Doing All Things Well

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  As a perfectionist, I would likely love to hear people say about me: “He has done all things well.”  Generally speaking, I think I try to do all things well.  
    Of course, as far as I know, I haven’t been able to make the deaf hear and the mute speak, which is why the crowds praised the Lord.  But did the Lord doing things well because of the physical miracle that He worked?  Or could we see something deeper in the reality that He did things well?
    At the end of the day, what the Lord did well entailed following God’s will.  Yes, this happened in the macro scale, of proclaiming the Gospel and going towards the offering of His life for our salvation.  St. Paul references this in the epistle as he gives the heart of the kerygma.  The Apostle reminds us that Christ died for our sins, was buried, rose on the third day, and then appeared to the Apostles and many disciples, and lastly to St. Paul himself.
    But it also happened in the day-to-day moments, like the one in the Gospel today with the healing.  The first thing to note is that Christ was not in Jewish territory.  He was in the Decapolis, which was pagan territory.  Yes, He was passing through, but the will of God led Him to foreign lands, not just Jewish territory.  And this pagan land the crowds brought Him the deaf and mute man, no doubt having heard about some of the wonders that Christ had done.
    Following God’s will also included being very earthy.  It wasn’t as if the Savior simply said, as He did other times, “I do will it,” and then heal the malady.  In accord with the will of God Christ puts His fingers into the man’s ears, spits, touches the man’s tongue, groans, and says “Ephpheta,” which means “be opened.”  If you had to go me putting my fingers in your ears, spitting, and touching your tongue for Extreme Unction, it probably would be even rarer than it is used today.  But that’s what God wanted our Lord to do (and, to be clear, I don’t do that for Extreme Unction).  Beyond the actual touch, it concerned the day-to-day aspects of life, not a sanitized ideal of life that doesn’t connect to the world in which we live.
    So for us, doing all things well means simply following God’s will, not just in the overarching themes of our lives, but in the day-to-day realities of our lives.  On the one hand, we should be seeking God’s will for our major decisions.  Does God want me to be a priest, a religious sister, or married?  Does God want me to study for this diocese or that, or should I join this religious order or the other one, or should I marry this person or that one?  How do I make a gift of my life to the Lord who has given me everything?
    On the other hand, God’s will often manifests itself in quotidian ways.  Does God want me to stay up late the night before Mass and spend that time with friends?  How will that affect my ability to pray and concentrate during Mass?  Which way do I take for my drive to work?  How do I greet the first co-worker I see?  When my child asks to play after I get home from work and am exhausted, can I give what little I have left, or would it be better to take a little break so that I don’t snap out of fatigue?  

    Those are all ways that we can open ourselves to God’s will and do things well.  And that’s the way we become a saint.  I think we can often feel like being a saint happen simply by choosing the right vocation, or by doing something great for God.  But what did St. Thérèse, the Little Flower, teach us?  What makes a difference is not so much doing great things, but doing little things with great love.  When we make even our small choices based upon a great love for doing what God wants, we do things well, and allow God to perfect us by His grace.  Certainly, we still need to make sure that we are seeking God’s will through prayer and counsel as we discern to what vocation God calls us.  But it can be so easy to write God off in those smaller moments of the day, and He wants to be involved in our life in those ways, too.
    So this week, think of ways that you can open yourself to the will of God.  Do you pray each day that God make His will clear to you?  When you pray the Our Father, perhaps really slow down at the phrase, “Thy will be done.”  We can, like Christ, do things well when we allow God to work through us, even when it doesn’t come naturally to us or we’re put in situations that seem a bit foreign.  May others see the grace of God at work in our lives, and observe that we have done all things well.  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.   

Walking through Pagan Lands

Eleventh Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  By now we’re probably all aware of the debacle that was the opening ceremonies of the Paris Olympics.  I didn’t watch it (I’m honestly not that big of an Olympics fan).  And I’m sure there were some nice parts to it.  However, the story quickly became how the opening ceremonies mocked Christianity by mimicking da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” with drag queens, transitioning to a mostly-naked man depicting Dionysius, the pagan god of revelry and debauchery.

    Bishop Barron had some good commentary on the whole thing, including the so-called apology after the fact.  And bishops from across the United States and the world have condemned this unnecessary antagonism towards Christianity, some noting that no such thing would have every been done concerning Mohammed or the Buddha.  I’ll let those commentaries speak for themselves.
    What struck me is how we really do live in pagan times.  I’m sure I knew this subconsciously, but the opening ceremonies certainly cemented it in my mind.  None of us lived during the first few centuries of Catholicism, before the Emperor Constantine legalized it in the early fourth century, but I doubt it was much different from what we saw on our screens (there’s just an easier way to share the depravity now with television and social media).
    So what do we do?  How do we live our lives in a post-christendom age?  I would suggest our Gospel gives us a clue.  The pagan world is like the man who was deaf and mute.  It is a world that is alive, but is not as it is supposed to be.  It lacks the ability to live up to its fullest potential.  The Decapolis was a group of ten city-states not far from the Sea of Galilee that had some Jewish population, but was mostly pagan.  The Lord, though his primary mission was to the lost sheep of the house of Israel, walked through a thoroughly pagan territory (this is one example; the other famous is His journey where He encountered the Gerasene demoniac).  So Christ then, like us today, walked through pagan lands.
    What did Christ do?  He opened the deaf and mute man’s ears and loosened his tongue.  In this way, the man could then hear the Gospel and share it.  Now, at this point, I do have to address the admonition that Christ gave the man who He healed to tell no one.  Mark’s Gospel is full of these warnings not to speak about what the Redeemer had done.  Why?  Part of St. Mark’s point, I believe, is that the Lord wants belief through faith.  The miracles He works demonstrates who He is, but they cannot take the place of faith.  And so He wants to draw the people to true and abiding faith in Himself as the Son of God, not just amazement and the miracles.  
    But back to the man, who, in some sense, represents paganism.  He needs someone to open his ears and to allow him to speak.  And not just speak anything, but speak the truth.  Paganism, a rejection of the true God, struggles to hear what is true and speak what is true.  It has some truth (think of Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, for example), but that truth is muddled in with so much error.  Only when Christ come can the truth that the pagan world recognized be purified so that it doesn’t lead others astray (think of the Christianization of Plato and Aristotle by St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas, respectively, for example).  
    So, our role, as little christs, little anointed ones, sealed with the Holy Spirit to proclaim the Gospel, is to go to paganism and open their ears to the truth so that their lips can proclaim the Gospels.  Our mission is to take the water of baptism and apply it to paganism as we cry out to God and say Ephpheta, that is, be opened.  This is done, not by force, but by the witness of a life lived in fidelity to what Christ has taught, and sharing the reason for our hope.  That is how the Christians of the first few centuries secretly and very successfully converted much of Roman society, which was itself marked by polarization between the rich and poor, the increased stretching of the Roman military apparatus across the known world, and the licentiousness of those who had power and money (sound familiar?).  
    The early Catholics were known for not discriminating between Jew and non-Jew (Gentile was the word used, also sometimes Greek).  They didn’t practice enslavement.  They didn’t consider women and children property, but equal sharers in the new life that Christ won by His Passion, Death, and Resurrection.  This is what St. Paul meant when he wrote to the Galatians, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”  He wasn’t talking about gender identity or power struggles.  He was talking about how everyone was welcome to follow Christ, on Christ’s terms, and that the most important identity was that of a disciple.  In our invitations to others, we should have the same approach–invite everyone, regardless of race, religion, gender, socio-economic status, etc.–to follow Christ as He instructs us.
    Early Catholics drew people in by the way that they were happier because they didn’t worry about the power struggles, and the never-ending pursuit of riches.  An ancient Christian apologetic letter called The Epistle of Diognetus, showing how Catholics were not subversive but followed a higher law, wrote that Catholics “share their food by not their wives.”  They care for the poor, they exercise hospitality, but they do not share the perverse Roman sexual mores.  We, too, can live in such a way that we care for the poor, we show kindness to others, and exercise chastity and modesty in our relationships with others.  
    This was the way that pagan Rome became Christendom (albeit over centuries).  This was the way that the Church moved from being a bunch of small communities of maybe 30-50 people to metropolises of Catholic life and culture.  It worked then, and I believe it will work now.  We may not have the power we used to; we may not be able to keep public debauchery and indecency at bay anymore; but we can witness to Christ and the freedom and joy that come from living the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit, live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen.