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. 

Muppets and Making Ready

Second Sunday of Advent

    Growing up I was (and still am) a fan of the Muppets, the cloth puppets that Jim Henson created.  And so, during this Advent season, my mind turns to the Muppet adaptation of A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, called, “The Muppet Christmas Carol.”  Gonzo plays the part of Charles Dickens, with Rizzo the Rat assisting him.  Kermit the Frog is Bob Cratchit, with his wife, Miss Piggy, and their kids, including Robin playing Tiny Tim.  Michael Caine plays Ebenezer Scrooge.
    On the evening of Christmas Eve, Kermit and his fellow accountants (who are played by rats) close up the shop and start on their way home to get ready for Christmas, singing a song entitled, “One More Sleep ’til Christmas.”  They even ice skate in the street, and then Kermit makes his way home where Miss Piggy prepare the Christmas feast (meager as it was for the Cratchit family).
    As the Gospel introduces us to St. John the Baptist today, we continue to make our Christmas preparations, though we have more than one more sleep ’til Christmas.  St. John the Baptist is Jesus’ cousin, and fulfills the prophecy of the Prophet Isaiah as he cries out to prepare the way of the Lord and make straight his paths.  Isaiah also says that the valleys will be filled, and the mountains and hills will be leveled out, so that the road to God is flat and easily traversed.  

    So, do we listen to St. John and the Prophet Isaiah?  How do we prepare for the return of Christ and the celebration of His Nativity at Christmas?  What are the paths to God like in our lives?  
    First, how are we preparing for Christ, whether His return in glory, or the celebration of His Nativity?  Are we preparing?  It is so easy just to treat Advent like any other time of the year, but colder, darker, and with more parties.  There is so much to do, from decorating the house for Christmas, to buying presents, to attending work or personal Christmas parties, that the season can fly by.  In fact, as of today, there are only seventeen more days until Christmas, or slightly more than two weeks.  
    The best way to prepare for Christ is to prepare our hearts.  We do that by making a little more time for prayer each day.  Maybe it’s a daily Advent reflection, or simply an extra five minutes of prayer in the morning or before you go to bed.  But one of the best ways to prepare for Christ is to speak with Him about how life is going, and listen to what He says to you.  
    Another good way is to read Scripture.  In the Bible God reveals who He is and who we should be.  If do not familiarize ourselves with the Word of God in the Bible, then we’ll miss out on knowing God and knowing ourselves.  And while the Bible can be a bit overwhelming if you try to read it from cover to cover, during Advent, read the Book of the Prophet Isaiah in the Old Testament.  Isaiah prophesies a lot about the Messiah, prophecies that Christ fulfilled when He was conceived and born.  And while some of what Isaiah says needs some explanation, much of it is pretty accessible.
    As for valleys that Isaiah prophesied: what are the low points of our life?  I would suggest that the valleys in our lives are sins and sinful habits.  During this season of Advent, God wants to fill them in with His grace so that they no longer bring us low.  Advent is always a good time to go to confession.  But, in addition, look more deeply at your most common sins, or maybe the most serious sins, and try to understand why those sins are so tempting to you, and how you fall into them.  When it comes to our sins, the Devil always shows his hand in showing us where we like to fall.  Maybe it’s overeating; maybe it’s sexual sins by ourselves or with another; maybe it’s gossiping or detracting from someone.  Whatever our most common or most grievous sins, ask yourself when sin seems most appealing for you, and then ask for God’s grace during those times, and make a plan to distract yourself during those times from sins with something else that is good.
    As for mountains and hills: these are the times of pride in our life.  How does pride keep us from God?  Pride is a raising of ourselves in our own eyes or the eyes of another not in accord with God’s will.  When we have pride, we put ourselves in the place of God and unreasonably focus on our own good, rather than the good that God is, or the good that others need.  Humbling ourselves doesn’t mean pretending we’re no good, but it does mean not primarily going after honors or attention.  Humility means allowing God to be God and taking our cue from Him, rather than deciding that we know best and that the world should operate according to our wants and desires.  
    As we prepare for Christ’s return and the celebration of His Nativity at Christmas, St. John the Baptist invites us to make sure we are ready.  Are we praying daily, and maybe praying a bit more during Advent?  Do we read God’s word, especially maybe the Book of the Prophet Isaiah during Advent?  Are we seeking forgiveness of sins, and even trying to get rid of habits of sin?  Do we seek humility and not focus so much on ourselves?  All these ways, and more, are great ways to prepare for Christ so that God will bless us, everyone.

What Humility Is and Isn't

Third Sunday after Pentecost

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  St. Peter today advises us to be humble.  A simple exhortation.  A difficult execution, for a variety of reasons, including a lack of understanding of in what humility consists, as well as a deeply-ingrained American habit of self-sufficiency.  Difficult also because humility goes hand-in-hand with the Incarnation, and so the devil tries to keep us from humility at all costs.
    First, what humility is not: humility is not ignoring gifts or talents that we have, or pretending that gifts or talents are not good.  That is false humility, and it is actually pride, because we become the judges of what is good or a gift, rather than receiving gifts with open hands from our loving Father.  I think in an effort to avoid pride, it can be so easy to say, and mean, when someone gives us a compliment, “Oh, I’m not that good,” or “it really isn’t that much.”  Someone has recognized something good in you, which reflects back to the goodness of God who made us.  There is nothing wrong with acknowledging that gift, especially if we acknowledge God who gave us that gift.  Christ Himself said, “‘Your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father.’” 
    At the same time we cannot claim that our gifts are entirely up to us.  Bragging or making sure that others know about our gifts, whether they want to know or not, goes against the virtue of humility.  There’s nothing wrong with using our gifts and talents, and if someone compliments us on them, we can certainly thank the other person for their kind words, while acknowledging that God is the source of every good gift, but we go beyond what we should when we want to make sure that others know exactly what we’re good at, or talk about our achievements and successes without others desiring to know what they might be. 
    But humility comes from humus, meaning ground or dirt, and understands that God is God and we are not.  Not that God would ever say this, but when I think about the rude awakening to the fact that we are not God, the phrase that comes to mind comes with my mother’s voice: “I brought you into this world, I can take you out.”  Again, not God’s voice there, but there exists a reality that God does not need us for anything, and the world existed just fine without us.  The fact that God chose to have us in the world is due only to His love and providence, which is pure gift.  We could not earn a spot in the world.  Each Lent we especially focus on this, as we hear in Latin, “Remember, O man, that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  Humility recognizes, as hard as the temptation wants to exert itself again and again, that we are not God or master of our own destiny or the universe.  Adam and Eve precisely failed on this point, as they wanted to be like God on their own terms, not His, and disobeyed His command to not eat the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.
    Which brings up another way of living a humble life: recognizing our need for a savior.  Intellectually, we probably all agree that we need to be saved.  But do we act like it?  Or do we act like we save ourselves?  I think this is a particularly dangerous temptation for Catholics.  We have so many things that we do, so many prayers and pious acts and sacrifices that we take upon ourselves.  And those are good, and can help us to accept God’s grace and love.  But those prayers and pious acts and sacrifices don’t save us.  God saves us. 
    Humility can also be tough when we live a pretty good life.  We start to approach life as if we have it all figured out.  But if that’s the case, then why would we need God?  If we don’t need saving, then we don’t need a Savior.  And if we don’t need a Savior, then why did Jesus bother dying on the cross?  Or course, even if we are not the worst sinners, we need a savior.  And not just for years past, but at each moment of our life. 
    This doesn’t mean that we make up sins in our confession.  We may well avoid all mortal sins; praise God!  And maybe we’re not even that cognizant of many venial sins.  But certainly there are ways that we can grow in our relationship with God.  The saints are great examples of this.  As they grow in holiness, it’s not that they make up sins, or make sins out of things that are not.  But the recognize even smaller affronts to God that maybe they never noticed before.  They are sensitive to the little ways in which they draw back from divine guidance or control, and seek absolution for those things.  The saints, though from an outside view sin very infrequently, if at all, know deeply, in the very marrow of their bones, that they need a savior each moment of their lives.  And they know that any success that they have in following God and living any virtue is due only to God’s gracious love and life being poured into their hearts. 
    The humble man or woman lets God come after him or her like a shepherd seeks after a sheep or like the woman searching after her lost coin.  A person living humility knows that he or she is lost without God, and begs that he or she might stay with the fold, but if not, be found as soon as possible. 
    If you think you’re doing well with humility, I would encourage you to pray the Litany of Humility.  Does any of it bristle you?  If so, it might be a part of your life that needs deeper conversion.  I know that I am still very much working on humility.  I like self-dependency.  I get uncomfortable when others compliment me.  But praised be God who has given me gifts, and who lets me see the ways in which I still need to grow in allowing His grace to transform me to be a better disciples.  To Him be glory and dominion for ever and ever: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

Paralyzed, Friends, Scribes, and Jesus

Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  When we hear the Gospel passage today, we hear about two, maybe three, individuals or groups: the paralyzed man and his friends; the scribes; and our Lord.  For today’s homily I’d like to focus on those three as we meditate upon the Word of God, and seek what the Lord is saying to us.

   The first is the paralyzed man and his friends.  The paralyzed man is lying in the bed, and one presumes that his paralysis is at least his legs, but perhaps his arms as well.  He can’t take care of himself by himself.  He is utterly dependent on others to eat, to drink, to clean himself, and even to get somewhere.  Left to himself he has nothing.  Isn’t that us before Holy Baptism?  And really even after Holy Baptism.  Left to ourselves, we can do nothing good.  Our Lord says in John, chapter 15, “‘Apart from me you can do nothing.’”  Any good that we can accomplish only happens because of God.  Any good that is done by a non-believe is still a gratuitous gift of God, and made possible by His power.  We are paralyzed because we are fallen.  We need to be healed.
    Think of his friends, too.  In this passage we don’t have any sense of who wanted to see Christ.  Did the paralyze man hear about this itinerant rabbi who healed people?  Did the friends have some experience of the Savior, and then want to bring their paralyzed man to see if Christ would heal him?  We don’t know.  But we do know that, whoever desired it, or desired it more, the friends brought the paralyzed man to Jesus.  They did what he could not.  They became one of the causes of his healing.
    I preach about friends on a pretty regular basis, partly because of what a treasure friends are.  I have used the quote of St. Thomas Aquinas: “There is nothing on earth more to be prized than true friendship.  Friendship is the source of the greatest pleasures, and without friends even the most agreeable pursuits become tedious.”  I think the Angelic Doctor here is not talking about a mere acquaintance, someone you know and with whom you enjoy spending time, but especially a true friend, someone who helps you to grow in virtue.  Any friend who brings us to Christ is a friend worth having.  Any friend who can rejoice with us and commiserate with us, but who directs both back to God and His Divine Plan supports us in our desire to be saints.  
    Do your friends bring you to our Lord, or do they pull you away from Him?  Can they help you find healing, the healing that you desire and even maybe the healing of which you are not even fully aware?  Friendship is a great means of spreading the Gospel.  It may not happen all at once, and sometimes trying to force the issue of faith can strain a friendship.  But do we share Jesus with our friends?  One of the things I enjoy doing as a Michigan State Police chaplain is sharing my faith with others.  And the conversations come quite easily because they know I’m a priest.  But your friends should be able to ask you about the Lord, too, and should presume that you know Him, because you are His friends.  Conversion may take place over a long period of time.  Or maybe it won’t happen at all, as people have free will and can walk away from the Lord, even if He invites them to follow Him.  But do we participate in sharing our faith with others, and bringing them to Christ?
    The third group is the scribes.  They are not the favorites in almost any Gospel passage.  And we can see why.  Our Savior heals the paralyzed man, and what is their response?  Not, “That’s wonderful!” or “Praise God!”  Nope.  They accuse Him of blasphemy.  To be fair, if Christ isn’t God, then it is blasphemy.  But if Christ isn’t God, or at least a great prophet of God, could He heal a paralyzed man?  The scribes immediately accuse Christ of one of the worst sins.  Their hearts are closed to the work of God.
    We can also sometimes be like the scribes.  If something good happens, we get suspicious if the person doesn’t fit into our categories, or doesn’t have the same expression of faith that we do.  We set ourselves up as judge of what God can do, and what He cannot do.  To be fair, St. John the Apostle was in that same group once.  In Mark, chapter nine, John says, “‘Teacher, we saw someone driving out demons in your name, and we tried to prevent him because he does not follow us.’”  You can almost imagine the Savior cocking his head to the side with a quizzical look.  I mean, what was the other option?  Letting the people continue with their demonic possessions?  Maybe John should have thought it through a little more.  Christ does answer John, saying, “‘Do not prevent him.  There is no one who performs a mighty deed in my name who can at the same time speak ill of me.’”
    Lastly, we have the Person of Jesus.  Liberal Scripture scholars will often pedal this nonsense that He never claimed to be God.  They must have missed this passage.  And a lot of others.  Here, and elsewhere, our Lord takes as His own that which was proper to the Lord, the way that the Jews would refer to God.  In this passage, He forgives sins.  The scribes are right in asserting that only God can forgive sins.  But that’s exactly our Lord’s point.  He reveals Himself as God through the forgiveness of the paralytic’s sins.  This was the first and primary miracle that the Lord worked for the paralytic.  But, as a sign that He can forgive sins, Christ also heals the man and allows him to walk.  
    Do we accept that God is God and we are not?  I know that seems like it has an obvious answer, but how many times do we, whether directly or indirectly, say to God, “I can handle this.  Let me take care of this one.  I know what’s best here.”  Pride always lurks, seeking to have us put ourselves in the place of God, just as the devil tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden.  We put ourselves, or some other material good, in place of God, and set up our little altars to worship our will or our possessions.  But that’s not respecting who God reveals Himself to be.  Our approach should always be, “Thy will be done.”  
    As you go home today, think about who you identify with the most in this passage.  Is it the paralytic?  Is it his friends?  Is it, and be honest here, the scribes?  Most likely, we go back and forth among the three.  For those times when you’re like the paralytic, ask God to heal you, especially your spiritual paralysis.  For those times when you’re like the friends, ask God to identify for you those whom you can bring to Him for healing.  For those times when you’re like the scribes, ask God to heal the hardness and blindness of your hearts so that you can recognize God’s work, even when it happens in ways you’re not expecting.  Have faith that you can be healed, no matter who you are, by the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Lord, It's Hard to Be Humble

 Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    There certainly is a country song for every occasion and situation, and as I read over this weekend’s readings, one came to mind called, “It’s Hard to Be Humble.”  When I first heard Willie Nelson singing it, someone I know comes to mind.  I have to adapt the lyrics a little to make them fit for church, but the refrain goes, “Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble/ When you’re perfect in every way. / I can’t wait to look in the mirror / Cause I get better lookin’ each day. / To know me is to love me. / I must be a [heck] of a man. / Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble/ But I’m doin’ the best that I can.”  The someone I thought of isn’t really that bad, but it does bear some resemblance at times, and brings a smile to my face.
    Humility is an often unpracticed and misunderstood virtue.  It sounds good when it’s encouraged by Tim McGraw in his song, “Humble and Kind,” but then we get busy with daily life, and we default to "My Way” by Frank Sinatra.  
    Often times we think of humility as putting ourselves down.  We may think we need to pretend that we’re not good at something, or don’t have particular gifts.  But that is not humility.  Humility is the acknowledgment of the truth, not the hiding of truth.  Romano Guardini, a great German Catholic author form the mid-twentieth century, wrote that St. Francis of Assisi kneeling before the pope was not an act of humility, but of honesty.  But St. Francis kissing the leper because he saw Christ in that leper was a great act of humility.
    Humility is also not puffing ourselves up, or lording who we are or what gifts we have over others.  When we think about bragging, we don’t think of that as an example of humility, and rightly so.  We sometimes also use the word arrogant as an antonym of humility.  
    Getting back to music, pride, another opposite vice to humility, is precisely expressed in the song, “My Way.”  Pride is a turning in on oneself, an elevation of the ego, an exaltation of one’s personal desires and wants over that of others.  Pride considers others, but only inasmuch as they promote the self or advance the desires of oneself.  Others exist only as pawns to be used.  Rarely does a person operate solely out of pride; we often do think of others, not just as they help us or provide for what we want, but also because they are good and we want to affirm that goodness.  But you often don’t have to dig far to find pride lurking around the corner, or coloring what can even look like selfless generosity.
    We might try to excuse pride by saying that it allows us to get things done.  Jesus taught us today that the meek (a synonym for the humble) will inherit the earth.  But we don’t usually see that.  Those who inherit the earth–power, prestige, land, etc.–are those who seek their own plans, who make sure that they rise to the top, even if it means climbing over others.  Those who do it their way seem to get their way more often than not, while the humble and kind are left behind with the scraps and to pick-up the pieces.  
    So how can we understand humility?  How can we understand meekness?  We have to examine things not from an earthly point of view, but from a heavenly one.  We need not look with the shortsighted vision of a decade, a century, or even a millennium, but with the view of life that never ends.  If all we do is work for ourselves, elevate ourselves, hold on to ourselves, then what happens when the self falls away at death?  Sure, we may have some lasting legacy of buildings constructed or other groups or peoples conquered, but what good is that when we’re standing naked before the throne of God?  When God judges us, as He will for all of us, what remains is what was rooted in God, not what was rooted merely in us.  That is why St. John of the Cross can say that, at the end of our lives, we will be judged on our love.  We will be judged on whether or not we participated in God, because all that is connected to God will last, because God is infinite.  While all that is simply earthly will pass away, because we, and everything connected to earthly existence, is finite.  
    True happiness, beatitude, we might say, is putting things in right order, with God first, others second, and consideration of ourselves and our desires last.  That is true humility, when we don’t seek to have the universe revolve around us, but to participate in the reality which God has set before us.  We can practice true humility by not considering ourselves first when making a decision, but taking our desires and considerations to God, and then thinking how those desires, considerations, and choices will affect the people around us.  Sometimes we may have to make decisions that help us get ahead in life–maybe get a better job or enjoy certain benefits–but are we doing things only for our own good, or to help contribute to the good of others and the building up of society, not to mention, is it what we understand God’s will to be.  
    Because of our fallen nature, which seeks its own good first, rather than God’s will and the good of others, it can be hard to be humble.  But can we commit to doing our best to be part of God’s plan and support others, rather than putting ourselves first and making others pawns in the games that we’re playing?  Can we do our best to be humble and kind?

Seeing or Believing

 Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  I remember what a big deal it was when I was finally old enough to ride the Space Mountain roller coaster at Disney World.  I was nervous and excited, all at once.  I didn’t realize it was in the dark, and while I survived, that whole experience freaked me out!!  I like to see where I’m going, because I’ll know what to expect and how to adjust appropriate.
    The man in the Gospel whose son our Lord heals at first also wanted to see.  He asked Christ to come and heal his son, who was at the point of death.  Jesus bemoans that it must be seen in order to believe.  But that observation leads to the man having faith that the Savior could heal the man’s son, whether he was present or not.  And this faith led to the healing of the son.  Not only that, but the entire household believed in our Lord.  
    Do we have to see?  My desire to see everything that is coming up is sometimes virtuous, because it helps me to adjust for upcoming realities and plan.  But in other ways, it is pride, because I feel like I have to be in control.  Maybe some of you know that feeling, too.  If we see what is happening, we feel like we are in control of the situation.  When we feel like we cannot see, we don’t feel like we have control over what is going on, and when something else comes to us, we may not be as prepared for it.
    But over how much are we really in control?  During the pandemic, we have seen so many things change in a moment’s notice.  I remember 13 March, Thursday, hearing reports about schools closing down due to COVID, and then Friday, 14 March, the principal at St. Pius X school let me know that we were closed, and we didn’t reopen for the rest of that school year.  As a parish school, we laid off a number of employees eventually, because they were aids and there were no kids to watch over in the building.  I had plans to celebrate my tenth anniversary as a priest in June 2020, and even in March I was sure that it would still happen.  But by May I made the decision to cancel, and celebrated only with my immediate family who could attend a small dinner I held in my house.
    In our life, we control very little.  But God is control of all things.  He directs or allows things to happen for our good, but they don’t always seem that way.  But, through it all, God is in control, and we are not.  And because we are not in control, we are invited to have faith, to put our trust in God.  God invites us to loosen our grip on things we think we control, but we don’t.  He wants us to have confidence in Him as He cares for us.  
    Again, this can be hard for us, because our timing is not always God’s timing.  There are families who go through extreme illnesses; friends or family who are killed in an unforeseen accident; an unexpected child is conceived, or a couple wants to conceive and cannot; an employee loses a job.  In all these circumstances we so often presume that we know better.  We think that if God had simply left the decision up to us, then everything would be ok.  
    But how much really goes ok if we are left in charge?  We may be the best or one of the best in our particular field, but how many small examples of Divine Providence, which we had not organized or even considered, had to happen in our for our success to come about?  How many people had to get up at just the right time and leave the house in order for us to avoid a traffic crash?  If we think about all that happens for a single second to go right, it should make us fall on our knees in thanksgiving for that one second and all that had to occur just for that one second to go the way we want it to.  
    But even when we life doesn’t go as we want it to, St. Paul still reminds us to give thanks “for all things.”  We could write Paul off if his life had been easy.  Instead, the man who tells us to give thanks for all things was himself beaten, whipped, stoned, left for dead, abandoned by co-workers, and was held suspect by some believers.  St. Paul talks about being comfortable in having nothing, in going hungry.  And still, he says, give thanks.  
    It is easy to put our confidence in God when things are going the way we want it to, when we can see the healing taking place.  But the virtue of faith is truly exercised when we can’t see things going right, when nothing seems to be going right, and yet we trust in God anyway.  Faith is witnessed when we cannot see what God is doing, but we trust that He’s doing the best thing for our salvation, just as Jesus healed the man’s son even without the man being able to see that healing take place.
    Our days are evil.  Around us swirls hatred, confusion, division, immorality, idolatry, and a host of other evils too many to number here.  But God called us to live in this time, to be a witness of His love and truth in this time, when so many don’t want true love, don’t want truth.  We may sometimes say, with Frodo, that we wish that “none of this had ever happened.”  But God wanted us to be alive in this time, and He is accomplishing some good.  Further, we know it must be some great good, because it is opposed so much by the enemy.  We cannot decide the times in which we live, but we can decide “what to do with the time that is given to us.”  We cannot always see what God is doing, and the miracles He is accomplishing, but today, and everyday, the Lord invites us: have faith!

Adjusting Our Seating Chart

 Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  I saw a meme on Facebook that said something to the effect of: When I was 18, my father didn’t know anything.  When I turned 30, I was surprised to see how much he had learned in twelve years.  I later learned that this was based upon a quote by Mark Twain, who said: “When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around.  But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.”  No matter how you say it, they are both very clear examples of the hubris of youth.
    Today our Lord talks about humility in the Gospel.  He teaches us that everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and everyone who humbles himself will be exalted, using the example of a seating chart at a wedding.  Pride is one of the most ancient sins.  In fact, St. Thomas Aquinas says that Original Sin is truly a sin of pride, since Eve (and then Adam) seek to take the place of God and have what God told them they did not need.
    And how familiar is it that we feel we know everything when we are young!?  I remember in college seminary feeling like my classmates and I had the answers to all the Church’s problems.  I think I still felt that way in Major Seminary, and probably even in the first year or so of my priesthood.  The passage of time, the (hopeful) gaining of wisdom, and the increased responsibilities of being a pastor have tempered my own youthful hubris.  
    But pride does not necessarily cease as one takes more and more trips around the sun.  Pride is the temptation lurking like a roaring lion in the grass throughout our life, against which we need to be on guard.  
    Pride is the elevation of our self above others, up to and including God.  We end up making ourselves a false god, the one who determines all things, or around whom the universe needs to rotate.  Again, going back to Adam and Eve, they wanted to know good and evil even though God had told them they did not need to.  St. Thomas Aquinas calls this a coveting of a spiritual good above measure.  Satan’s own words tells Eve that she will be as God.  And into this temptation first Eve, and then Adam, fall.  
    In the parable of the wedding, the person is seeking the higher place, the place of greater honor, which is exactly the sin of pride.  The person, and how many times does this apply to us, thinks he is better than he truly is.  In response to this, our Lord invites the person to take the lower seat, so that, should that person be worthy of higher honors, another will recognize it.  Now, this isn’t some backwards way of achieving the goal of looking better than everyone else.  If we treat it that way, then we’re still falling into pride.
    Instead, our Lord invites us to humility, to think not that we are better or more worthy of honors than others.  Humility is not undervaluing ourselves, but valuing ourselves rightly.  We talk about false humility when we talk about not recognizing gifts or talents that we have.  Indeed, Christ condemns not using our talents and investing them in another parable.  But humility gives an estimation which is accurate, not inflated or deflated.  
    It is so easy to overvalue ourselves, or even to undervalue ourselves.  But if we had to choose the most likely, it is probably overvaluing ourselves.  We live in a world where the ego rules supreme.  I am always right.  My wishes and desires are the most important.  You need to agree with me.  We see this in our inability to dialogue with others, whether on a local or even a national and international scale.  If someone questions our point of view (whether it be our opinion or based upon facts we know), we immediately write that person off and no longer have anything to do with them.  We see it in school systems which no longer provide a wide-education of many disciplines (what we have called liberal arts), but where we only teach one thing to people, and that’s what they want to do.  Unfortunately, so many feel that if they are experts in one area of life, then they are experts in many or even all areas of life.  
    I have seen this happen first hand in the parishes in which I have served.  Every city where I have served as been the home to a university of college.  And there are people who are much smarter than I am when it comes to non-theological disciplines.  But those same people sometimes think that they are experts in the faith, when they haven’t actually studied the faith beyond a few articles from their favorite religious magazine each month.  
    And I can even struggle to avoid those same temptations from seminary days, to think that I know best how to run things on a diocesan, national, or even worldwide level.  Certainly, I have studied the faith.  And even as someone who has been pastor I have gained some very practical experience.  But I am not qualified to second-guess decisions that include information to which I am not privileged, nor do I have the charism to lead a local, national, or international church that is given to bishops at their ordination.  Does this mean that bishops always make the best decisions?  No, and good bishops, like our own, will admit that they make decisions based upon their own experience and the information that they have at the time.  We can certainly dialogue (either externally or internally) about whether or not we think that decision was wise and/or prudent.  But how often do we immediately jump to the conclusion that we know best and Bishop So-and-so or the Pope is automatically wrong?  We’re taking the head of the table at the wedding party, and it’s very likely that we’re going to get moved back a seat or 5.  We are exalting ourself, and so we will be humbled.  

Bishop Carl Mengeling

    Bishop Mengeling, our bishop emeritus, has said a few times that humility is a virtue that often requires others to help us.  Those are our humiliators (in a good way).  They remind us that we are not always right, and that we are not God or the best at everything we do.  They are the equivalent of the slave riding in the chariot of the great Roman general in his triumph through the streets of Rome whispering, “Memento mori,” “Remember you will die.”  Generally, we do need to go looking for our humiliators; they usually make themselves known.  In case you’re wondering, I have mine, and I’m pretty sure I don’t need any more, though I know I always have people ready to step in in case I short a humiliator or two.  
    But we shouldn’t be afraid of being humbled, as it helps us grow in holiness.  And as we are humbled, God looks upon us in love, and exalts us in His way, which, more often than not, is not the way we would be exalted.  Still, stay humble; don’t seek the place of honor or to put yourselves above others.  Humble yourself, that God the Father may raise you on high, where with the Son and the Holy Spirit, He reigns for ever and ever.  Amen. 

Ruined Crème Brûlée

 Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
  

 In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  One of my favorite desserts, that I almost never get because it’s usually quite expensive is crème brûlée.  There’s something about the custard that is smooth and tasty, and ten the hard, caramelized sugar layer.  And then, if it’s really good, there’ll be a few berries on top, maybe even with a little whipped cream.  But imagine if you were dipping your spoon into the custard dish, mouth watering in anticipation of the mix of flavors about to explode in your mouth, and then you see a hair, or a fingernail.  Yuck!  Something so small, so insignificant, but it ruins the whole dish!!
    We hear our Lord today addressing the proper attitude in prayer.  And what ruins the prayer of the Pharisee was his pride.  We don’t hear our Lord say that the Pharisee was greedy, dishonest, or adulterous.  So we have no sense of his guilt.  But his prayer is tainted, ruined, by his pride; by puffing himself up and gazing inward, rather than gazing towards the Lord in humility.  The tax collector, on the other hand, while his physical eyes are not looking toward the Lord, his heart and his mind certainly are pleading with God for His mercy.  Christ tells us that the tax collector went home justified, not the Pharisee.  This should be no surprise, though, as the prayer of the Pharisee was not seeking justification–right relationship with God–while that was the far-off hope of the tax collector in his prayer.
    As a quick tangent, I mentioned last week that I have watched “The Chosen,” a new series that presents the Gospels.  It has made me think about certain passages in a new light, not changing what they mean, but changing maybe the background.  And I can’t help but wonder if this parable was based upon the prayers that Jesus had seen from a Pharisee, and perhaps from St. Matthew himself, one of the most famous tax collectors in the Gospels.  Perhaps St. Matthew, even as a disciple of our Lord, still felt the pain of his former profession, and the shame that accompanied that profession from most Jews, and had made that prayer himself: “‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’”
    Ok, back to the main thread.  Pride really is something that can ruin our prayer.  We see it in the way it is mentioned in the Gospel: I think I am better than someone (or everyone) else.  We can also see it when we feel we have to take our salvation in our own hands, or on our own terms.  That quintessential American virtue, pulling ourselves up by our bootstraps, while helpful in our civil life, is deadly in our spiritual life.  But pride, in any form, can ruin our prayer, since it seeks to put ourselves in the place of God.
    Pride can also rear its ugly head in terms of our relations with others, as it did with the Pharisee in regards to the tax collector.  Both were praying; both were worshipping the Lord (at least in theory).  But the Pharisee elevates himself over the tax collector.  St. Paul reminds us that we receive different gifts from the Holy Spirit, which are all meant to build up the Body of Christ.
    But how often do we play the comparison game about which gift is better?  St. Paul mentions different manifestations of the Holy Spirit, namely, wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, mighty deeds, prophecy, discernment of spirits, speaking in tongues, and interpreting tongues.  But all are meant to work together for the good of the Mystical Body of Christ, the Church.  It is easy, though, to fall into the trap of thinking that our gifts are more necessary.  Or maybe to think that someone else’s gifts are more necessary and ours aren’t that important.  Instead, we are invited to utilize the gifts that we have, whatever they may be, so that Christ may be all in all.  
    Even we priests can fall victim to this at times.  While we love and support each other as brother priests, it is easy to wish that we had the gift of that priest in that parish to raise money easily.  Or that priest whose parish is growing substantially in numbers.  Or maybe our homilies are ok, maybe B- caliber, but we wish we had the gift of that priest in the neighboring parish whose homilies are more in the A range.  The devil loves to get us with pride, and say that we are better than others, or that we wish we had other gifts than what God gave us.  It is the age-old temptation given to Adam and Eve, to try to replace God with ourselves because we know best.
    Instead, we utilize our gifts as God has given them to us, not just priests, but all of Christ’s faithful.  God calls us not to worry about what gifts the other person has, but to use the gifts that God gave us to do what He has called us to do.  It’s like Peter and John at the end of John’s Gospel.  We don’t have to worry about the other person, we just follow Jesus.  
    So this week, let’s work on asking God to help us live the virtue of humility, and asking God to stamp out in us the sin of pride.  In prayer we should turn to God, rather than praying to ourselves and self-promoting like the Pharisee.  In all things we should welcome the gifts of others, and do the best we can with the gifts we have received.  Don’t put hairs and fingernails in your crème brûlée; don’t ruin your prayer or your spiritual life with pride.  In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Humble Moses

Fourth Sunday of Advent

There is a meme that I recently saw on Facebook.  It is a picture of a person writing at a desk (probably supposed to be Moses), and it says, “‘Moses was more humble than any other person on earth’, by Moses.”  What it references is Numbers 12:3, which reads, “Now the man Moses was very humble, more than anyone else on earth,” along with the tradition that Moses himself composed the first five books of the Bible…including the Book of Numbers. 

Our first reading an our Gospel focus specifically on humility.  In the first reading we heard about Bethlehem, who is so small, and yet will be the place from which comes the ruler in Israel, the ruler “whose origin is from of old, from ancient times.”  Bethlehem was the City of King David, which is why Joseph and Mary had to travel back there during the census, since both Joseph and Mary were of the house of David.  But it had long since lost its notoriety, and was a place of no importance.  Still, God chose that place for His co-eternal Son to be born, from two parents who were very poor, who had next to nothing.

Our Gospel, too, talks about the Blessed Mother’s visit to Elizabeth.  Now, I’ve never been pregnant, but I’m not sure, if I were pregnant, that I would walk from Nazareth to Ein Kerem, a distance of 80 miles, to see my cousin, who was also pregnant.  However, Elizabeth was old, and it was out of love and concern that Mary did not think about her own needs, but went to take care of her family member.  Mary does not bask in the fact that she is the Mother of God (remember that life starts at conception, not birth!).  She does not let this great honor go to her head.  She focuses on the needs of others, and does as a pregnant woman what others may not have done without a child in the womb.

I’m sure we’ve all heard lots about humility.  Often times it gets confused with abasement, with lowering oneself.  And maybe that’s because our general trend is puffing ourselves up.  But humility is primarily concerned with the truth about ourselves, not with making ourselves less than we are.  Humility is thinking neither less nor more than we truly are.  And in not thinking more of ourselves than we are, in not holding on to what we want to believe we are, we open our hands to receive who we are from God.  Humility allows us to not try to take our identity, certainly not from what others say, but from the one who created us, from God, who knows who we are better than we do ourselves.

Bethlehem didn’t try to put on heirs.  It didn’t advertise itself as a center of power (that would have been Jerusalem).  But God chose it to be the place where the Messiah would be born.  Mary, though she was of the house of David, did not act as if she was supposed to be a queen.  And yet, because she became the Mother of God, truly became the Queen Mother of Heaven and Earth.  Humility allowed more honors than either of them could have achieved if they would have sought after honors and privilege themselves.

That approach to life is hard for us.  And it certainly doesn’t mean that we don’t use our gifts and talents to better the areas in which we live, work, etc.  That’s false humility, not recognizing the gifts that we have, burying our talents.  But it also doesn’t mean that we seek after power and notoriety.  We strive to be the best mother, father, daughter, or son that we can be, but when we do something well, we don’t have to proclaim it to the world.  We strive to be the best boss or best employee that we can be, but we don’t do it so that we are noticed by corporate or by our boss, we do it because it helps the company and the people that the company serves.  We strive to be the best student we can be, but we don’t have to brag to our friends that we got an A.  It’s not bad to be happy about those things, and maybe even to share then with close friends and family.  But it’s not about what others think of us.  It’s about how God thinks of us. 

Pride so often closes our hands to what God wants to give us.  God wants to give us every good gift that we need for our salvation.  God never holds something back from us that we need, because He is our loving Father.  And yet, in our pride, we close our hands to hold on to the lesser gifts that we think we need, that gives us passing pleasure.  And because of that, we might miss out on opportunities that God desires for us.  In these last couple of days of Advent, may we rediscover the gift of humility, which opens our lives us to the great things that God wants for us.  May we have the trust in God to let Him exalt us, rather than trying to exalt ourselves.

Girl Scout Cookies and Temptation

First Sunday of Lent

One of the Lenten memories that stand out the most from my childhood, is how the Girl Scouts always seem to deliver their cookies shortly after Lent began.  For six long weeks a box or two of Samoas and Thin Mints would be sitting in the freezer, just waiting to be eaten, seemingly calling to me from their frigid home during Lent.  It was certainly a temptation to simply eat them during Lent, even though it was a family practice to avoid sweets, including Girl Scout Cookies, during the penitential season.

We hear about Jesus’ temptations today in the Gospel.  He wasn’t tempted so much by Girl Scout Cookies, but by the ancient sin whereby Satan tricked Adam and Eve: the sin of pride.  Satan tempts Jesus to show His power by turning stone into bread; to receive power over all if Jesus would just worship Satan; to throw Himself off the parapet of the temple because God will not let His Son suffer.  Pride is the sin where we put ourselves above God.  That’s how Satan had corrupted Adam and Eve, and that’s how he planned on corrupting Jesus.  Of course, we know that Jesus did not fall into those temptations.  He rejects Satan and rejects putting God to the test.

When we sin, it often happens in one of two ways.  Some sins we don’t even think about.  We react without any reflection of what we’re doing.  In one sense, these sins are most dangerous, because they are second nature.  It might be taking God’s Name in vain after a frustrating experience, yelling at someone when we are mad at them, or gossiping about a person with whom we disagree or whom we dislike.  In another sense, they are less dangerous, because we do not freely choose the action, but almost seem to go on instinct, even if the instinct has been created by us through habitual actions.

Other sins come through long thought.  We are tempted, and we give in, either after a short or a long fight.  These are the sins where an idea pops into our head to do something we know we shouldn’t: to watch a show or visit a site that we know we don’t need to and which could lead to further sin; to plot a way to get back at someone who has hurt us; to have just a small bite or just a sip of a food or a beverage that we know we shouldn’t.  In and of itself, that thought, that temptation, is not a sin.  But how often do we move from the thought to further action: going to the channel or the site; starting to think about what we would do to get back that that person; opening up the refrigerator or going to the bar.  Once we start going down that path, giving in to the temptation, it is much harder to get out of it.  The behavior, whatever it is, seems to take on a life of its own and grow, and we can end up feeling surrounded and smothered by that sin.  Even if these sins are small, they can be very dangerous, because we are using the God-given gift of reason, a way that we are made in God’s image and likeness, to reject God.  

So how do we avoid giving in to the temptations in our life, whatever they are?  How do we say no to temptation and yes to God?  The first key is to swat away and move on from the temptation when it first shows itself.  Treat the temptation like you would a mosquito, and move on to something else.  Otherwise the mind will easily go back to the temptation, and it will gain strength.

The second key is tied to our first reading from the Book of Deuteronomy.  It may have seemed simply like a nice story that the Israelites were told to recall, but at the heart of the passage today is remembering who we are and what God has done for us.  When we recall that we are children of God, redeemed by the Blood of Christ, we receive strength to fight the temptations that come our way.  Satan tries to have us forget who we are so that we need to rely on him to give us meaning.  In moments of temptation, we should recall that we are sons and daughters of God, and that God found us so important to Him that He would send His Son, Jesus, to die for us so that we didn’t have to fall into temptation and sin.  When our self-worth is based in God, we are less likely to turn to lesser goods to make ourselves feel better.  In the Gospel, Jesus knew who He was, and didn’t need to demonstrate that to Satan to prove it.  That helped Him to resist Satan’s temptations. 

The third key is also from the Gospel: turn to the Word of God.  When Satan tempts Jesus, Jesus quotes Scripture.  The Letter to the Hebrews reminds us that the Word of God is living and effective.  It helps sort through the lies that Satan, the father of lies, wants us to buy.  If we have regular contact with the Word of God, it doesn’t mean that the temptations will stop, but we will know how to fight them, because we are familiar with the message of love and truth that God gave us through His Word.  

All of us have been, are, and will be tempted.  It is a part of our human condition after the Fall.  But, after Jesus redeemed us by dying on the cross, we also have the strength to reject temptation and sin, and say yes to God.  When we are tempted, in whatever way we are, may we remember that we are children of God whose worth is based in God, and turn to the Word of God to follow Jesus’ example of saying no to Satan and yes to God.  

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!

A Bag of Chips

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            It seems like every time I open a bag of chips, there is more and more air, and fewer and fewer chips.  The bag always looks good from the outside: full of shape, sometimes with a little window at the bottom, enticing you as to how many chips are in there, feeling full as you take it in your hands and pull it off the shelf.  And then you open it up, and it’s like someone just popped your balloon, which is a pretty fitting metaphor, seeing as how as soon as you open it up, all the air goes out of the inflated bag.  I have to imagine that I am not the only one who is disappointed at how little actual food is in a bag of chips.

            Today’s Gospel is all about the right attitude of prayer.  On the one hand we have the Pharisee who is full of himself and basically spends all his time reminding God how great he is.  On the other hand we have the tax collector, who is so ashamed of himself that he won’t even approach the front of the temple, and won’t even raise his eyes to heaven.  Instead, he simply asks for the mercy of God, not because of any merit of his own, but simply out of God’s goodness. 

            The Pharisee is like a bag of chips.  It looks good from the outside, but on the inside it’s nothing but hot air.  The Pharisee is so full of himself that there’s almost no room for anything substantial.  He is so full of himself, that there is no room for God, which is why the tax collector goes home justified, that is, put into a right relationship with God, and not the Pharisee.  The tax collector knew he only had a little, and could do a much better job with what he did have.  So he begs God to fill him up.  God wanted to fill up the Pharisee with His grace, but there was no room.

            How often are we more air than substance?  The sin of pride, of vainglory, can be so tempting.  We think we know it all.  We think we’re all good with God.  But the reality is that often we are simply full of ourselves.  Our culture certainly wants us to be sure of ourselves.  To admit that you need something or someone is a weakness, and should not be tolerated.  But when we are full of ourselves, we have no room for God to fill us up.  God loves us enough and respects our free will, such that He will not force Himself on us.  If we think we can do it ourselves and don’t need Him, He’s not going to try to cram more chips into a bag that’s already filled with air.

            The temptation to be full of ourselves is particularly dangerous in an academic, affluent community like ours.  We have professors who are at the top of their field.  We have coaches who are among the best in the nation.  We have CEOs and CFOs and leaders of industry who are used to being in control and having all the answers.  And certainly, just because you are the best or at the top of what you do doesn’t make you the Pharisee.  But it does mean that the temptation to think and act like the Pharisee from today’s Gospel is always there.  When we’re the best at what we do, the temptation that Satan likes to entice us with is to think that we have it all together, that we know best in everything, and that we are self-sufficient.  And the Evil One tries to convince us of the greatness of ourselves so that we don’t make room for God to fill us up.

            But when we recognize just how poor we are without Jesus, that we cannot do it on our own, then we let out the air, and allow for more chips to be poured into our bag.  When we recognize that we may be the best in our field, but that there is more to life than an academic discipline, a sport, or a company, then we allow God to work in us and to make sure we are not simply rich and content in the eyes of the world, but that we are rich in what truly matters to God.  If we want to compete well, to finish the race, to keep the faith, as St. Paul says in our second reading, so that we can receive the crown of righteousness, then we have to open our hands to receive from another, which means that we don’t have it all under control and we can’t provide it all for ourselves.

            When we pour ourselves out like a libation, like a liquid sacrifice, we don’t lose anything that we truly need, because we rely on God to keep us full.  May we not be like the bags of chips you find at a grocery or convenience store, full of nothing substantial, but may we recognize how much we need God, and let Him fill us up, not with the hot air of an over-inflated ego, but with His grace and love which put us in a right relationship with God, and prepare us for the crown that God wants to place on our head, the crown of righteousness in the Kingdom of Heaven.

My Favorite Sacrament

Fourth Sunday of Lent

            When people ask me what my favorite sacrament is, I don’t think they’re generally surprised to hear me say the Eucharist.  Vatican II teaches us that the Eucharist is meant to be the source and summit of Christian life, the beginning of our life in Christ, whence we get the strength to live as disciples, and the goal of the Christian life, that we have intimate communion with God.  For priests even more so, the Eucharist is the key to the priesthood, as the priest acts in the person of Christ the Head, offering himself to the Father represented by the bread and the wine which become the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ.

            I think they are more surprised when I say that there is another sacrament that is tied for first with the Eucharist, and that sacrament is Reconciliation.  But it’s true.  While I was, in some ways, prepared for the joy of celebrating the Mass and bringing about, in an unbloody manner, the sacrifice of Christ on the cross through the Eucharist, I have to say I was not prepared for what a gift celebrating the Sacrament of Reconciliation would be.

            At this point I have to make a disclaimer: I don’t love to celebrate Reconciliation as a confessor because I get to hear all your dirty little secrets of the things you’ve done wrong.  What I love is the fact that I get to take part in an intimate moment between the penitent and God and get to grant that penitent the forgiveness of their sins in the name of Christ, and bring them back to the road to heaven.  It is an experience of humility (because it takes true humility to tell God, not that we have made a mistake, but that we freely chose to go against His will) and an experience of love.  I treasure the “ministry of reconciliation” as St. Paul says in our second reading, that God has entrusted to me.  I am in awe of the fact that, though I continue to need to confess my sins (being a priest doesn’t mean that I suddenly stop sinning), God has chosen me to grant that forgiveness to His beloved sons and daughters so that they can, once more, be prepared for heaven.

            Our Gospel passage is all too familiar to us today.  We likely hear it every year, at least once.  But it is so powerful, if we let it speak to us!  We can put ourselves in the place of the prodigal son, the son who wastes his inheritance on dissipate living, and then who goes broke, and has to work as a swineherd (one of the worst jobs that a Jew could have), and would love just to eat the pigs’ food.  We can put ourselves in the place of the son who recognizes that he needs to return to the Father, if for no other reason than just to work as a slave so that he can eat.  And we can put ourselves in the place of the son who is embraced by the Father who has run out to meet him.  We can put ourselves in the place of the son, because that is what happens in reconciliation.

            “All men have sinned,” says St. Paul in his letter to the Romans, “and are deprived of the glory of God.”  We all tell God that we know better, that we’d rather control our own lives and do our own thing.  It’s the ancient sin of pride, which leads to so many other sins.  We squander the inheritance of grace that we received in baptism, when we were made sons and daughters in the Son of God.  And when we do that, we squander it quickly, and we find that we are living a trashy life, amidst slops that are meant for the pigs.  But God does not abandon us.  He gives us grace, we use the term prevenient grace, to lead us back to Him, to consider that the “threshold of the house of God” is better than the “tents of the wicked,” as Psalm 84 says.  Even just being close to union is God is better than living with evil.  And so we start on our way back.  But before we can even get out the words of our apology, to try to argue our case for being a slave rather than the heir that we were, the Father embraces us and says to us

“Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  Take the fattened calf and slaughter it.  Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.”

God doesn’t rub in our face the wrong we have done, but celebrates that we have returned to our Father’s house, and that we are back to life in grace.

            There is nothing quite like the experience of welcoming someone back to the love of God in reconciliation.  Often, those who have been away from the Church for some time or those who feel the heavy weight of sin are brought to tears.  I am not ashamed to say that from time to time I am brought to tears as the love of God flows through me and I rejoice in the fact that the penitent was lost and now is found, was dead and is now alive by the grace of God.

            I want to invite each of you today, whether it’s been a week or a lifetime, to come experience this great sacrament of God’s mercy, and to start a habit of making regular confessions.  There’s no sin that can permanently keep you from the love of God, unless you give that sin that power.  God will forgive all sins, if we come to Him in sorrow, sincerely at least wanting to stop.  Whether it’s lying; impatience; stealing; adultery; viewing pornography and the sin that often accompanies it; sex outside of marriage; contracepting; murder; abortion; missing Mass; pride; or whatever other sins we may struggle with, God wants to put a robe of love around you and put the ring that signifies your place in God’s household on your finger.  Maybe it’s only been a few days since you last went to confession.  Maybe it’s been forty years since you last went to confession.  In either case, we priests are glad to give you the assurance of God’s mercy.  We have a great confession schedule between St. Thomas and St. John, and we even have a communal penance service with individual confession & absolution next Sunday, 17 March at 2 p.m. at St. Thomas in case you want to go to a priest from out of town (though recall that we can’t tell anyone else your sins, nor can we treat you any differently based upon your confession).  Don’t stay stuck in the pigs’ slop.  Come back to the Father’s house.  Let God love you and forgive you.  “Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.”