoming Lenten observances, may God help us to live as a people transformed from death to life, from darkness to light, from sin to holiness, so that we can be effective witnesses of the power of the Gospel and transform this world, by the power of God’s grace, to be the place He originally created it to be. 

Eden, Heaven, and Sacrifice

Anniversary of the Dedication of St. Matthew Church
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen].  “I can worship God anywhere, I don’t need to go to church.”  We hear this phrase, sometimes from teens who don’t want to go to Mass, sometimes from adults who feel the same way.  And I think most, if not all, of us have had experiences of God outside the walls of this building, be it a beautiful sunset or a powerful storm, or maybe the calm and peace that come from time spent with a loved one.  

    And while when people enter this building for the first time, most tend to lose their breath for a bit, or look all around and say or whisper, “wow!”, why bother assembling in a place to worship God?  Why do we spend large amounts of money to build and maintain churches like this?  Why does the Catholic Church assign one of the greatest importances to celebrating the day a building was dedicated?
    It all has to do with what churches should do, and there are, I would argue, three primary goals for a church: remind us of Eden, point towards heaven, and celebrate a sacrifice.  The more a church does all three, the more we can truly call it a beautiful church.
    First, churches should point us to Eden.  In the Garden of Eden, God and man walked together as friends.  God was still God, and we were not, but there was a strong and close relationship between humanity and God.  The strain that came from work and the pain that came from childbirth didn’t exist, because they only came to be through sin.  The harmony that existed between God, humanity, and the rest of the created world was the only reality.  Man and woman didn’t lust after each other, even though they appreciated each other.  The break of that trifold relationship of God-man-nature only broke down when Adam and Eve tried to usurp the place of God and committed the original sin, a sin which they passed down to their descendants, even to us in the present day.  
    The ordering of the Church should remind us of the original order and harmony of the Garden of Eden.  We see hints of vegetation in our capitals on the columns, there are ordered other plants in the wallpaper in the sanctuary, like heads of grain and bunches of grapes, there are animals that are staying calm like the pelican image on the front of the high altar and fish in the wallpaper.  There is also a harmony that exists among the created items that make up this building, working together to provide a solid, intelligent structure.  In the church, we also have a harmony with each other and with God, which is why, at the beginning of Mass, we ask pardon from each other for any faults we have committed in the Confiteor.  When a church lacks any sense of the harmony of nature and the harmony that exists between God and humanity, it lacks a certain beauty.  Also, we don’t find this ordering anywhere else, because outside of this building, the effects of sin still run rampant between us and God, each other, and us and nature.  The order that exists here simply doesn’t exist outside in the same way.

St. Pier Giorgio Frassati

    Secondly, a church should point us towards heaven.  Why do we have so many images of the saints?  Why aren’t Catholic Churches just whitewashed walls?  Because heaven has numerous occupants.  It’s never been “me and Jesus” alone.  To be in union with the Lord means that we are also in union with those who are already united to Him in heaven.  That cloud of witnesses, from Abel to the Sts. Pier Giorgio Frassati and Carlo Acutis (to name two of our newest canonized saints), join with us in the in-breaking of heaven on earth.  Churches use precious materials because St. John describes heaven, in the Book of Revelation, as filled with precious materials.  Churches do not only look to the past and the Garden of Eden, but also look to the future and the place we want to end up, in heaven with God.  When we worship God at Mass, all the angels and saints join with us, and we with them, in a liturgy that echoes how heaven is described in the Bible.  As much as Shoeless Joe Jackson can ask Ray Kineslla in the classic movie “Field of Dreams” as he walks into the corn field from the baseball diamond Ray built, “Is this heaven?”, we know that heaven is not a place on earth.  But in the church, we get a glimpse of heaven breaking into earth in a way that happens no where else other than in churches.  
    Lastly, we celebrate a sacrifice.  Churches are not simply lecture halls where one can hear a rousing sermon (though I’m sure you’re moved by the current homily).  Churches are not concert halls where one simply hears music, being Gregorian chant or Christian rock.  Churches are places of sacrifice.  And how do we know this?  From the earliest days of the Church, church buildings contained an altar.  St. Ignatius of Antioch, who died around the year AD 107, who learned the faith from St. John the Apostle and whom St. Peter ordained a bishop, referred to a feature in the Christian celebration with the word thusiasterion, a Greek word that means altar, when talking about the Eucharist that the bishop celebrated.  Tertullian (who died in AD 240) and St. Cyprian (who died in AD 258) also speak about altars when describing the Eucharistic table.  
    But altars only exist for one reason: for sacrifice.  The first Christians understood the Eucharist as a sacrifice, but not as a new sacrifice, but the joining to the once-for-all sacrifice of Christ on the cross.  And Christ allowed us to join in that sacrifice through the ritual He Himself gave us at the Last Supper.  In the church building we fulfill the Lord’s command to do this ritual in memory of Him that unites us mystically to the offering of the Lord on the cross on Calvary.  No where else in nature does God randomly change bread and wine into the Body and Blood of His Beloved Son in an unbloody manner.  Only when we come to a church building do we have this opportunity to join ourselves to the sacrifice that saved us from sin and death and opened heaven for believers.  
    So no; you can’t worship God in the same way anywhere else other than a church building.  And that’s why, 107 years ago, our predecessors put aside large amounts of money to begin the building of this church building.  That’s why, through the decades that followed 1919, priests and people worked to beautify this sacred temple to help it reflect Eden, heaven, and the sacrifice of the Lamb.  May we continue the good work they began in Christ, and may this holy building continue to give us rest from our earthly labors and communion with God and each other as we seek to see the Lord Jesus Christ [who, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen].

Following Christ May Not be Easy

Septuagesima
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  One would be forgiven for thinking that, once one truly believes in Christ, everything goes easily.  We have a desire for doing right, and we want that desire and those righteous actions to carry with them the consequence of ease.  And certainly, even Aristotle in his Nicomachean Ethics points to how the truly virtuous person exhibits virtue without too much struggle.  A person who truly has the virtue of courage will exhibit courage, rather than cowardice or rashness, in his or her actions, and will not need to think about it much, because a virtue is a stable disposition or habit to choose a particular good.  
    At the same time, a person who exhibits every virtue is rare.  And so there is a kind of struggle that takes place as that person seeks to life a fully virtuous life.  A man may never struggle with remaining faithful to his wife, but he may struggle with telling the truth, or displaying magnanimity (greatness of soul), or tempering his desire for food.

    St. Paul talks about striving for self-mastery and living a virtue, and compares it to running a race.  He notes that only one person wins a prize for first place, and says that we should run so as to win, rather than simply seeking a participation trophy.  He even says that he competes and subjects his body to penances, in order that he might also win.  
    He then also talks about how all the Jews received a sort of baptism in Moses, whether through the cloud or through the sea, and all participated in a foreshadowing of the Eucharist through the spiritual food and spiritual drink that was Christ.  But the Apostle notes that most of them did not please God.  
    What we can understand from this is that just because we are baptized; just because we receive the Eucharist, doesn’t mean that we can rest on our laurels.  While both are important sacraments that, respectively, make us adopted children of God and give us spiritual strength to live as children of God, receiving sacraments doesn’t mean that the graces work in us necessarily.  The fault lies not with the grace that God gives, but with our receptivity to those graces: with how we allow the grace to operate in our lives.
    We refer to these two aspects of the sacrament with two Latin phrases: ex opere operato, and ex opere operantis.  Ex opere operato means “from the work having been worked,” and refers to the objective reality that the sacraments have, as long as they are celebrated as the Church intends (the right words, the right stuff, and the right minster).  Ex opere operantis means “from the work of the one working,” and refers to the subjective reality and fruitfulness that the sacraments have, which is based upon the holiness of the minister and the recipient.  The former steers us clear of the heresy of Donatism, which stated that an evil minister could invalidate a sacrament, even if he did everything else correctly, and the latter steers us clear of magic, which takes the approach that, no matter what, just say the right words and do the right things and a change takes place, no matter whether a person opens him or herself up to the graces that God wants to convey.  

    This helps us understand why some baptized Catholics do not live up to their call to be saints.  Did the baptism not take?  Of course it did (as long as the minister celebrated it validly)!  But that recipient might be putting up a block to those graces through personal sin after the fact, or maybe the minister gave bad catechesis and treated baptism like an empty ceremony that doesn’t accomplish anything.  
    This helps us understand why, after we receive the Eucharist, sometimes we still want to sin.  The joke is that in the church we’re all pious and grateful for the Body and Blood of Christ, but then as we try to pull out of the parking lot we lose our temper and act like heathens who do not know Christ’s command to love one another and be patient.  
    And this is why we do our penitential practices, especially in the upcoming season of Lent.  We don’t do penance to earn salvation; we can’t earn salvation.  That’s the heresy of Pelagianism.  But our penances help discipline us to open ourselves to the graces that God wants to give, because our sin puts up obstacles (the theological word is obex) to the fruitfulness of God’s grace.  When we fast, when we abstain, when we give alms, we recognize our need for deeper conversion and to rely on God, rather than on ourselves or the goods of the world.  We make more room for God so that the spring of grace He has given us in baptism flows unobstructed, and so that the sacramental grace transforms us from the inside out.  
    Some get this from the beginning, like the workers whom the master hired at the beginning of the day.  For others it takes a long time, like those who only worked for the last hour.  But if we allow God’s grace to transform us into the saints He wants us to be in baptism, even at the last moments, then our hope of eternal salvation can be strong.
    We all likely have ways that need to grow in virtue, and our upcoming Lenten season is the perfect time to open ourselves up more to God’s grace so that we can grow in virtue.  May we run so as to win the prize, knowing that it is God who makes any good work possible and completes any good work that we began by His inspiration: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Clogging the Drain

Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    Growing up, my dad and I were outnumbered, three females to two males.  One of the practical realities of having three women in the house was that hair could be found everywhere.  In most places it was just an inconvenience (like on couches, countertops, etc.).  But, when it came to bathroom sinks and tubs, it had a more significant impact.  Yes, men also shed hair a little, but when long hair starts going down drains, it has the tendency to clump up and block the drain, creating a blockage that can slow or even stop water flowing down the drain, requiring Drano or snaking the drain, if it gets bad enough.
    Pride is like the clumps of hair that blocks the drain of God’s grace.  Pride puts up an barrier (the Latin word is obex) to the flow of God’s life that He gives through the sacraments and the sacramentals (like the Rosary, daily devotions, reading of Scripture, etc.).  The opposite of pride is humility, which comes up in all our readings today, if not explicitly, implicitly.  
    What is it about humility that makes it such a great virtue?  Our own times don’t seem to value humility, and probably would see humility as a denigration of our self-esteem.  We live in a world where, if I think it, it must be true.  That’s the logical reasoning behind the phrase, “live your truth.”  It makes the individual the judge of reality, rather than starting with reality and adjusting to what reality gives us.  Imagine for a second that your truth is that gravity doesn’t exist.  You will quickly learn that “your truth” doesn’t really matter as you try to walk off a cliff.
    Humility does not primarily consist, however, in self-deprecation.  Humility is, according to such saints as St. Thomas Aquinas, whose feast day we celebrated last Wednesday, and St. Teresa of Avila, the acknowledgment of the truth.  Pride goes above who we are; self-deprecation does not give ourselves enough credit.  The truth stands in the middle, where we recognize who we truly are and who we are not.
    So how does humility mean a clean pipe, not filled with clogs of the hair of pride?  Humility allows our hearts to be open to God’s grace because it recognizes that we stand in need of God’s grace.  And then, when God’s grace flows, it allows us to accomplish what God wants and what will truly make us happy.  If I don’t think I need God because of my pride, or if I don’t think God would ever want to work with me (self-deprecation), I close myself off to God’s grace, and therefore close myself off to the power that allows me to do truly great things, which are only possible by God’s grace.  If I act as if I am God, why would I open myself up to God’s help?  If I don’t think I have anything good or worthy in me, I wouldn’t think that God would send His grace to me anyway, and would miss out on those opportunities.  
    God chooses the humble because He knows He can work with them.  The people “humble and lowly” from the first reading receive refuge and safety from God because they know they need Him, rather than trusting in political power, whether of themselves or of neighboring kingdoms.  The ones the world considers fools, “the lowly and despised of the world” from our second reading, God elevates because His power can work through them.  If we could have saved ourselves we would have done it.  But we couldn’t.  Even the best couldn’t open up heaven, because pride is exactly what closed it off.  Adam and Eve wanted to be gods on their own terms, even though, when they didn’t try to be gods God walked with them and provided everything they needed.  They had a healthy love of God and each other, as well as the creation entrusted to their care.  Only when they strove to be gods on their own terms did they begin to hide from God and hide their bodies from each other, and eventually even the animals started to avoid them.  

Church of the Beatitudes in the Holy Land

   The Beatitudes of the Gospel show us ways to be humble.  The poor in spirit are those who know that they need God; those who mourn know that all true comfort comes from God; the meek do not strive after things beyond them; those who hunger and thirst for righteousness know that it cannot come merely from their own efforts; the merciful recognize they are not perfect and need to receive and show forgiveness; the clean of heart understand that not all their desires should be followed; the peacemakers aim for the peace that comes when people receive what is their due; those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness know that they do not always have to restore right order on their own, but that true righteousness comes from God; those who are injured for the sake of Jesus understand that vengeance belongs to God, and He will repay, either through allowing repentance or in the justice which only God can perfectly give.  Those are tall orders, but when we live opposite the beatitudes, we clog our souls with blockages to God’s grace and we live in the misery that is the opposite of beatitude.  
    As we get closer to Lent, perhaps now is a good time to think of how your Lenten practices can help you grow in humility.  I know I still have a long ways to grow in this virtue that allows me to be a conduit of God’s grace.  May God, especially through the Sacrament of Penance, snake our souls with His mercy so that we can live a humble life, and allow God to do powerful things through us by His grace. 

Concerning Hobbits

Third Sunday after Epiphany
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Over the last week or two I decided to rewatch the trilogy movies of “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings.”  I’ve watched them countless times, but I find them very enjoyable and they have many connections to Catholicism, since J.R.R. Tolkien, who wrote the novels, practiced his Catholic faith devotedly.

    In “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring,” at the Council of Elrond in Rivendell (an elven oasis) representatives from the major races of beings–dwarves, elves, and men–argue over who will take the One Ring, an evil talisman connected to the evil spirit, Sauron, to Mordor to destroy it by casting it back in the volcanic Mount Doom, thus also destroying Sauron.  As they argue, Frodo, a hobbit, steps up and says that he will take the ring to Mordor, though he does not know the way.  Frodo had brought the ring from his house (since his uncle, Bilbo had found it years ago while on his own quest) to Rivendell.  So he agrees to carry it even farther to its destruction.  Elves were very wise, dwarves were very crafty, and men were very strong.  But it was a hobbit, a small humanoid, who probably stood no more than 4 feet tall, who volunteered to take the ring to its destruction.  Frodo wasn’t the wisest, the craftiest, and certainly not the strongest, but he was the right one for this quest.

    The centurion from our Gospel today was as unlikely for a healing from our Lord as Frodo was to carry the ring to its destruction.  As a soldier, he likely worshiped false gods, and maybe even worshiped the Emperor Tiberius Augustus.  He represented the entire occupying force of Rome in the Promised Land, which had come in 63 BC to make it a client kingdom of Rome, but who took it over around 6 BC as simply a province of Rome.  The centurion did not belong to the Chosen People awaiting a Messiah, and in fact, he was part of the military machine the people expected the Messiah to wipe out.  And yet, Christ says of the centurion that he had not found faith like his in all of Israel.  This centurion was the right one to receive a healing.
    And he was the right one because he believed Christ could heal his servant, even without being present.  No doubt, there were healers that would pop up from time to time in the Promised Land, but they almost always had to be present to heal the suffering person.  The centurion knew that this rabbi from Nazareth was different, and trusted that if He said it would be done, it would be done, just as when the centurion gave orders the soldiers did them.
    The centurion is a great reminder that God often works with the unexpected, perhaps the same message Tolkien tried to convey by choosing a hobbit to carry and destroy the One Ring.  But the common factor that unites the unexpected comes from their reliance on God and not on their own power.  Abraham and Sarah were well past the childbearing age, and yet God made Abraham the father of many nations.  Hannah was barren and put up with ridicule from Penninah, Hannah’s husband’s other wife (apparently the rule on marrying only one wife wasn’t always followed closely), until God granted her request and gave her a son, Samuel.  Ruth, the grandmother of David, was a foreigner, and David was not the son of Jesse that Samuel thought at first glance God would choose as king.  Anne and Joachim were childless until they conceived the Blessed Mother immaculately in Anne’s womb.  Elizabeth and Zechariah were also too old to be though to be able to conceive.  The Blessed Mother was a quiet, young virgin without any real importance from a worldly point of view.  The Apostles, our Lord’s closest followers and the foundations of His Church, did not have the greatest education and the Gospels make clear that, more often than not, they didn’t get what He taught.  All of these people, and more, would never have been expected to do great things for God, or have such a major role in salvation history.  But here we are.
    I could list hundreds of saints whom no one expected to amount to anything, and yet we recall them each year in the canon, or list, of saints.  And that should give us hope.  If a poor friar, working in Detroit without faculties to preach or hear confessions, can be beatified, then we can become a saint.  God can work with us, small as we are, un-spectacular as we are, to accomplish His grand plan of salvation.  We don’t have to be the most powerful, the wisest, or the craftiest.  We simply need to acknowledge our nothingness, and rely on God to carry us through whatever mission He has for us.  Because when we acknowledge our nothingness, that leaves all the room for God and His power.  When we think we are somebody, or have some grand power or prestige, we block God out of our lives and lessen the space that He requires to do truly great things in our lives.

    “Hobbits…are quite content to ignore and be ignored by the world of the big folk….Hobbits must seem of little importance, being neither known as great warriors nor counted among the very wise….In fact, it has been remarked by some that hobbits’ only real passion is for food, a rather unfair observation, as [they] have also developed a keen interest in the brewing of ales and the smoking of pipe weed.”  This is not the likely description of the race to whom the great king of men, King Aragorn of Gondor, would say: “My friends, you bow to no one” because of their role in destroying evil.  Just so, God uses the most unlikely to accomplish His plan of increasing grace and destroying evil, be they young virgin, fisherman, a poor friar, or a man or woman from Genesee County.  May we leave space for God to work great things through us, unexpected as it might be.