Making Room for God

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    One of the challenges, primarily for kids for also for adults, is what to get and what to leave at Thanksgiving dinner.  There are so many good foods that you start putting a healthy amount of the foods you like on your plate, but then you realize your plate is full and you’re only halfway through all the food that’s available.  And that’s just for the main meal; I’m not even considering dessert!
    The Pharisee in the parable that Jesus told today was full, but not with turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy.  He was full of himself.  As he prays, he didn’t even really engage in a conversation with God.  It was more of a monologue about how great he was, especially in comparison with the sinful tax collector standing at the back of the temple.  While seemingly making time for God by going to the temple to pray, the Pharisee didn’t really make room for God, and perhaps only went to the temple because it was expected of him and he had to keep up appearances.
    As followers of Christ, we have recognized a need for God, but do we actually make room for Him?  In our own lives that might start just with making time for God.  That might seem strange to say for people who set aside time on a Sunday morning to go to Mass.  But beyond just this time at Mass, do we make time for God in our life?  
    How easy it can be to go throughout a day and not make time to for prayer.  Maybe it’s work, or getting kids ready for school or teaching them in the home and trying to keep them from harming themselves or other siblings, and then making some sort of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and just wanting to relax after a long day.  Prayer can be hard for families, and often does not happen, either as much or at all, unless it is scheduled.  Of course, prayer for the laity will look differently than prayer for priests, because they are different vocations.  You may not have 40 uninterrupted minutes for anything.  But do you do your best to make time for God, and not simply let God get the leftovers of your time and attention?  Maybe it’s only a few short minutes after you get up but before the kids have stirred from their beds.  Maybe it’s at the beginning of your lunch hour when you say the Angelus at noon.  Maybe it’s before each meal.  Maybe it’s 15 minutes as a couple after the kids are in bed, rather than just watching mindless tv.  
    Making room for God also acknowledges a truth that can easily escape our mind: we need God.  More than food; more than water; even more than oxygen, we need God.  We depend on God for every good thing.  And yet, how often do we go through a day not even calling God to mind.  The reason why God especially hears the widow and orphan, as we heard from the Book of Sirach this morning, is because they know they need Him.  Widows and orphans, unless they had family, relied on the generosity of strangers.  And I’m not sure that people exhibited more generosity in Biblical times than they do now.  When you struggle to find food, clothing, and shelter, suddenly what meme is breaking the Internet, or which celebrity is divorcing, or even whether or not the Lions are going to win suddenly takes a back seat.  It becomes much more natural to cry out to someone who can help, and God especially hears those prayers, out of His love for His children.  

    The tax collector from the Gospel also knew his need for God, though not for the necessities of life.  He acknowledged what was true for both him and the Pharisee, that he was a sinner.  He knew he couldn’t fix or absolve himself for the ways he had disobeyed God.  So he recognized his need for God’s mercy and asked for it.  And God, Jesus tells us, answered that prayer.  It can be easy to fill up our lives with fleeting things so that we pretend that we’re self-sufficient, or so that we pretend our sins don’t matter, and we miss out on receiving the good things God wants to give us, including His mercy, because we’re so full of ourselves.
    So as you consider each day as an empty thanksgiving plate, how much room are you leaving for God?  Or are you filling it up with so many other things that when you come to God, you’re like, “I’ll get that when I come back for seconds”?  God will not force Himself upon us.  We need Him, but if we don’t acknowledge that need, He will not impress Himself upon us, until the end of our life when we will be judged on how we made time for God.  Start with portioning out a healthy serving of God each day, rather than hoping you have room for Him at the end of the meal.  If you make time for God, not only will you receive the choicest foods and wines, but you will not hunger or thirst what what truly satisfies your heart!

The Jesus Prayer

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  Over the years that I have been a priest, I have come to love and appreciate the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom that Eastern Catholics and Eastern Orthodox use for most of their Divine Liturgies (what we call the Mass).  It’s interesting that, based on my research, the Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, the Divine Liturgy of St. Basil the Great, and our own Roman Canon likely find their roots sometime in the fourth century or so.  From time to time I am able to attend in choir an Orthodox Divine Liturgy and have developed friendships with the local Orthodox priests here in Genesee County.  We know we don’t agree on everything, but we celebrate our millennium of shared faith and help each other understand the millennium that we’ve been separated.
    One of the hallmark prayers in the Orthodox prayer tradition is from our Gospel today.  They call it the Jesus Prayer, and it is simply the words, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner.”  This is the prayer that they encourage people to pray throughout the day, to make it part of their very life.  I have even heard some priests connect it to breathing, so that on the breath in the person says, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God,” and on the breath out the person says, “have mercy on me a sinner.”  The idea is that, if practiced enough, especially while simply breathing, it becomes a part of each person’s day, and helps us to do what St. Paul admonished: “pray without ceasing.”  
    The first part of the prayer is connected to the epistle.  St. Paul told us today that no one can say Jesus is Lord except by the Holy Spirit.  This beautiful prayer includes all three Divine Persons: the Lord, who is Son of God the Father, which proclamation is only possible by the power of the Holy Spirit.  Now, obviously, any person can say the words, “Jesus is Lord,” but to truly mean it; to truly recognize that Christ is God and that His way of life is normative for me because He is my Creator; that kind of faith and obedience can only happen as a gift from the Holy Spirit.  We cannot have that surrender of our lives without God giving us the grace to do it first.  And then, while we do need to cooperate, it is only God’s grace which allows us to bring that act of faith that He inspired to competition.  This is what we mean when we say that our life in Christ is all grace.  

    The second part of the prayer, “have mercy on me a sinner,” is the words of the tax collector in today’s Gospel.  The man knew who he was.  As a tax collector, not only was it his job to collect money for the Roman government, who oppressed the Jews and who advocated the worship of false gods, but, in order to make a decent living, he had to exact more money from his own people than what Rome really wanted.  Tax collectors, the word publican is also used, were notoriously hated for their exaction of money from their own people.  The very call of St. Matthew by the Savior probably scandalized many people at first, and maybe even some of the apostles took time before they warmed up to him.  
    In any case, this tax collector was reaching out to God for mercy.  We don’t know if he left his job after this prayer.  We don’t know if he changed his life.  But we do know that, at this moment, he knew he needed the mercy of God, and so he cried out to it from the back row.  And our Lord said that his prayer was answered.
    When it comes to receiving God’s mercy, are we willing to humbly come before God and acknowledge that we are sinners?  Each of us has a need for forgiveness from God.  Even the saints, who rose to the heights of perfection during their lives, knew that they needed God’s mercy.  Do we take that second step (the first being God’s nudge in our hearts to even ask for mercy) and actually make that prayer our own?  
    We might wonder what good it would do because we don’t know how we can move away from that sin.  And certainly, to receive God’s forgiveness, we do have to have a firm purpose of amendment to not sin in that way again.  But just because we think we might sin again doesn’t mean that we can’t want not to give into that sin in the future.  When I was a young boy I didn’t want to antagonize my sisters in the future as I went to confession, but it was probably going to happen again.  Sometimes all we can muster up is that act of hope that, if God gives me enough grace, I might be able to never fall into that sin again, and that’s what I want.  But that little opening to the grace of God can be all that’s needed to truly start making progress in rooting sin out of our lives.
    I am also aware that I may be unaware of certain sins in my life.  That’s why, when I go to confession, I include the words, “and for any other sins that I cannot recall, or any sins from my past.”  And each Mass after I purify the vessels, I add the Jesus Prayer: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, have mercy on me a sinner.”  The Eucharist cleanses us of venial sins.  And this prayer, the prayer of the tax collector, can also, if said honestly and devoutly, can cleanse us of venial sins, because when we say that prayer in earnest, God will justify us as He justified the tax collector.  
    I pray that you will make that prayer your own as well.  Maybe you will say it once a day.  Maybe you will work on incorporating it into each moment so that, as you breathe in and out, it flows naturally out of you like a breath.  But this prayer has value and can change our lives if we are open to the mercy God wants to give to us when we call upon Him: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.  

Staying and Going

Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    Last week I gave a difficult homily.  I am not in the habit of giving difficult homilies, so it was a shock to many of you for that reason alone.  But, and probably more weighty, the question I asked was also startling: was the preference we expressed to stay open until we spent all our money in line with how a disciple thinks.  I appreciate the people who came forward and told me what they found so distressing about last week’s homily.  I do not claim now, nor have I ever, that I am perfect.  I did my best to communicate what I felt the Holy Spirit speaking to me, but I understand that the words I used may have gotten in the way of the point of the entire homily.  I also know that some of you felt that the survey you took after our Town Hall was a vote that determined what was going to happen to our parish.  I know I said it then, but I’ll repeat it now, that your input is a consultation, not a determination.  It’s a consultation that Bishop Boyea wanted to hear, and is glad you provided.  But it wasn’t like a ballot issue where the vote would determine the outcome.  I apologize for not emphasizing that enough. 
    I honestly hope that you have been thinking about the homily all week.  I hope you re-read the homily on the internet.  Because the question is an important one, not just for this parish and its future, but for all our lives: what determines the decisions we make?  Is it what gives more comfort or requires less change?  Or is it what helps spread the kingdom more? 
    Jesus challenged His Apostles and disciples.  His parables, while we are used to them, upset many people, because they turned people’s pre-conceived notions upside-down, and in some cases did not make the hearers sound all that good.  Last week, Jesus said that those who were Johnny-come-latelys would get the same inheritance as those who followed God all their lives.  And today, He tells the chief priests and elders that tax collectors and prostitutes are getting into heaven before them because the tax collectors and prostitutes are actually doing what God wants, even though they had earlier said no by their sinful actions.  The tax collectors and prostitutes converted; the chief priests and elders were stuck in their ways and would not change.  Do you think the chief priests and the elders quietly took that admonition with pious and serene faces?  Certainly not!  This passage is from Matthew 21.  Jesus dies in Matthew 27.  That’s no literary coincidence. 
    What matters most, we hear today, is to do the will of the Father.  Sure, it would be better if we said “yes” to God and followed through on it, but what is most important is that we actually do the will of God, no matter what our earlier response. 
    And what is the will of the Father?  To share the Gospel.  Not just with other Catholics, but with those who do not know the Gospel, or do not know the fullness of the Gospel.  Our church, our parish, has one purpose with two parts: to sustain you so that you can evangelize others.  We’re really good at the first part.  Our Divine Mercy group, our Men’s Faith Group, and our other faith formation groups help you to grow in your faith.  But frankly, we’re not doing a great job at the second part.  And I can say that because we are not bringing people into the church.  Yes, part of what God wants for this parish is to feed our souls.  But He feeds our souls so that we have the spiritual energy to evangelize and bring others into the faith. 

    Pope Francis described it this way from an audience he had in February of this year in Rome:
 

First of all, there is no going without staying: before sending the disciples forth on mission, Christ–the Gospel says– “calls them to himself” (cf. Mt. 10:1).  The proclamation is born from the encounter with the Lord; every Christian activity, especially the mission, begins from there….Witnessing him, in fact, means radiating him; but, if we do not receive his light, we will be extinguished.

We are good at the “staying” in this parish.  You are the faithful few who keep coming back, week after week, to be refreshed by God’s Word and by the Eucharist, and that is a good thing!  Praise God that you recognize the need to be fed by God in order to survive.
    But Pope Francis continues:
 

Equally, however, there is no staying without going.  In fact, following Christ is not an inward-looking fact: without proclamation, without service, without mission, the relationship with Jesus does not grow.  We note that in the Gospel the Lord sends the disciples before having completed their preparation: shortly after calling them, he is already sending them!

If the entirety our faith life is about coming here; if our faith life is only about my daily prayer, whether by myself, or with my spouse, or with a small group; if my faith life is only about my individual actions; if my faith life does not have an opening to share with others the joy that I have found in following Christ, then I’m not fully following Jesus.  There is an aspect, the going, that I am missing.  And being a disciple means staying and going.
    There are ways that our parishioners do “go” after staying.  Some serve in the North End Soup Kitchen; some have baked cookies for Catholic Charities; others care for the physical needs of the buildings.  We all say with our lips that we want to follow Jesus, but He tells us to “go” and make disciples.  With few exceptions in my 6 years here, we have not welcomed others into our faith, for whatever reason.  That’s not a judgement, just a fact.  We are comfortable talking to other Catholics about our faith, but we have not invited many others into the faith, at least very few that have decided to join the Catholic Church. 
    In spite of all this, God still invites us to follow His call, no matter how we have answered before.  Just because we haven’t done something before, doesn’t mean we can’t start doing it now.  Indeed, if we at first said no, but then changed our mind and did the will of God, we would be the ones entering heaven before those who said yes originally, but did not do anything. Each day is a new chance to spread the Gospel.  No matter how long our parish has, can we each commit to living both aspects of a disciple: staying with the Lord to be nourished by Him, and then going to the world to proclaim the Good News?

Magic Eye

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    When I was in grade school, one of the more popular items at our annual Book Fair were books that were called Magic Eyes.  On each page there was a picture, but if you stared at it a certain way, a different, 3-D image would seem to pop off the page.  As I say it, it doesn’t really sound that interesting, especially with the fact that you can now have virtual reality goggles.  But in elementary school in the early ‘90s, it was pretty cool.
    What God sees and what we see can be as different as the Magic Eye books.  Our view is often limited to the externals: how someone combs his hair; what kind of clothes she wears; skin and facial features; etc.  But what God sees goes much deeper than that.
    As Jesus told the parable about the Pharisee and the tax-collector (sometimes called the Publican), He is not only talking about how to pray (the publican) and how not to pray (the Pharisee), but He’s also making a point that had been made several times before in Scripture, that appearances can deceive.  The Pharisee seems to have it all together: he doesn’t commit major sins, he gives to the temple and synagogue, and he doesn’t cooperate with the pagan Romans.  The Publican, on the other hand, seems very downcast, and won’t even raise his eyes to heaven.  He simply, quietly, asks God for mercy from the back row.  And yet, it is the Publican who is justified (put into right relationship with God), not the Pharisee.
    This point had been made in the first book of Samuel, as the prophet Samuel seeks a new king of Israel to replace Saul, who had disobeyed God.  Samuel goes to the house of Jesse, and sees some studly looking men.  And yet, God does not choose any of them.  Instead, God chooses David, the youngest, not as much to behold, who is out tending the sheep, to be the new king of Israel.  Or, think back to to Book of Job.  Job does everything right, so much so, that God brags about Job.  But then Satan asks to take away Job’s prosperity, and then even his health, because Satan is convinced that Job will walk away from God if his good fortune were taken away.  God allows Satan, in the story, to do anything, other than kill Job, which Satan does.  Job loses everything, and his luck is so bad, his own wife says, “Curse God and die” (what a lovely woman!).  Job’s friends come, and try to convince him that he must have done something wrong, so he should repent, and then God will give Job good stuff and health again.  But Job maintains his innocence, all-the-while still trusting God.  In both those stories, and many more, physical strength and material blessings do not mean that God loves you more, nor does lack of goods mean that God hates you. 
    In fact, as we heard from the Book of Sirach, God “hears the cry of the oppressed…is not deaf to the wail of the orphan, nor to the widow.”  Those people seemed like God wasn’t on their side.  If you’re oppressed, you don’t have control of your own freedom.  If you are an orphan, you have no parents to take care of you, and there was no welfare state or foster homes to make sure you were taken care of properly.  If you were a widow, your husband, who made money to feed you, was dead, and you had to rely on the generosity of your children and other family.  In other words, these were all people who had very little, if anything.  And yet, God hears their cries. 
    Even St. Paul is an example of how what looks like failure can actually be success in the eyes of God.  St. Paul did found many churches, groups of believers in Jesus, but none of them were particularly large communities, and they almost always seemed to have problems.  St. Paul writes this second epistle to St. Timothy from house arrest, and is about to die for preaching the Gospel.  He references in another letter how many of his co-workers abandoned him.  And yet, he is sure that “the crown of righteousness awaits” him, because he has, “competed well;…finished the race;…kept the faith.” 
    So how do we measure success?  When do we think God favors us?  Is it when things go well?  Or is it when we have struggles?  In truth, God can favor us in either set of circumstances.  We may have come to church this morning and are on cloud nine because we just received a promotion, or our grandkids just made honor roll.  Or we may be struggling in marriage, doing everything we can to pay the bills and buy food with a meager salary.  God loves us either way.  He hears our prayers when we come to Him in humility, recognizing that whatever we have is from Him: a gift of good things; or the allowance of suffering to strengthen us and bring us closer to Him.
    How, too, do we view others?  Do we see the externals and presume that the person who appears to do well is blessed by God?  Do we presume that the dirty, homeless person must have done something wrong, and we should avoid him or her?  Or do we look deeper, trying to see Christ in every person, regardless of affluence or poverty?
    [Eric, you have chosen a beautiful time to join the Catholic Church.  Unlike decades past, we have lost a lot of clout politically.  Unlike before, what we hold as truths to be revealed by God regarding the dignity of the human person, from natural birth through natural death; the importance of work and using God’s gifts and talents for the building up of society; the definition of marriage given to us by God; that our bodies are good and tell us something factual about ourselves, which cannot be changed by desire or surgery; that the family is the building block of society and should not be infringed by the government; these things are now no longer popular or widely held.  People are leaving the Catholic Church in droves.  This is a beautiful time because God often works best when things seem to be stacked against us.  And you are choosing to witness to what God has revealed through his one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. 
    It will call for great determination to live out that faith.  It may even lead to suffering.  But again, what the world sees as failure–sticking to God when the rest of the world seems to be abandoning Him for more palatable beliefs–is often success, and what the world sees as success is often failure.  And your one voice today, professing your faith with us, will be joined the myriad voices throughout the millennia who have professed that same faith, unbroken and untarnished, though many have sought to destroy it and change it throughout its history. 
    Do not be afraid to live as a Catholic, in all that the word Catholic entails.  Do not be afraid of seeming to be a failure to others by professing an ancient faith that critiques so much of what modern man seems to hold dear.  You may not do it perfectly, none of us do, but if you persevere in doing what you can to follow Christ, no matter how your life looks from the outside, you will merit to hear the words we all hope to hear one day: “Well done, good and faithful servant.  Come, share your Master’s joy.”  

Needing Jesus

 Solemnity of St. Matthew
    [In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.].  You all are probably aware that I’m a big fan of country music.  And I would argue that the first couple of country music right now are Tim McGraw and Faith Hill.  In 2007 they released a song together called, “I Need You.”  And the refrain goes, “So I need you. // Like a needle needs a vein / Like my Uncle Joe in Oklahoma needs the rain / I need you. / Like a lighthouse on the coast /…I need you.”

    Do we need Jesus?  As we celebrate our parish patron, that is the question that our Lord asks of us today, and which St. Matthew exemplifies.  What was it that made Matthew drop everything to follow Christ?  What allowed Matthew to put on a dinner in his home for our Lord?  He realized that He needed Jesus.
    No doubt, St. Matthew had tried to fill up his life with other things.  He was a tax collector for an occupying government, which probably meant that he didn’t have a lot of Jewish friends, at least not the kind that went to synagogue.  Perhaps Matthew thought that, as long as he had to be under an oppressive government, he would at least get a little ahead by working for them.  Recall, too, that tax collectors generally made their money from charging more than the taxes, so they could pocket the difference.  But that money did not satisfy him fully.
    We don’t know if St. Matthew was married, but, by tradition, only John was unmarried.  Let’s hope that Matthew had a happy marriage, maybe even had a few kids.  But he knew that even those goods of family life could not fully satisfy him.
    Matthew was a man in need of a savior.  He knew it, even if he couldn’t put his finger on what would satisfy that need until our Lord came and called him.  But once Christ did call Matthew, everything was changed, and Matthew had to leave behind everything else and follow our Lord.
    Christ said today that He did not come to call the just, but sinners.  What is it about the just that tends to leave them outside the call of Christ?  They don’t feel they need Him.  Does that mean that Christ did not come for the holy?  How can one be holy without God’s help?  Those who are convinced of their own righteousness do not look for a savior, because they feel they have saved themselves by their own good deeds.  Those who are models of holiness, the saints, always recognized their need for God, and that they could not be holy without Him.  They mourned even their venial sins because they recognized how even those small sins hurt God.  The saints knew throughout their lives that they needed a savior, even as they advanced in their relationship with God.  
    The fulfillment of the realization that Matthew needed a savior was so powerful that Matthew wrote a Gospel about the God-Man who changed his life by a simple call.  He wrote down the stories that we have learned from childhood: the visit of the Magi; the Sermon on the Mount; the call of St. Peter to be the first pope; part of the words of Institution in the Mass; the great commission to “Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”  He organized his account of the Gospel in a way that people would see in the Lord the fulfillment of the promise of Moses that God would raise up another prophet, to whom the Chosen People needed to listen.  Indeed, it seems to be divided into five parts, just like the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Tanakh, the Jewish scriptures.
    That fulfillment that St. Matthew found also made his passion and martyrdom worth the price.  Nothing was more precious than the gift of a savior that Matthew had found in our Lord.  Everything else, to use the words of his fellow apostle, Saint Paul, was as rubbish when compared with the treasure Matthew had found in Christ.  
    So, do we need a savior?  No matter what our virtues or the ways we say yes to God, do we still recognize that we need Him?  Do we still cry out to Him for mercy that justifies us, that puts us in right relationship with God?  Or do we feel like we can handle things on our own without God?  
    Do our hearts still yearn for a deeper relationship with God to fill the holes in our hearts that no material goods can satisfy?  When our Lord calls us in our custom’s post, are we ready to respond because we know we need Him?  
    And as we find that fulfillment, do we then respond by sharing that good news, that evangelium, with others?  Is the joy in our heart from knowing Christ so great that we can’t help but share it with those we meet?  Or do we keep our light under a bushel basket, and allow our salt to grow tepid?  Would we be willing to give up our lives for our Lord, or do we serve other lesser gods in our life?  Do we need Jesus?  If so, then together, as a parish, let us follow Him, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit reign, unto the ages of the ages.  Amen. 

Fasting and Abstinence (Precept #4)

Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  So, continuing our walk through the Precepts of the Church, I will admit that today’s Gospel could easily have also dealt with our necessity to confess at least once per year.  But I chose that precept last week.  So, since the Gospel spoke about the Pharisee talking about his fasting and his pious works, let’s focus on Precept number 4: You shall observe the days of fasting and abstinence established by the Church.  A bit of a stretch?  Yes, but just go with it for our purposes.

    It may seem odd to focus on this, since our Lord says that the Pharisee who bragged to God about his fasting was not the one who went home justified.  So, one might think that we shouldn’t focus on fasting.  But the problem wasn’t the fasting.  The problem was that he thought it made him better than the others, a sign of spiritual pride.
    Fasting, St. Thomas Aquinas states, has a threefold purpose: to control lust, to allow the mind to go more towards heavenly things, and to make satisfaction for sins.  It also gives us solidarity with the poor, who go without food, not by choice, but by their lack of due resources.  We can fast from food, but also from other goods, like the internet, social media, television, music, etc.  Fasting from food is required two days out of the year: Ash Wednesday and Good Friday.  On those days, according to current norms, one is to eat one normal size meal, and two meals which, when added together equal or are less than the one normal meal.  Of course, one can always eat less.
    Abstinence, in the way the precept of the Church speaks, concerns not eating meat.  Included in the understanding of meat is the meat of mammals and poultry.  Not included is fish and reptiles.  Of course, there are exceptions.  The Archdiocese of Detroit still holds on to an old dispensation that allows the eating of muskrat on Fridays (muskrat stew instead of fried fish).  Beavers and capybaras are also fair game on Fridays.  

Muskrat

    The Church still holds that every Friday is a day of penance, and that one can observe it by abstaining from meat.  However, in 1966, the US Bishops removed the penalty of sin from eating meat on Friday, and allowed for other penances, other than abstinence from meat, though they did still place abstinence from meat in first place.  But Fridays are still days of penance, and, when possible, abstaining from meat is a great way of observing the penitential days.
    Of course, some would say that fish can be rather luxurious, and not help us keep solidarity with the poor.  Or some enjoy seafood, and so would find it odd to give up meat to enjoy a nice lobster tail.  But, as I started to give up meat on Fridays, what I noticed is that, it wasn’t so much about what I was eating, but training my will by what I couldn’t eat.  Given my fallen humanity, a juicy steak never seems so appealing as on a Friday.  But I’m reminding my body that just because it has a desire does not mean I have to give in to that desire, which of course helps us beyond simply the food we eat.  
    But it’s also not just the action; the intent is also key.  Do we abstain in order to unite our suffering (or at least the pain of saying no to our fallen will) to Christ on the cross?  Do we utilize these days of penance as ways that we express sorrow for the sins we have committed?  Or, is it self-justification–trying to save ourselves by our good works–an approach, St. Paul reminds us, does not work.  Fasting and abstinence are, at face value, about what we eat or don’t eat.  But the deeper level is meant to draw us closer to Christ who sacrificed His sacred flesh for us on the cross, which is why we abstain on Fridays.  
    Fasting and abstinence is also meant to move our mind to heavenly things.  Look at the Gospel again: the Pharisee did not have his mind on heaven.  He was so focused on what he was doing, that he wasn’t even really praying, which presumes desiring union with God, rather than focusing on the self.  The tax collector, who maybe didn’t fast as much, recognized he was in need of forgiveness because he had sinned, but did not seek justification from his own deeds, but from God, and so went home justified.  So for us who fast, we still need to remember that we fast because we need to refocus on God, and we need mercy for our sins.  As much as our fasting leads us to God, it is good.  When it leads to spiritual pride, it has become an obstacle to growth in holiness and should be restarted with a different mind-set.  
    Lastly, fasting and abstinence are not absolutes.  When we choose to fast or abstain, we should do so in recognition of the goodness of the body, however fallen.  Fasting is not dieting, but some people use fasting and/or abstaining to drop a few pounds.  But we need to make sure that our body is getting sufficient nutrients for our needs.  For that reason, especially those with diabetes, hypoglycemia, and even pregnant women should use their reason when deciding how much to fast and/or abstain.  We don’t want to slide into a Manichaean mentality which treats the body as evil.
    One good way to make sure that we don’t is to properly celebrate on days of rejoicing.  Solemnities (which include, but are not limited to, every Sunday and holy day), should not be days of fasting, without consulting a spiritual director.  In fact, when a solemnity falls on a Friday, it is no longer a day of abstinence; you can have meat.  Those are the days that we especially remember the joy of the Incarnation and Resurrection, or special saints like the Blessed Mother, St. Joseph, St. John the Baptist, to name a few.  While we do fast because the Bridegroom is not here in the same way He was during His earthly ministry, we also rejoice because of what He has done for us, and how that has been lived out by members of the Church who are now in heaven.  We should also allow for those times when we are visiting friends who don’t observe Friday as a day of penance, and eat what they set before us, even if it includes meat.
    Fasting, abstinence, and all ascetical practices help to train our bodies and wills to choose Christ, rather than always choosing what we immediately want.  May the uniting of our sacrificial practices help to heal us of our sins, and raise our minds to heaven, where Christ is seated at the right hand of the Father, with the Holy Spirit, God 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. 

Our Prayer Before God

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    In days gone by, some Catholic churches used to have a pew tax.  You would pay money to get a particular pew, or part of a pew, and it was your seat.  The most expensive pews were always the ones up front, closest to the Communion Rail, so that you could see as much as you could.  I think if we instituted a pew tax these days, the most expensive pews would be the ones in the back of the church, which people would pay more for so that they could get out earlier!
    The tax collector in today’s Gospel was at the back of the temple, but not because he wanted to get out earlier.  He chose the back because he didn’t feel worthy to approach God, because he was a sinner.  The Pharisee, on the other hand, is very confident that he is doing just fine, and, in fact, feels like he is doing much better than the tax collector. 
    As we approach November, the month in which we traditionally pray for the dead, we think of our loved ones who have died.  There’s a strange phenomenon that has taken hold in the church over the past 50 or years, and that’s making a funeral into a canonization.  You hear it in Words of Remembrance at the funeral home, and priests are sometimes the ones who perpetuate this practice in the homily: John Doe lived a good life and is in heaven now.  He did good things for the Church, loved his family, and worked hard.  He’s no longer in pain.
    To be clear, we should all hope that everyone who dies is in heaven.  We hope for the resurrection.  But what’s a bit odd is if we look toward those who are canonized saints, those whom the Church acknowledges are in heaven, they had a much different view of themselves.  The canonized saints were the first to say during their life, “I’m a sinner.  I have offended God.  My sins are an offense to God’s goodness, and I rely on His mercy.”  The people who are canonized saints were the first to tell people not to canonize them at their funeral, while those who maybe didn’t live such a heroically virtuous life are the first ones we talk about being in heaven.
    Again, our hope is that all God’s children are in heaven.  But is our attitude that of the Pharisee or the tax collector?  It was the Pharisee who said, “I go to church (temple), I pray often, I work hard, I donate to the church (temple), and I love my family.  I’m not a sinner like those other people!”  It was the tax collector who didn’t think he was worthy of the presence of God, and acknowledged how much he sinned.  Maybe the Pharisee didn’t do that many bad things; they weren’t known for big sins.  The tax collector, on the other hand, was seen as a traitor for collecting taxes for a foreign government.  And yet, the tax collector went home justified–in right relationship with God–whereas the Pharisee did not.
    I loved my grandmothers, now deceased, very much, and I had experienced a lot of love from them over my thirty-odd years of life.  Rarely, if ever, had I heard my grandmothers say a cross word; they lived a good life; they went to church.  But I still pray for them to be in heaven.  I have Masses said for them each year.  I hope that they’re in heaven, but I also know that, as much as I experienced perfection from them, they weren’t perfect, and in case they’re not in heaven, I want to do everything I can to help them to get there.  Do I think they’re in hell?  No.  But might they be in purgatory and in need of my prayers?  That could easily be the case, but even that is good, because the purification of purgatory only leads to heaven; it’s a one-way trip up.  And if they’re already in heaven, which I hope for, then I’m sure they’re sharing my prayers with someone else who needs it. 
    When there’s a tough goal, the temptation is to lower the bar so it’s more accessible.  But the great witness of the saints is that they were just like us, in so many ways, and yet they did live a saintly life; so it’s possible for each of us, we don’t have to lower the bar.  But even in their sanctity, they were acutely aware of their sins.  They didn’t paint over them, but acknowledged them and threw themselves on the mercy of God.  The temptation for us who maybe don’t live that heroically virtuous life is to pretend like we’re not sinners, we’re not that bad, because we’re not “greedy, dishonest, [or] adulterous” as the Pharisee said.  But if we aren’t living like a saint in the daily choices we make, at least we can do penance like a saint, and plead for the mercy of God.
    You already know this, maybe more acutely than others, but I’m not a saint.  I try to be, but I fail often, and often in the same ways.  I’m aiming for heaven, but I know that I don’t regularly hit the mark.  So even when I die, I’ll be buried in a purple vestment, as a way of saying that I need your prayers if I’m going to be welcomed into heaven.  I don’t have to make-up sins when I go to confession.  In my examination of conscience, they’re quite clear before my soul.  And so I try to go to confession every couple of weeks.  And every time I say Mass, in the silence after receiving Holy Communion, I make my own the prayer of the tax collector: “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner.” 
    As we stand before God today at Mass, what is our prayer?  “God, I’m not that bad, I’m not a big sinner?”  Or “O God, be merciful to me a sinner”?