Not the King We Expected

Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe
    A bishop I know once had a meeting when he was a priest with his diocesan bishop.  During that meeting, the diocesan bishop said to this priest, “You know, you’re not everything I would want in a priest.”  Talk about demoralizing!  But this priest who became a bishop then used this story to transition to talking with his priests, and admitted that he knows he’s not everything his priests would like to see in a bishop.  But he does his best to follow God’s will and be the best bishop he can be.

    As we celebrate the Solemnity of Christ the King of the Universe, the Gospel presents us with perhaps a different version of a king than we were expecting or want.  When we think of kings, we probably think of pomp and circumstance, fine robes, jeweled crowns, and amazing power.  Instead, our Gospel presents us what looks like utter failure as Christ hangs on the cross as a common criminal, and those around Him mock Him.  In place of pomp there is jeering.  In place of fine robes Christ had his cloak torn off His Sacred Body before they put the nails in His hands and feet.  In place of a jeweled crown He wears a crown of thorns.  And in place of amazing power Christ allows the powers of the world and Hell to rush upon Him, seemingly powerless to stop any of it.
    But the best king the world has ever or will ever have is Jesus.  And yet, His kingship is a tension of seeming paradoxes.  Christ is King on the cross, and Christ is King in heaven.  Christ is King naked in suffering, and Christ is King robed in majesty.  Christ is King in His agony, and Christ is King in His glorification.  But often times, if we’re honest, we prefer one over the other.  We might say, like that bishop said to his priest, “You’re not everything I would want in a king.”  
    We try to keep that tension as Christ’s faithful on earth.  We should both venerate Christ as King in glory and Christ as King in the earthly way He manifests Himself.  Both have value and importance.  Both help us to be faithful subjects of Christ our King.
    As far as glory, we do our best to demonstrate that in our Mass.  This temple uses precious materials like stained-glass, marble, beautiful paint, and precious metal vessels to show that we give our best to Christ our King.  Christ is worthy of all of our best materials, and we give that to him.  I wear special vestments which cost a fair amount of money.  We use special books to convey the Word of God, especially the Book of the Gospels.  We use a special instrument, the organ, which both mimics the human voice, but also brings with it the sound of trumpets and strings.  So much of what we do is wholly unnecessary and superfluous, but yet fitting for a king, just as DaVinci’s “Mona Lisa” or Michelangelo’s “David” is not, strictly speaking, a necessary part of the world, but adds wonder and awe and glory to the world.
    But our best is not just in reference to the sanctuary or the different ministers.  You should also bring your best to lay at the feet of the King.  Do we come as attentive as we can to Mass, not drowsy from the night before because we stayed up too late watching college football or drinking?  Do we take a look at the readings a few days before so that we can more deeply appreciate them as the reader proclaims them to us?  Do we do our best to dress better for the King than we do for our usual daily tasks?  Do we fast one hour before receiving our heavenly King, the Body and Blood of Christ, to prepare our bodies for so great a guest?  Do we exteriorly respond to the prayers and sing, to the best of our ability, the hymns and sung responses?  Do we unite all that has happened since the last time we came to Mass with the bread and wine offered on the altar so that we truly give ourselves to God, as He desires?  Certainly, some of these are tough, especially with young children, but can we say that we’re doing our best?
    On the other hand, Christ is King from the cross and in His suffering that continues in His members.  Do we allow the beautiful, glorified encounter with Christ the King to transform us so that we can meet Christ the King as we meet Him in our day-to-day lives?  There was a chart that I received when I studied liturgy in Chicago, and it broke up the Mass into three parts.  It was based on the pre-Conciliar Mass, but easily translated into the post-Conciliar Mass.  The first part of the Mass was what used to be called the Mass of the Catechumens, or the Liturgy of the Word.  The second part of the Mass was called the Mass of the Faithful, what we now call the Liturgy of the Eucharist.  But the third part of the Mass was called the Mass During the Day, not reflecting the time of Mass, but demonstrating that what happens at Mass is supposed to affect how we live our lives outside the church walls.  Another term for this was Catholic Action, or how we work, rest, eat, drink, play, and treat the poor as Catholics.  It is in our homes, in our jobs, on the roads, on our vacations, in our encounter with the poor that we also encounter Christ the King.  And how do we serve that manifestation of Christ in His Kingship?  Are we ready to serve Christ the King in the more mundane and messy parts of life?  
    Christ is King both in the aspect of glory here in this church as well as in the beggar, the co-worker, the family member, the immigrant, the police officer or firefighter, the politician, and any other person we encounter each day.  May we recognize Christ as King not only in His glory, but also in His suffering.  And I’ll end with a prayer that can help us serve Christ our King, not only as we want Him to be King, but as He truly is King:
 

Almighty and ever-living God,
Author of Light and Life,
enlighten our minds and strengthen our wills,
so that we may practice in our lives 
what we have celebrated at your holy altar 
and received into our hearts.
Through Christ our Lord.  Amen.

Pain and Glory

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  I recently spoke with a Powers Catholic High School graduate who played hockey for Powers Catholic when he studied there.  He has since graduated and, as part of his life, helps train kids who play hockey.  In our recently conversation he mentioned that some of the kids he trains have the drive to excel, and just need work with particular skill sets.  But he struggles with other kids who want the trophies and the medals, but don’t want to put in the work to excel.  They, like so many, have fallen prey to the cultural milieu that one can have it all without working for it and suffering for it.
    St. Paul mentions in the epistle that he suffers for the Ephesians, which is their glory.  Of course, St. Paul’s sacrifices for the spreading of the Gospel also meant his own glorification by God.  But whether the Apostle directed the sufferings towards the people or towards himself, the sufferings yielded the results, not the ease of sitting at home.
    To know Christ, in His expansive love, is to know suffering.  But to know suffering for Christ is to know glory.  Mothers know this when they carry a child in their womb for 9 months.  Especially towards the end, mothers often can’t wait until the child is (safely) delivered.  But the pain of childbirth leads to overwhelming joy at the birth of the fruit of marital love.  Men know this with sports or the weight room.  You cannot excel in a sport, you cannot grow muscles, if you’re not willing to push yourself beyond what you think your limit is and endure pain as muscle fibers break and repair.  But when you win the championship, or when you are able to bench 225 lbs. or more, you recognize how much the sacrifices contributed to your success.  Or for students when it comes to a class or test.  Studying often does not feel good.  The brain gets fatigued from going over again and again the material that you need to learn or be able to produce for a class or an exam.  You put other fun activities on the back burner to make sure that you can truly comprehend the material and reproduce it for a teacher or professor.  And when you pass the class or the exam, you feel a sense of relief and accomplishment.  

    Christ demonstrates for us, as do the saints, that the cross is the only road to victory.  We think it would be better to get to heaven without the cross, but that’s not possible.  Christ’s glorification only comes about because He willingly suffered for us.  Our glorification only comes about when we suffer with Him and in Him.  We like to think, as Christ mentions in the Gospel, that glorification happens when we seek and take the highest place of honor.  But our exaltation comes when we take the lowest place, which is a way of putting our ego to death, which often feels painful.  Our glory comes from our cross.
    That is true in my vocation as a priest and as your spiritual father.  You are my cross and my glory.  That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy being with you and serving you.  I love being at this parish and being your pastor.  I am blessed beyond measure to be at such a beautiful church and serve wonderful people striving for holiness.  But sometimes some of you drive me up a wall.  And you may not be doing anything wrong or sinful, but I suffer for you to help you grow as best as I am able, though I myself am also subject to sin and driving you up a wall, I’m sure.  You are my cross, but you are also my glory.
    For spouses: you are each other’s crosses and glory.  Again, it’s not like marriage should only be suffering through, like you grin and bear it.  But every couple I know has moments where they don’t like each other, even while they love each other.  Sometimes some idiosyncrasies manifest at just the wrong time.  Or a word said in jest hurts especially because of what happened earlier in the day.  Or the kids have decided that today is the day to get out all excess energy and fight with each other and ask a million questions, all while mom and dad are trying to provide and keep a good house.  Your suffering for each other and your children is the way you’ll go to heaven.
    If we wish to have true glory, we cannot seek after earthly honors and the highest place at the table.  If we wish to have true glory then we cannot be all about having our will be executed by all.  If we wish to have glory than we take up our cross and suffer for God through the daily crosses He allows in our lives.  Because our cross is our glorification, just as it was for Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns for ever and ever.   

Having a Beer with Jesus

Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

    In his song, “Beer with Jesus,” Thomas Rhett sings about what many a person would like to do: sit down and share an adult beverage with the Lord.  And, as the country music singer muses, he would ask Him numerous questions including: “Do you hear the prayers I send?”; “What happens when life ends?”; “What’s on the other side?”; “Is mom and daddy alright?”  As rational human beings we seek knowledge, we seek to understand.  And yet, as we heard in our first reading, “Who can know God’s counsel, or who can conceive what the Lord intends?”
    In humility we must acknowledge that we do not always know why God does what He does, nor do we always find an answer on this side of eternity.  Even if we did sit down and drink a beer with Jesus, there would probably be some things that He didn’t tell us, or He’d tell us not to worry about certain things because we don’t need to know some things, even when we think we do.
    But God has a plan, and He calls us to trust Him that His plan will bring about the best result.  This is where faith comes in, where we go along with God and His ways, even when we can’t make out how it makes sense.  And while God sometimes asks us simply to trust, He proves Himself worthy of that trust by what He did for us.  
    It would be odd for God to tell us that we have to take up our cross and follow Him, unless He took up His cross and followed the will of God, even when it meant extreme suffering and death.  And He proved, by His Resurrection, that though following God and trusting in His plan can mean great anguish, that anguish passes and a joy and life beyond all imagining follows.
    So many people will ask the question, “Why does a good God allow good people to suffer?”  Or, “How can there be evil in the world if God is good?”  The only answer we have is that free will, which allows us to love God, also allows us to disobey God and cause great pain and suffering to others.  Robots and pets cannot truly love because they cannot truly choose.  And a person feeling affection for us without having a choice doesn’t feel good at all or affirm that it is good that we exist.  To use a very recent and probably still raw example, the same free will which allows a very confused man to shoot at a school Mass in Minneapolis, also allows a student to lay on top of his younger schoolmate so that any bullets don’t hit the younger student.  “Greater love has no man than this, to lay down his life for his friend.”  But love can only exist where free will exists.
    But rather than asking why evil exists, for us as Catholics I would argue we gain more by asking what God does with suffering.  What does God do in the face of the cross?  He endures it with us.  He shows us that He will never abandon us when the going gets tough.  Where was God in Minneapolis?  He was with the students, giving some courage to put their own lives on the line, even though they can’t even drive a car or vote.  He was present with the teachers, helping them to use their training and give instructions and provide as much calm as they could so that their students could be as safe as possible.  He was there with the students who died, mourning that their lives had to be cut so short and that a person would misuse free will in such a way as to bring unbearable pain and sorrow to the families who now bury their children.  He was there with the parents, wondering if their child was alive or mourning the loss of their own flesh and blood.  Never did God say that the suffering was too much for Him to remain.  Never did God shy away from that pain and heartache.  He was there, on His cross, suffering in Minneapolis as He suffered on Calvary for the salvation of the world.

    And just as Christ brought the Resurrection from all the evil, hate, and sin that was thrown at Him on the cross, so He will bring a resurrection from Minneapolis and from every evil that happens at every moment in every place around the world.  Somehow, God will cause greater good, not at the expense of the innocent, but transforming a privation of good, that which we call evil, into an overflowing of good, so that even though evil thinks it wins, it ends up in defeat, no matter what evil does or how hard it strives to find victory.  As St. Paul says elsewhere, “Where, O death, is your victory?”  
    And the fact that God brings good out of evil should cause us consolation, because we, all too often, perpetrate evil.  We, all too often, misuse our free will in private or in public, but because all sin is communal, we weaken the entire Body of Christ by our rejection of God, no matter how big or how little a sin we commit.  But God can use our rejection of Him to bring about great goods, even if that good is simply our own conversion as we repent of our sinful deeds and turn back to the Lord to strive, by His grace, to choose good and build back up the Body of Christ.
    Certainly, it would be cool to have a beer, or bourbon, with Jesus.  We would likely have some questions which Jesus may or may not answer, not to hide stuff, but because we really don’t need to know.  But what we do know is God’s love for us, because He proved it on the cross, and makes present in an unbloody manner that same sacrifice as we celebrate this Mass.  May our worthy reception of Holy Communion strengthen us in choosing the good, and strengthen our trust in God’s plan, even when it seems so mysterious to us.

Being Carried to Mount Doom

Good Friday of the Lord’s Passion

    One of the many moving scenes in the third movie, “Return of the King,” of  the trilogy “The Lord of the Rings,” is when Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee are on the slopes of Mount Doom, the mountain in which the One Ring has to be destroyed in order to end the growing strength and power of the evil Sauron.  Frodo has almost no strength left from the weight of the ring on a chain around his neck, as it grows heavier the closer it gets to destruction.  Sam, too, is tired, but is doing all he can to help his friend complete the quest, without which all of Middle Earth will fall into darkness and despair.
    Even though Sam has offered to carry the ring to help, Frodo has made very clear (to put it lightly) that the ring can only be borne by Frodo.  It is his burden to bear.  So, as Frodo is exhausted on Mount Doom, full of despair and darkness, and cannot take another step, Sam says, “‘I can’t carry it for you, but I can carry you.”  And Sam carries Frodo up the slopes towards a small door that grants passage to the fires that will destroy the One Ring.  You can watch the rest of the movie, or, better yet, read the book, to learn how it all turns out.

    J.R.R. Tolkien demonstrates his genius and masterful Catholic storytelling by not having any one character always correspond to one person in salvation and the Scriptures.  Many often compare Frodo to Christ, because he carries the ring like Christ carries the cross and our sin.  And in this sense, we are called to be like Sam, a friend who never leaves the side of the one he loves.  We are to be like the Blessed Mother, John the Apostle, St. Mary Magdalen and the other holy women, Joseph of Arimathea, and Nicodemus, who stayed with Christ through His entire Passion, His entire agony on the cross.  And we are here today to do precisely that.  Through this long, ancient liturgy, begun last night at the Mass of the Lord’s Supper, we show our love for Christ, who showed His love for us by dying on the cross.
    And it’s not much.  We’re not fighting against the soldiers who nailed Jesus to the cross.  We’re not arguing with the Pharisees and the Sadducees who convinced Pilate to crucify the Lord of Glory.  We’re just here, with Jesus, in the liturgical presentation of His last hours before He dies.  We remain here, mourning, recognizing that our sins led Jesus here and made this day necessary.  
    But, Samwise Gamgee also represents Christ.  We are like Frodo, with the weight of sin around us.  We know that sin has to be destroyed, and we have done all we can to destroy it, but without any success.  The weight is too heavy for us to bear.  Sin clouds our vision so that we can no longer remember our home of heaven, union with God.  Sin gives the devil clear sight of us, a gaze which burns our souls and causes us to lose hope.  But Christ does not abandon us, though we have no strength to carry on.  He lifts us up on His shoulders and carries us so that sin can be destroyed and hope can be restored.  
    So today, we stand at the foot of the cross, remaining here with our Lord so that He does not have to be alone.  We see the cost that our sins have created.  But, let us make our own the words of Samwise Gamgee, the words Christ encourages us with as He suffers for our salvation: “Then let us be rid of it, once and for all.”  As Christ destroys sin and death: come, let us worship.

So You Had a Bad Day

Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time
    I think a lot of people have this idea that if we just do what God wants, then everything in life is going to go well.  If you believe in God and follow His teachings in your life, then you won’t worry about not having enough food or clothing, won’t lose your job, won’t experience suffering.  Maybe we have some innate sense in us that says that if we do right, God will reward us immediately. 
    I don’t know about you, but I have not experienced life that way.  Not always, but more than I would have hoped in my life, the song “Bad Day” by Daniel Powter has resonated: “You stand in the line just to hit a new low. / You’re faking a smile with the coffee to go. / You tell me your life’s been way off line, / You’re falling to pieces every time / and I don’t need no carrying on.”  And the thought very easily comes to my mind: ‘God, why are you allowing this to happen to me?  I’m one of the good guys!  Bad stuff shouldn’t happen to me!’
    If we would read this Gospel passage a bit more, we might not set such unrealistic expectations.  First, Jesus tells the disciples that he was going to suffer and be killed, but that He would rise on the third day.  If anyone was truly one of the good guys, to whom bad stuff shouldn’t happen, it would certainly be Jesus.  And yet, He foretells his own passion and Death. 
    But then he makes it even more real: “‘Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.’”  If we wish to be His disciples, then get ready for suffering, in other words.  As Bishop Barron says, we have become so used to the cross, that we have sanitized this phrase.  But think of the worst thing that could happen in your life: the most humiliating, painful thing that could happen to you.  And then put that in where Jesus says, “take up his cross.”  That’s how shocking it would have sounded to the disciples listening to Him.  But He didn’t take it back, or say it was just mean to be taken metaphorically.  And some, like Peter would experience a literal crucifixion just for following Jesus.

    Again, to remind us how bad crucifixion was, let me paint a picture.  First, you were stripped naked.  Not down to your loin cloth; stark naked, with all that God gave you hanging out for everyone to see.  As much as nudity is ubiquitous in our society, it’s altogether different when it’s forced upon us, and we have no way to cover ourselves up.  Then, you were strapped to unfinished wood.  Think of the splinters you were getting, not just in a finger, but probably all over your body.  Of course, Jesus’ body at His crucifixion was already battered, as He had endured scourging where pieces of flesh had been torn out.  Then, to get you supported to hang on the cross, nails would have gone, likely, through the wrists and the feet.  And then you would be suspended as the cross was placed in the stand, and you hung there.  Medically speaking, the weight of your body would have pressed upon your lungs, which started to fill with fluid.  Breathing became more and more difficult.  You could push yourself up a little, to allow the lungs more space to take in oxygen, but that would reignite the sharp pains in your hands and feet.  Crucifixion was a death of asphyxiation.  You suffocated…slowly.  And that was the treatment a disciple could expect.
    Life on this earth is not meant to be easy for a follower of Christ.  It’s not easy because the world is generally against Christ.  And the only way we get a totally easy life on this side of eternity is do the opposite of what St. Paul taught: “Do not conform yourselves to this age but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and pleasing and perfect.”  When we give in to the things which are contrary to Christ, life probably will be a bit easier on this earth.  But that gamble only works if this life is all there is.
    If, on the other hand, there is more to life, where those who have followed Christ faithfully finally get eternal rest and happiness, then even suffering on this earth isn’t as bad.  Our happiness will come, just not here.  And that’s why Christ also says, “‘For the Son of Man will come with his angels in his Father’s glory, and then he will repay all according to his conduct.’”  When we view life from an eternal perspective, the present suffering, while not a walk in the park, can be endured for a future of glory.  It’s like the mother who’s pregnant (an image Jesus Himself uses).  The morning sickness, the skin stretching out, the back pain, the inability to see, let alone touch, your toes, and then the delivery of a baby through an area that starts out much smaller than the baby is not fun.  Especially the last part, especially without drugs, is very painful.  But then the mother gets to hold her baby for the first time, and the pain, while not forgotten, somehow seems worth it. 
    God does not promise us an easy life, even if we follow His will perfectly (which, of course, we don’t).  God does promise us that we will have pain, sometimes very sharp pain, because we follow Him and are working on conforming our lives to His.  But the Good News is that He has also experienced that pain for doing God’s will.  Our God didn’t shrink away from or avoid our pain.  He entered into it and saved even suffering so that we could use it for good when we unite it to Him.  We will have a bad day now and then, even when we’re the good guy.  But God will uphold our souls in the midst of our suffering if we stay faithful to Him and do our best to discern the will of God: “what is good and pleasing and perfect.”  

Doing It On Our Own?

 Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

    A year or so I bought a grill for a young couple with whom I am friends who had expressed some interest in getting a combination grill/smoker.  I did some shopping, found what I wanted at a Lowe's in Brighton, and bought the grill.  When it came time to load it into my Jeep, I realized it was going to be a bit of a struggle, as it was much heavier than I expected.  Luckily, an off-duty State Trooper I know just happened to be coming into the Lowe's when I about ready to load it in, so he was able to help me.  This should have been my first clue that putting this grill together was going to require more than one person, given that even simply loading it into my vehicle required two of us.
    I got home, and, when I had a day off, I decided I was going to put it together.  I quickly learned that it was meant to be a two- to three-person job, because some of the parts were supposed to be held as bolts were tightened.  But, stubborn as I am, I found a way, somehow, to put it together.  With the help of another friend, I delivered it, only to notice that some of the screws I had tightened were a bit loose, due, no doubt, to the fact that I tried to assemble the grill/smoker myself.
    When it comes to salvation, we might take the same approach: I can do it myself.  And maybe even today’s Gospel seems to back us up.  After all, Jesus says, “‘Which of you wishing to construct a tower doe snot first sit down and calculate the cost to see if there is enough for its completion?’”  In other words, we may interpret Jesus to be saying, “Do you have enough to follow me?”  
    But, the fact is, we cannot follow Jesus without Jesus.  That may seem quite obvious when stated that way.  But how many times do we attempt to be our own savior, only to get frustrated when it doesn’t work?  We figure that we simply have to muscle through being a disciple, and then God will be pleased with us and we’ll go to heaven.  When we meet failure (as we most certainly will at some point), it then forces a decision: do we try to muscle through even harder (we failed because we weren’t trying hard enough)?  Or do we just give up because following Jesus is too hard?
    Of course, the better option is to allow Jesus to work within us, rather than trying to save ourselves.  If humanity could save itself, then Jesus and the Incarnation is altogether unnecessary.  If humanity could save itself, then certainly Abraham, or Moses, or David, or one of the prophets would have figured it out.  But, of course, they didn’t.  Not one of the patriarchs, kings, or prophets, no matter how good they attempted to be, could save themselves and follow God perfectly.  They all needed help from above.
    And we cannot follow Jesus without Him.  In fact, He does most of the work, and our job is to cooperate with that work and not get in the way.  When we do fail, it’s usually because we have gotten in the way.  “But Fr. Anthony,” you may say, “Jesus today said that if we do not carry our own cross and follow Him, we cannot be His disciple.”  That is what Jesus said.  But we are not meant to carry our cross by ourselves.  Jesus Himself received the assistance, albeit coerced by the Romans, of Simon of Cyrene to carry the Cross that brought us salvation.  So if even the Master receives assistance in carrying His literal cross, then why do we think that we can do it without any assistance?
    Trying to be our own savior and carrying our cross without Jesus can look very similar to someone who is allowing Jesus to be the savior and allowing Jesus to help carry our cross.  From the externals, it may be exactly the same: we pray, we make time for God, we talk to others about Jesus, we do works of charity for others, etc.  But what is different is the interior disposition.  The person who wants to save him or herself; the person who decides to carry the cross on his or her own, prays, but only because it is required.  That person makes time for God, but only out of fear that if we don’t give God some minimal amount of time, then He won’t let us into heaven.  That person talks about God, but only to increase the size of the parish by adding another member or two.  That person gives money to the poor or to organizations because it’s a nice tax write-off, or he or she likes seeing the name in a donor list.
    On the other hand, the person who allows Jesus to be the savior and help carry our cross prays because it is a chance to spend time with the Beloved, who wants to hear what is going on in our life, and wants to communicate a path forward.  That person makes time for God because that is the number one priority, and the other priorities fall into place after Him.  That person speaks to others about Jesus as a friend or spouse talks about their beloved, and wants others to know that same joy and love.  That person sees Jesus in the poor and the suffering and so does what he or she can to alleviate that suffering in the least of the brothers and sisters of Jesus.  The acts might be the same, but the motivation is totally different.
    You cannot save yourself.  You cannot carry your cross alone.  You cannot earn heaven by anything you could ever do, even in a million years.  Allow Christ to be your Savior.  Let Him work in you, and cooperate with that work, not trying to earn the love of God, but responding to it.  When we do respond to God’s love because of the love He has first shown us, then we will be the disciples that God calls us to be.

Transformation through Trial

 Second Sunday of Lent
    In many a great story of literature, we find a hero who has to undergo a great trial, or many great trials.  After going through the trial(s), the hero is changed, for the better; transformed, we might even say.  This is true of ancient literature, like “The Odyssey,” where Odysseus, on his way home from war, has to conquer many trials on various islands as his ship is tossed about the seas.  This is true of classical literature like “A Christmas Carol” by Charles Dickens, where Ebenezer Scrooge has to grapple with his past, his present, and even a possible future in order to be changed from a miser to philanthropist.  This is true in the great Catholic trilogy, “The Lord of the Rings” by J. R. R. Tolkien where Frodo is put through many trials trying to destroy the Ring of Power in the fires of Mount Doom.  This is even true in J. K. Rowling’s novels about Harry Potter, who discovers who he is and how to stop the evil wizard Voldemort through many tribulations.  
  

 That is true also for Abraham in today’s first reading.  After being promised a son to inherit everything; after his wife, Sarah, getting impatient with God’s plan and telling Abraham to conceive a child with her slave, Hagar; after finally having that son through Sarah, God asks Abraham to sacrifice his son, his only son (at least of the promise), the son whom he loves.  Abraham’s willingness to abandon himself to God’s plan, however mysterious, is his great trial, for which God greatly rewards Abraham.
    As for the greatest story ever told, the story of Jesus, He doesn’t have to do anything to be great; He is great because He is God.  And yet, Jesus, too, in humility, undergoes a great trial in His Passion and Death, in order to be transformed, to be raised from the dead and receive a glorified body.  And in today’s Gospel, we hear about a foretaste of that glorified body as Jesus is transfigured before Peter, James, and John.  It is a rest before the great struggle begins, and the apostles will need that reminder as they go through an unexpected journey of their own with their Master.
    What about our story?  I dare say that everyone over the past year has had trials.  And many people had trials before COVID.  And we will all have trials after we’ve gotten a handle on this pandemic.  How do we view those struggles in the light of faith?  Do we view those struggles in the light of faith, or are we fatalists, just letting life happen to us?  
    God does not call us to be fatalists, as if suffering is beyond the control of God and so we have no one to turn to during our tribulations.  God calls us to be sons and daughters in His Son, who gives us everything that we need, including allowing us to undergo trials to help us to grow.  
    There is, I would also dare say, a part of us that cringes from the trials and tests.  We would rather have the Resurrection without the crucifixion.  We would rather have abs of steel without going to the gym and eating well.  We would rather have infused knowledge than going to school for so many years.  But that’s not the way the world works.  In God’s mysterious plan, somehow the struggle is good for us, and builds us in ways that cheap grace never could.  There is no such thing as cheap grace; it is never earned (because grace is a gift), but it’s also not encountered passively; it always requires some death to self, which is a struggle.  
    And the attitude to have through it all is the attitude of Abraham, of Isaac, of Jesus: God will provide.  We can imagine how much the thought of sacrificing his son tore up Abraham.  We can imagine how confused and perhaps even scared Isaac was.  And in a few weeks we’ll hear the reaction of Jesus to His known, impending suffering and Death as He asks His loving Father for another way, if it is possible.  But, and these words are key, Jesus says, “Not my will, but yours be done.”  
    The trials and tribulations of life, the sufferings we encounter, especially if they are not of our own making, are the ways that we pass through death to life.  Lent is a long time of truly entering in, as we are called to do year round, to the Paschal Mystery–to the Passion and Death of Jesus–so that we are share in the Resurrection and Ascension of Jesus.  And if we go through whatever struggles we have with God, they do strengthen us, they transform us, they even transfigure us to be more like Jesus in glory.  
    We have a choice: do we want to get to that glory that Jesus showed His apostles on Mt. Tabor?  If so, there’s only one way to get there: through the cross; through suffering and death to our own wills and to our own sinfulness.  St. Rose of Lima put it this way: “Apart from the cross there is no other ladder by which we may get to heaven.”  The ladder may be difficult to climb, but the reward at the top is joy beyond imagining!  In the story of your life, follow the path of so many literary heroes: go through trials so that you can be transformed!

How Much to be a Disciple?

Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time
    How much?  We’ve probably all asked that question, usually buying something.  How much?  Maybe we’ve asked it when we were ready to start haggling over the price, whether listed on the product or told us.  How much?
    So it might seem weird for Jesus to talk about the “cost” of discipleship.  He invites us to ask ourselves if we have enough to be His disciple, using the image of a builder about to construct a tower, or even a king about to attack another kingdom with his army.  In both cases, the individual has to ask: do I have enough? 
    I would hazard a guess that the questions, “How much?” and “Do I have enough?” are probably not questions we readily associate with discipleship.  After all, we can all come to Jesus as we are, right?  How do those questions make any sense?
    And that’s exactly what Jesus wants, and what Jesus deserves.  God gave us everything.  Everything we have in life comes as a gift.  Even that for which we toil is indirectly a gift, as our ability to work is itself a gift from God.  So what does the One who gave us everything deserve back?  Everything. 
    That may seem like a lot, but there are probably some people in our life to whom we wouldn’t mind giving our all.  While married couples may not give their all perfectly, they certainly try to give their spouse anything he or she needs.  Parents, even if misdirected to things of lesser importance, sacrifice just about everything for their children.  Sometimes even simply good friends are the ones from whom we would sacrifice anything: time, effort, money. 
    Think about how foolish it would be to barter when it came to a person we loved.  Imagine a husband saying to a wife, “I’ll give you everything that I am, but you’re going to have to let me keep my weird habit of (fill in the blank).”  If he loves her, and she says that he has to give up whatever for her, he will do it.  The same could be said vis versa.  And if we’re not willing to give that whatever up, then it’s safe to say that we don’t fully love that person.  Of course, a person who truly loves us won’t make us give up anything which is good for us.  But a person who truly loves us does insist that we give up things which cause us harm.
    So, now think of Jesus.  How often do we say, “Jesus, I love you, but if you make me give up (fill in the blank), then I’m going to leave you”?  We may not say it directly, but it’s what’s in our mind at times.  For young people, it’s often the Church’s teaching on sexual morality.  For some families it’s the Church’s insistence that we gather each Sunday and Holyday to worship God at Mass.  I think for others, it has to do with our convenience.
    Right now there’s a committee with representation from across the Diocese looking at how many priests we’re going to have retiring and being ordained in the next 5-10 years, and what that will mean for parishes.  I’ve mentioned this before, but over the next four years, we have around 20-25 priests who will be eligible for retirement, but will only be ordaining around 5 priests.  That’s a net loss of 15-20 priests.  So expecting that each parish will have the same amount of Masses in the same number of places is simply unrealistic.  I’m not clairvoyant when I say that some churches will likely close, others will merge, and Mass times will be different.  And, I know that when Mass times change, people leave; that happened here.  And while for some people, Mass at a particular time is not possible because of a work schedule, and for others it’s not practical due to getting children ready, there are no small amount of cases where I’ve heard and been told that if it’s not the time that person wants, he’s leaving.  Which is to say, “Jesus, I’ll only give you everything if it’s not too inconvenient.” 
    This is also a great reminder for us to pray for vocations.  Sometimes parents are open to having priests, as long as it doesn’t come from their family.  But all young men should be open to a vocation to priesthood.  Maybe that’s how a young man is to give his all to Jesus.
    I’m have no plans to change our Mass schedule.  But if we, in the future, went down to one Mass, would you stop going altogether?  What’s most important is not so much where we go, but that we go.  Changes to parish structures all across the Diocese of Lansing are bound to happen.  Will we stick with Jesus no matter what the configuration is?  No matter what the future holds, are we willing to give Jesus everything?  Are we willing to take up our cross, and give our all to Jesus?

Jesus doesn’t do “gotchas.”  He lets us know that following him has a cost, and that cost is everything.  That’s what He means when He says that we have to “hate” family, and even our own life, and have to take up our cross and follow Him.  On the cross, a person lost everything.  You were separated from family, not being able to join them, but being fastened to the wood of the cross.  You were separated from any dignity, not only because you were killed as a criminal, but, as most scholars say, you were naked as the day you were born.  And of course, you were separated from life, as you slowly asphyxiated, where your lungs filled with fluid and your breaths became more and more shallow until you could breathe no more.  Being on the cross meant giving your all.

Alone

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion

Our Gospels today relate a circumstance we know all too well: when things are going well and you’re on top of the world, your friends are happy to be with you.  But as soon as things go south, you are all alone.  It’s like when you’re young and you have friends over to your house: they’re happy to be with you to have a good time, but as soon as you hear your parents say your first name followed by your middle name, all the sudden your friends scatter and it’s just you having to face what you know will be at least a stern talking to by your parent.

Jesus enters Jerusalem, as we heard in the Gospel proclaimed at the blessing of palms, with lots of people, cheering Him on.  But when Jesus is arrested, and eventually led away to be crucified, it is only a few friends (by varying accounts the Blessed Mother, St. John the Apostle, St. Mary Magdalen, and a few others) who stand by Jesus.

Death is something that is a part of life which makes us feel alone.  Generally, no one else experiences it with us, even if there are people standing around us at the time of death.  We can never experience death for another person.  As much as we might sympathize, and as much as there are common factors, death will be a unique experience for each one of us.

So it makes sense, as Jesus dies on the cross, that He says, as we heard in today’s psalm, “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” Jesus, in His human nature, feels alone, abandoned by God, as He dies.  He experiences everything we do, except without sin, including the individuality of dying.  Of course, for Jesus, death is not part and parcel of His existence.  Jesus is God, the source of life, Life Incarnate, so death is not merely something which makes so little sense, it is the antithesis of who Jesus is.  Of course, God the Father does not truly abandon Jesus at the hour of His death, as Jesus truly takes up His cross, any more than God abandons us when we are faced with the cross.  But Jesus feels like He is alone, as He empties Himself and dies on the cross.

The cross is the other place where we feel alone.  When I say cross here, I’m talking about our suffering, our challenges, especially the ones that touch us at the deepest levels of our human nature.  Whether it’s a big cross or a small cross to outsiders, each cross is heavy to the person carrying it, to the person dying on it.  Carrying the cross, on the cross, is where the person feels alone, abandoned, perhaps even by God.  The cross is the way that we, too, like Jesus, are invited to empty ourselves.  Our pride tells us to hold on to ourselves, to puff up ourselves, but the cross is the great deflator.  

Of course, we don’t have to carry or die on our crosses.  We always have the choice to say no to the cross.  But in saying no to the cross, we say no to the Resurrection.  The cross empties us, as St. Paul talks about in the second reading.  The cross humbles us.  But in emptying us and humbling us, we finally have room for God, who will not leave us empty and debased, but will raise us up, just as He did for Jesus.

Because we are human, our tendency is to run away from the cross.  We are afraid of its weight, and that God will abandon us as we carry it and die on it.  The cross, which is also to say dying to ourselves, is painful.  But it is the only way that we can allow God to raise us up, to conquer our sin and death and give us holiness and life.  And God will not abandon us, even if it feels that way, when we suffer.  

So I invite you not to abandon Jesus, just as He didn’t abandon you.  All this week we have an opportunity to be with Jesus as He suffers, to tell Jesus with our actions that He is not alone.  Come to the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Thursday night at 7 p.m. as Jesus institutes the Eucharist and the ministerial priesthood, and is arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Come to our Good Friday Liturgy at 2 p.m., as Jesus dies on the cross, and to Tenebrae at 8 p.m., as He is laid in the tomb.  Embrace Jesus’ Passion, Cross, and Death, so that you can share in His Resurrection.

Are We There Yet?

Second Sunday of Lent

“Are we there yet?”  This common cry from someone on a long journey is as common as it is annoying.  But it’s also understandable, especially if the long journey is towards a vacation or a nice destination.  Often times we like to skip the travel part, and just arrive at the destination.  The Star Trek idea of using a transporter has for a long time seemed to me an ideal way to travel, in as much as it requires very little time to get from point A to point B.

It can be difficult when we’re not at the destination.  But think about Abram in our first reading.  This is really the beginning of the story of Abram, who would be renamed Abraham.  God calls Abram to leave Haran, where Abram’s father, Terah, had taken him.  Terah had been called to go to the land of Canaan, but something happened and Terah never made it to his destination.  So God calls Abram to go to Canaan.  One website said that the distance between Haran and Canaan was around 500 miles.  To put that in context, 500 miles south of us is the city of Nashville, Tennessee.  And Abram was 75 years old when he started that journey.  Abram did make it, and traveled around Canaan, also going to Egypt, and always seeming to struggle a little.  But he never saw the fulfillment of God’s promise that God would make of Abram a great nation.  In fact, Abram had only 2 sons, and only one of them, Isaac, was actually the son of the promise to be a great nation.  

Jesus, for His part, also knew that the pilgrimage His apostles would be on would be difficult.  He had told them that He would have to suffer and die, but assured them of the Resurrection.  But still, they didn’t really understand.  In their mind, the Messiah was not supposed to bring sorrow and die, but to bring a new Davidic kingdom, with nothing but good times for the Chosen People.  

So, to give them something to hold on to in the midst of their struggles, Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up on Mt. Tabor, which, from personal experience I can say is no easy hike, and there He is transfigured before them.  Jesus gives them a taste of what the Resurrection will be like so that, as they’re struggling with Jesus’ suffering and death, they will be able to hold on to a little piece of heaven.  Of course, the disciples like this heavenly vision, and would rather not leave, especially Peter.  He basically is saying today, “I’m happy here; let’s not bother with the rest of your mission.  This is good enough.”  But Jesus takes them back down the mountain, and continues His journey, His pilgrimage to Calvary and the cross.

In our own faith life, we may ask from time to time, though maybe not in these words, “Are we there yet?”  We want to be at our destination: heaven.  And that’s good.  But to get there, we have to press on.  We cannot, like Terah, Abram’s father, stop and settle on the way, lest we give up and not reach our destination, the true Promised Land.  In the midst of our sufferings and trials, we want to be done with it all and be in a place where there is no more suffering, no more confusion, no more “not yet.”  That takes courage and perseverance to press on, even in the face of difficulties, when we know that God is calling us to keep going.

Some of you, maybe many of you, feel like this parish is at least in a time of suffering and pain.  God invited you to a new pilgrimage, not so much by you moving, but by me moving here, which is a change from my venerable predecessor.  We might say that we, like Abram, have left Haran, but we haven’t made it to the Promised Land yet, and we’re wondering when, or even if, we will get there.  In many ways I feel your pain and insecurity.  We look at the bulletin and see how far off we are in Sunday/Holyday collections and wonder how we can make it (but don’t worry; I’m cutting back on expenses as much as possible).  Fr. Anthony is different than Fr. Robert, and different is sometimes scary.  Some of our friends have left the parish to go to other parishes.  These things are on my mind and heart as well.  But, I am personally comforted by the words of Jesus we heard two weeks ago, when He told us not to worry and not to be anxious, because God cares for us.  That is what helps to limit the sleepless nights that I sometimes have.

I wish I could suddenly appear in a brilliant, shining light to give you a sense that everything is going to be alright.  There are definitely signs of hope: our school is strong and growing stronger, and it is my firm belief that by spending time with our youth and their families in their schools and in their activities, which I do my best to support and to which I frequently go, our parish will rebound and that through our youth and their families, especially through our wonderful schools, new families will be drawn into our parish.  I’m not saying that everything is going to be easy and painless from here on out.  I seem to find myself on the cross every week, and the words of Psalm 22, the words that Jesus said on the cross, come easily to my mind: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  But my hope and my consolation is the Resurrection, which was prefigured in the Transfiguration that we heard about today.  God is continuing to do great things in our parish, as he has since our foundation in 1955.  But we’re not in the Promised Land yet.  We, like Abram, must press on until we get there.

Frequent Dying and Rising

Tenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

For as stupendous as raising someone from the dead is, it happens somewhat frequently in the Bible.  We heard about God raising the widow of Zarephath’s child through Elijah in our first reading, and Jesus raising the son of the widow from Nain in today’s Gospel.  Jesus also raises the daughter of Jairus, a synagogue official, and Lazarus.  After Jesus ascended into heaven, Peter raises a young girl named Dorkas (what an unfortunate name!), and Paul raises to life a person who falls out of a window after that person had fallen asleep because of how long Paul was preaching (there are dangers with preaching too long!).  I don’t know why, but I feel like that’s a lot of times.  About a month ago, I was given credit for raising someone from the dead by some of our firefighters, after I was riding with the firefighters and we responded to a call of someone having a heart attack, who seemed to miraculously wake up when we arrived (in reality, that person was an example of why you should never mix alcohol and a prescription narcotic).

But God truly does raise people from death on a regular basis, if we take time to think about it.  God raises from death those who are baptized.  In baptism, children, men and women are taken from being at enmity with God to being His children.  By baptism, people are buried with Christ–they die–so that they can rise with Him to new life.  By baptism, the old self has to die, like the grain of wheat, so that the new self, the person alive in Christ, can live.  

But that process of dying and rising does not stop on the day that we are baptized.  Each day we have the opportunity to die and rise.  It starts for some of us at the moment our eyes open.  At that moment we have the opportunity to die to our laziness and the comfort of our bed and rise to the new day that is before us.  There’s nothing wrong with hitting the snooze button if we have time, but at some point for many of us, we need to get up and get prepared for the day.  That’s why, at the beginning of my day, before my feet hit the floor of my bedroom, I say a short prayer: Mater mea, fiducia mea!–My Mother, my confidence!, and I entrust my entire day to Jesus through the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary.  You could say any prayer that you like, but prayer is a great way to rise to new life.

Throughout our day there will be people trying to kill us.  Sometimes we are the people trying to kill others.  Hopefully not literally, but certainly figuratively.  What I mean by that is that we are all sinful, and we all give in to temptations, to not be disciples of Jesus.  Whether it’s others or ourselves, there’s gossip, slander, sharing secrets we have no business sharing, treating others as objects or as means to advancement, and the list could go on and on.  If we are the culprit, then we need to die to all of those sins.  We need them to be put to death, and Jesus does that by His suffering on the cross.  When we bite our lip, or treat someone kindly, we are dying to our fallen nature and its sinful tendencies.  If we are on the receiving end, then we die when we patiently suffer through them (correcting when necessary and prudent) instead of giving back what we received.  And whether we are putting to death our own tendencies, or suffering with Jesus because of others’ tendencies, new life, resurrection, is available for us, not only after our earthly life ends, but even on this side of eternity.

Because those who can accept suffering and unite it with Jesus do live happier lives.  They may still have the same sorrows, but they do not let the sorrows control their lives.  They cling to their new life in Christ, given to them in baptism, and live in the joy of the Resurrection, even in this vale of tears.  Which is the happier life: the one tossed about by uncontrollable forces, or the one who entrusts his or her life to God and stays on a steady course toward Him?

Everything in our nature rebels against death.  We were not made to die, but experience death because of sin.  We see that rejection of death and its power in our first reading and Gospel today.  But there is another kind of death, a healing death, a death to our sinful selves, a death in Christ, which is not contrary to who we are, but helps us to be the fullest person we were created to be.  May we allow our sinful natures to die with Christ on the cross, so that we can also rise with Him to new life, both in our daily lives, and especially in the life to come.

Putting Sin to Death

Good Friday of the Lord’s Passion

It might seem cruel of Jesus to say, as He did: “Whoever wishes to come after my must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”  Why does the path to Jesus have to go through pain and suffering?  Why does the path to Jesus have to go through death?  Is God sadistic?  Does He love seeing His children in pain?  What is it about following Jesus that the cruelest torture the Romans could imagine would be the image of being a disciple of Jesus?

God does not rejoice in the death of His children.  He is not a sadist.  Pain and suffering were not part of the plan.  But we chose to reject God, and through our sin, death entered the world.  While we have had original sin washed away from us in baptism, we still feel its lingering effects, like the cold winds of winter that try to keep spring from coming.  We still have the tendency to say no to God and yes to our disordered desires: eating or drinking too much; using our gift of sexuality not in accord with God’s Word; tearing others down by what we say; unforgiveness and vengeance in our hearts; power, greed, control.  

God had to put all of that, and more, to death, because as long as it lives, it could take over.  It had to die.  And so Jesus took all of our disordered desires upon Himself, and let them be killed in Him, on the cross, as He gasped for breath, desire for air competing with the excruciating pain of the nails in his body.  The death of sin became the opportunity for life in Christ.

God does not see sin as we do.  It is not simply a mistake, a bad choice, a wrong road that one goes down.  It is antithetical to who He is; a perversion; a warped way of living.  Sin is darkness to the light of holiness, and in the presence of the light, the darkness has no choice but to be destroyed.  There is no other way to deal with darkness.

Today as we venerate the cross, we have the opportunity to nail to the cross all the sins that we have committed.  As we come and genuflect or bow, and maybe kiss the cross, we bring with us the sins that led Jesus to a cross, to have to put to death every sin that was ever committed and will ever be committed.  As we come to venerate the cross we bring our darkness so that it can be put to death.  

This plain cross reminds us that there is no path to life except through it.  The only way to deal with sin is by killing it.  Bring all of your disordered desires, as I will bring mine, and let them die with Jesus.  Let darkness have its time today.  Let us keep watch, though, for tomorrow night, as darkness falls, light will have its eternity.

"See, mother, I make all things new"

Good Friday of the Lord’s Passion

One of the great privileges of a priest’s life is to enter into profound moments in a family’s life.  Though not very well-known to any of you (but becoming more well known each and every day!), you invite me in to some of the most joyous moments of your life: the baptism of a child; First Holy Communion; the marriage of your children; birthdays, anniversaries, and other celebrations.  The same is true for the profound moments in your life that are not joyous but sorrowful: the diagnosis of cancer; the loss of a job; the break-up of a relationship or even a marriage; the death of a loved one.  Those are moments of humility for me, because it’s not really Anthony Strouse that you’re inviting into your lives, homes, and hearts at those moments: it’s Fr. Anthony, the priest, the bridge between God and His People, the living representation of Jesus.  Especially with sorrowful moments, the profundity of being invited into what is altogether personal strikes me often.

That makes today even more powerful.  When we come to venerate the cross, I have no idea what is going through your minds.  But I can tell you what is going through mine.  As you come to genuflect or bow to the cross, or even kiss the cross, I see and feel the crosses you are carrying in your life.  I see and feel the pain and the sorrow that is present in your life and I see you offering it to Jesus, joining it with His perfect sacrifice, and knowing that He gave everything for us so that we could have life, dying in a most humiliating and painful way.  And yet He still wants us to give our crosses to Him.  He does not shrink from our pain but embraces it and receives it from us so that we do not carry it by ourselves.  

I remember that powerful scene from the movie “The Passion of the Christ” where Jesus begins to fall as Mary, His Blessed Mother, watches.  Then, as Jesus is falling to the ground, the scene changes to a flashback from Mary’s memory of Jesus falling to ground as a child when He was playing and Mary running to catch Him and console Him in His pain.  Then the flashback ends and she runs to her bloody, tired son, fallen to the ground.  He looks at her and says, “See, mother, I make all things new.”  

Today we remember in a solemn way how Christ made all things new by His death on the cross.  As we give come to venerate the cross, offer Jesus your crosses and allow Him to make all things new in your life.  And know that as you offer your cross, Mary, our Mother given to us by Jesus at the cross, will run to us, too, to catch us and console us in our pain.  

Anchored to the Cross

Feast of the Triumph of the Holy Cross

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bing Crosby and Suffering

Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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