Running to Meet Christ

First Sunday of Advent

           

Well, here we are again.  We are at the dawn of a new liturgical year, a new year of grace.  In our faith we have certainly had a big year: Pope Benedict XVI declared this past year a Year of Faith, which has just ended; Bishop Boyea declared this past year a Year of Prayer, which will end on 9 December at the Cathedral with Mass at 6 p.m.; Pope Benedict XVI resigned from being pope, the first time this had happened in centuries; the Holy Spirit, through the College of Cardinals, elected Pope Francis to be the new Vicar of Christ.  In our own families there have probably been momentous events: new life with the birth of a child or grandchild; the hope of eternal life with the death of a loved one; graduations, retirements, etc.  Whatever has happened, it has been quite a year!

            In this new liturgical year, I want to shift my focus a little bit in the homilies I preach.  Last year I tried to focus on the gift of faith and spreading the Gospel.  That certainly will still come up in my homilies, as it is a perennial aspect of our faith.  But this year I want to focus more on the prayers that I say in your name during the Mass as a way of encouraging us to participate more fully in the Divine Mysteries in which we partake, and challenging us to take that participation outside the doors of this church.

            We are probably now used to the new translations.  Some of us may not like them; that’s fair.  I personally love them, because I see in them the beauty which is contained in the mother tongue of our church: Latin.  The form of the prayer is much more deprecatory, that is, it does not treat God as an equal, but addresses Him as the Almighty, and takes the position of one who is a servant of God.  They are filled with Biblical language, and are sometimes taken from the words of our earliest saints.  For the most part, they are not long, but are very Roman in style: nobly simple. 

            Our Collect, what some refer to as the Opening Prayer, states: “Grant your faithful, we pray, almighty God, the resolve to run forth to meet your Christ with righteous deeds at his coming, so that, gathered at his right hand, they may be worthy to possess the heavenly Kingdom.”  As Advent is a time focused on preparing for Christ in His three comings—long ago as an infant at Bethlehem, at the end of time when the Kingdom of God is established in its fullness, and in our hearts each day—this Collect, this collection of all our private prayers, already points us to the coming Kingdom of Christ.  It asks for the strength of will, the resolve, to run forth with righteous deeds at His coming.  Now, I’m not a runner, like my parents and my sisters.  I’m a sprinter, so I don’t like to run for long periods of time.  And, to be honest, I don’t really sprint that much anymore, either.  But when I do run, when I try to get somewhere fast, it is often to catch up to somebody to give them something or to get their attention. 

There is a certainly excitement in running, especially to meet someone.  One need only think of movies where two people are running to meet each other, often with joyous, longing music in the background.  But our prayer asks us for the strength to run to meet Christ, not with our legs, but with our “righteous deeds,” our actions that help to build the Kingdom of God here on earth. 

            This idea of running is in contrast to what we hear in our Prayer after Communion: “May these mysteries, O Lord, in which we have participated, profit us, we pray, for even now, as we walk amid passing things, you teach us by them to love the things of heaven and hold fast to what endures.”  While our good deeds are meant to help us to run to meet Christ at His coming, we walk amid passing things, the things of earth.  Our prayer reminds us that the things of this earth, as good as they are, pass away, and should not give us the same excitement as the things of heaven and preparing for Jesus’ second coming.  As the first reading states, we should stream towards the mountain of the Lord, to the temple of God on Mount Zion.  As Christians, our real temple is the heavenly Jerusalem, the heavenly temple, where God reigns with the Lamb-that-was-Slain at His right hand.  We should be rejoicing to go to the House of the Lord, as our Psalm mentioned, the House that lasts forever, that is not built with human hands, but was built by God.

            And we should be prepared to rejoice at Jesus’ coming, because we do not know the day nor the hour.  For those who have their hearts set on the things of the world, that day will catch them off guard, as our Gospel said.  Just like those before the flood who “were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day that Noah entered the ark,” and who perished, if we remain focused too much on the things of this earth, and not concerned enough with our eternal salvation, then Jesus’ coming will not give us cause to run towards him, but might cause us to slink away from him, backing up ever so slowly so as to avoid notice. 

            How do we prepare ourselves, then?  How do we focus on what is to come and want to run out to meet Jesus?  Our Prayer over the Offerings gives us a clue: “Accept, we pray, O Lord, these offerings we make, gathered from among your gifts to us, and may what you grant us to celebrate devoutly here below gain for us the prize of eternal redemption.”  When we take the things of the earth—our time that we spend here, our money that we donate, our attention, the bread and wine—and give them back to God, we show that we are first and foremost concerned with Him.  And then, as God takes our gifts that we have and offers us the most precious gift, the Body and Blood of His Son, that what we celebrate here below in sacramental signs, prepares us for receiving the prize of eternal redemption, the prize of being in heaven with God in perfect happiness. 

            As we walk amid the concerns of this earth, may we love the things of heaven, hold fast to what truly lasts, and be ready to run and meet Jesus Christ as we celebrate His birth at Christmas, as we prepare for His Second Coming in Glory, and as He comes to us each day to enter our hearts and make His home there.

Building a Kingdom of Justice

Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe

            One of the great things about being Catholic, is that we have form prayers to say.  If you’re at a meal and you’re asked to pray, you can fall back on “Bless us, O Lord…”  If you can’t find the words because of joy or sorrow, you can always seem to get out, “Hail Mary, full of grace…”  Or maybe you’re trying to find the perfect prayer, so you use the one the Jesus taught us: “Our Father…”  The blessing is that when we can’t find our own words, we can use words that others have given us over the centuries.  But the difficulty is that sometimes when we say a prayer so often, we miss the words that are in the prayer, because it is so easy to rattle off the memorized formula.

            In the Our Father, for example, we pray, “thy kingdom come.”  If we go to Mass every Sunday and Holyday like we should, we pray that prayer at least 57 times a year.  My guess is we’ve said it many, many more times than that.  And yet, each time we say it, we are affirming that we want God’s kingdom to come.  Not the kingdom of the world.  Not even my own kingdom.  But God’s kingdom. 

            Today we celebrate Christ the King of the Universe.  Not just king of a part of the world.  Not just the king of one faith.  He is the King of the Universe, of all things, whether His kingship is acknowledged or not.  Whether we like it or not, Jesus’ kingdom will come.  Whether we mean it or not, Jesus’ kingdom will come.  But, our judgment will be much easier if our will is already approaching the will of our king, and if the words we speak in the Our Father do not merely come from our vocal chords, but from our heart. 

            In the end, there are only really two kingdoms: the Kingdom of God and the Kingdom of the Evil One.  Dichotomies don’t usually hold true.  Life is rarely as simple as either A or B.  And yet, at the end of time, there will be those for Christ, or those against Him; those in Heaven or those in Hell.  Our life work, the sign that we are faithful citizens of the Kingdom of God, is that our will is lined up with, and really subjected to, the will of God.  The more we insist on our own will over and against God, the less we are true subjects of the King of Kings, at least beyond in name only.

            Jesus never forces us to be a part of His kingdom.  And His reign often doesn’t look very enticing.  In our Gospel, Jesus is reigning from the cross.  He is being sneered at and mocked.  This isn’t the way we’re used to seeing kings.  Yet the good thief, whom tradition names St. Dismas, recognizes Jesus and says, “‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’”  And Jesus, the good King, offers salvation to St. Dismas that very day.  Jesus’ kingdom sometimes doesn’t look so appealing.  It is sometimes hidden in external failure.  It is clothed in meekness.  And it is never forced.  If we want to build our own kingdom that is against God, Jesus will let us, because He allows us to use the gift of free will that He gave us, so that His Kingdom is not forced on us, but welcomed with love.

To check ourselves, to examine the conscience, we can ask ourselves whether or not we want Jesus’ kingdom to come.  We can ask ourselves if the words of the Our Father ring true in our hearts, or are just empty words.  And we can see the beginning of that in how we respond to the teaching of the Mystical Body of Christ, the Church.  In particular, the parish council and Fr. Jerry are asking all of us to focus on the Church’s teaching (therefore, Jesus’ teaching) on social justice. 

That term is pretty loaded.  I don’t think I would shock anyone to say that this location in our one parish tends to be associated, accurately or inaccurately, with a particular political party.  And the other location in our one parish tends to be associated, again, accurately or inaccurately, with another political party.  Social justice tends to be associated more frequently with one political party.  But, as far as our faith goes, there is neither Democrat, nor Republican, Libertarian or Socialist.  Christ calls all of us to practice social justice. 

The Compendium to the Catechism of the Catholic Church states, “Society ensures social justice when it respects the dignity and the rights of the person as the proper end of society itself.  Furthermore, society pursues social justice, which is linked to the common good and to the exercise of authority, when it provides the conditions that allow associations and individuals to obtain what is there due.”  In practice: how do I assist the poor?  How do I ensure that I do not value capital over the human person?  How do I show solidarity with those who have less than me?  How do I promote the dignity of work and encourage others to use their gifts for the benefit of the city, State, and country?  How do I defend the innocent, especially the baby in the womb and the elderly?  How do I defend the family as the building block of human society, and promote a culture that ensures that children have the best environment in which to develop: a loving father and mother?  How do I vote so as to promote the Gospel?  How do I work for peace?

In our parish we have people who work hard for social justice, on both sides of Burcham.  We have business leaders who leave extremely generous tips to waitresses who didn’t think they would be able to provide Christmas gifts for their children.  Our Food Bank at St. John feeds many people.  The Giving Trees, organized by the St. Vincent de Paul Societies, and that will soon be up, provide necessities and niceties for families in need.  Our school children have had the opportunity to work in soup kitchens.  Our right to life group marches in DC as a witness to our legislators to defend life in our laws.  There are so many other ways.  St. John Church & Student Center does not have a monopoly on social justice.  St. Thomas Aquinas does not have a monopoly on social justice.  We each do things well, and we each need to be challenged in the areas in which we can grow.  As one parish family, united in one Kingdom of Christ, we need to work together to work for social justice: not as one side of the faith, or the work of a political party, but as members of the Kingdom of God who are called to do our best to make this City of Man look more and more like the City of God.

Will we cooperate with the grace of God, without which we cannot build the City of God, that city that only Christ can truly complete?  Will we be members of Christ’s Kingdom?  Or will we rather build our kingdom?  May our hearts and our actions reflect the words we say today: thy kingdom come.

Is Heaven a Place on Earth?

Thirty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

            In this month of November, when we remember the dead in a special way, our minds easily turn towards heaven.  We began the month by praying for All Saints: all those who are in heaven, not just the ones the Church knows about and has canonized, but even those who are known only to God.  As we write the names of our family members and friends who have died in the Book of the Dead, we pray and we hope that they are in heaven. 

            Secular music has thought about heaven a fair amount, too.  As I thought about songs with heaven in them, three came right to mind: Belinda Carlisle singing, “Oh, heaven is a place on earth”; Eric Clapton singing, “Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven?”; and, a little more recently, Los Lonely Boys singing, “how far is heaven?”  You can probably think of more (but do it after Mass so you’re not distracted). 

            Heaven is our goal.  It is the hope we have.  I’ve never known a person who didn’t want to go to heaven.  It was the hope for the seven brothers and their mother as they were offered the choice to eat pork, that is, to break the Mosaic Law, or to die.  We get a few of their stories today, and their perseverance in the face of physical torture is inspiring.  Why do they remain faithful to God rather than make a small concession?  Because they believe that God will reward them for their fidelity.  We have countless martyrs, many from the last century in the Spanish Civil War, during World War II, and in from Communist countries, who died rather than deny their faith.  From the very beginning with St. Stephen, the first martyr, the hope of heaven has been what has consoled the multitude of men and women as they underwent excruciating pain for Jesus.

            Heaven is our hope amid the sighs, mournings, and weepings in this vale of tears, as we pray in the Hail, Holy Queen prayer.  And we intuitively want heaven to be worth the price of what we go through on earth: all the little sacrifices we make, all the big sacrifices we make.  We want to know that heaven is worth it.  In a way, we’re weighing the cost of discipleship against the cost of the world.  For this reason, it’s no surprise that when I visit our parish school classroom, or when I visit our parish high school, Lansing Catholic, I frequently get asked what heaven will be like.

            The students often want to know: will heaven have a TV?  If not, how can I be happy if I can’t make sure I’ve seen all the episodes of my favorite shows?  Will heaven have an X-box?  If not, how can I truly be happy if I’m not killing zombies?  Will heaven have my iPhone?  If not, how am I ever going to finish all the levels of Candy Crush?  Perhaps we adults like to think that we’re a little bit more sophisticated: will my favorite food and drink (maybe adult beverage) be there?  Will it be the perfect temperature?  Will the Lions finally win the Super Bowl?  Our view of heaven is very much based upon what we know, and that is what is earthly, and then making it a perfected earthly existence.

            But it strikes me that in our Gospel today, Jesus challenges the Sadducees, and us, to not get caught up in making heaven simply a better version of earth.  The Sadducees are trying to trap Jesus into making the resurrection seem silly if the Law of Moses is true, because all seven men will claim to be this woman’s husband in heaven.  But Jesus sidesteps the trap by teaching them that heaven is not simply earth perfected.  Heaven involves a change of mind, a change of attitude because it’s not happiness from our fallen point of view, but is happiness from God’s point of view.  God, who made us, and who knows what will make us perfectly happy, gives us true happiness, not just what our minds can conceive as true happiness.  Even our bodies, which we know we will receive back at the end of time in the resurrection of the body, are different, and we see that in Jesus.  It’s still His body; He still has the marks from the nails and the spear, but it’s different; it’s glorified.  And it’s different enough that Mary Magdalene at the tomb does not at first recognize Him; the disciples on the road to Emmaus don’t even recognize Him.  But it’s similar enough that the apostles in the Upper Room do know it’s Jesus. 

            What we know by Scripture and the teaching of the Church is that heaven is perfect happiness, and it involves the worship of God in a time of Sabbath rest.  It is being with God, who made us to be with Himself, and the fulfillment of what it means to be human.  Maybe some of our creature comforts will be there; maybe not.  Maybe the Lions will actually win a Super Bowl; maybe not.  But we do have faith and confidence that whatever heaven is like, we will be perfectly happy because we will be with God and lack for nothing that we truly need.  May we all be found worthy, by the way we live our lives, to accept that gift of eternal blessedness that God wants to give us, so we can experience for ourselves, with all the saints, canonized and known only to God, the joy of entering into the eternal rest of our Lord. 

Love Changes Us

Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

            When I was a junior in high school, there was this girl I had a big crush on.  She sat right in front of me in Spanish class.  She was attractive, kind, and into her faith: the trifecta of beauty.  But she and I weren’t really good friends.  So I had to figure out a way to get to talk with her, and more than just comparing notes for Spanish class.  I soon learned that she was into country music, so I started listening to country, too.  Before that, my only exposure to America’s music had been the classic stuff (like George Jones or Merle Haggard) I’d hear at my grandparents on a Saturday morning listening to WITL as they cooked pancakes and sausage for us.  But, I started listening to both old and new so this girl and I could talk.

            I’m sure I’m not the only guy who has “expanded his horizons” in order to talk more with a girl.  In fact, I’d guess that most of you husbands have changed certain things in order to impress your wives, even if it was just learning how to put the seat down.  And many wives here have probably learned to put up with idiosyncrasies they never envisioned because they love their husbands.

According to tradition, the Sycamore
tree which Zacchaeus climbed
to see Jesus in Jericho

            Love of a person, whether it be just a crush, or even into marriage, changes us, and hopefully for the better.  When we love someone, we are willing to do things differently for the one we love.  We see that in our Gospel today.  Zacchaeus comes into contact with Jesus, whom he loves, and Zacchaeus changes.  Jesus doesn’t even say anything to him, other than asking to eat at his house, and Zacchaeus affirms, “‘Behold, half of my possessions, Lord, I shall give to the poor, and if I have extorted anything from anyone I shall repay it four times over.’”  Zacchaeus loves Jesus enough that he is willing to give away half of what he owns to the poor, and to make good any cheating that he had done before when collecting people’s taxes.

            Here we are, the People of God, sons and daughters adopted by God the Father in baptism, many of us coming into contact with Jesus at least once a week as we hear His Word, are reminded of His presence through the ministry of the priest, and receive the Body and Blood of Jesus into us.  We have come to meet Jesus and He makes Himself known to us in the People, in His Word, in the Priest, and especially in the Eucharist, and are we different?  Are we willing to change for the one we claim to love?  If not, how much do we really love Him?

            One of my favorite scenes from “The Godfather III” is when Michael Corleone is making his confession.  Cardinal Lamberto, who is hearing his confession, picks up a little rock that has been sitting in a fountain and says, “Look at this stone.  It has been lying in the water for a very long time, but the water has not penetrated it.”  He breaks the stone.  “Look.” he says, “Perfectly dry.  The same thing has happened to men in Europe.  For centuries they have been surrounded by Christianity, but Christ has not penetrated.  Christ doesn’t breathe within them.”  We could say the same thing about us Americans.  For over two centuries we have had the faith active in the US, sometimes under great persecution, but has Christ effected us?  Has Jesus changed us?  Do we love Jesus enough that we want to change how we live?

            Will it be hard to change?  More difficult from some than for others.  We are enmeshed in a culture of death that sacrifices the life of an innocent child for the sake of a comfortable lifestyle; that desires comfort above all else; that objectifies men and women as tools to satisfy our lust and libido, whether on the internet, or in real life, even in marriages; that denies that anyone can say one thing is true and another is false because everyone has their point of view, and we can’t really know truth; that rewards power and mocks obedience to legitimate authority.  It is the culture in which I grew up; it is the culture in which many of you grew up; it is the culture in which we all now live.  But it is not significantly different from the culture in AD 33, or 67, or 90.  The only thing that is different is that in our country, we have the right to freely practice our religion, at least for now.  We face a similar culture as the Greco-Roman culture of the time of the greatest flourishing of our faith, the largest explosion of heart-felt conversions.  The pagans didn’t change their life because the philosophy and the rules of the Christians made more sense or made life easier, they changed their life because they fell in love with Jesus, and every other change they had to make was worth it because of His love and the gift of eternal life that He offered to those who follow Him. 

            This New Evangelization that we keep talking about is all about getting to know and love Jesus.  We have received the Sacraments, which are catalysts for a relationship with Jesus, but I dare say that many of us in this celebration of the Mass are practical strangers to Jesus.  We know Jesus as well as we know President Obama, or Pope Francis, or Miguel Cabrera.  We know of them, maybe we know a lot about them, but we don’t know them personally.  And because we don’t know Jesus personally, we cannot be in love with Him; we cannot love a person that we don’t know.  Zacchaeus was willing to go out on a limb—literally—to get to know Jesus, and so was able to love Him and be transformed by that love.  What are we willing to do to get to know Jesus?

            If we are willing to change what music we listen to, or how we appear, or what we do for a person we merely crush on, let alone another human person we truly love, why are we not willing to change for the Divine Person who loved us so much, even when we were unlovable, that He died for us?  Why do we pretend that being a stranger to Jesus is an acceptable way to live our Catholic faith?  Are we afraid to change?  Are we afraid of what Jesus will demand?  Pope Benedict XVI once said:

Are we not perhaps all afraid in some way?  If we let Christ enter fully into our lives, if we open ourselves totally to him, are we not afraid that he might take something away from us?  Are we not perhaps afraid to give up something significant, something unique, something that makes life so beautiful?  Do we not then risk ending up diminished and deprived of our freedom?  …No!  If we let Christ into our lives, we lose nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful and great.  No!  Only in this friendship are the doors of life opened wide.  Only in this friendship is the great potential of human existence truly revealed.  Only in this friendship do we experience beauty and liberation.  And so, today, with great strength and great conviction, on the basis of a long personal experience of life, I say to you…Do not be afraid of Christ!  He takes nothing away, and he gives you everything.  When we give ourselves to him, we receive a hundredfold in return.  Yes, open, open wide the doors to Christ—and you will find true life.”

            Luckily, as our first reading states, the Lord is merciful and patient.  He gives us time to know Him more deeply and love Him.  He stands knocking at the doors of our hearts, waiting for us to answer.  But we do not have unlimited time.  Brothers and sisters, “now is the acceptable time!  Now is the day of salvation!”  Join a Bible study; join a faith-sharing group; serve at a soup kitchen; read books on the faith like the US Catholic Catechism for Adults, YouthCat, and books on the lives of the saints.  Do all you can to see Jesus, to know Jesus, to love Jesus.  “Do not be afraid!”

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.

Ty! Yw!!

Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            There is a new language developing right in our very midst.  I’m not a philologist, but I’m sure those who study languages are having a field day with this new language.  I wouldn’t say that I speak this language fluently, but I am conversational in it, though, to be honest, it’s not a spoken language, but only a written one.  I don’t know if there’s a name for it, but I’m going to call it English Text Language.

           

It’s a very efficient language, because it seeks to eliminate the excess characters you have to put into a text, or even in a tweet, where you are limited to 140 characters to express a thought.  Some of the words and phrases in English Text Language are easy.  The word “be” is simply the letter b, just like the word “are” is just the letter r.  You get rid of the English rules about your (y-o-u-r) and you’re (y-o-u-‘-r-e) by just writing u-r, unless you want to say you are, in which case you can separate the letters u and r.  But it does get a bit more complicated.  Common phrases are often abbreviated: s-m-h is shaking my head; w-d-y-m is what do you mean; I-d-k is I don’t know, and I-d-c is I don’t care.  Another ubiquitous abbreviation is n-p: no problem, which is often the response when someone texts “thank you,” which would of course be written, t-y.

            There are obviously some benefits to this system if you’re texting or tweeting.  But it strikes me that the response n-p can have s a negative effect on our appreciation for a person or an act for which we should be grateful.  Rather than acknowledging the person or the thing that was done, it’s written off, minimized, because it was no problem.  The person who is being thanked is basically saying, though perhaps not with this intention, there’s no reason to thank me, because what I did wasn’t that much or wasn’t that important.  And this message, over time, can erode a culture of gratitude that is so important, and about which our first reading and Gospel speak today.

            In the first reading, Naaman wants to thank Elisha because Naaman had been a leper, but had followed the advice of Elisha and washed in the Jordan, and was cured.  Now, at first, maybe it seems like Elisha just tells Naaman, n-p, because he will not accept Naaman’s gift.  But what is really happening is that Elisha is refusing to take credit, because it was God who healed Naaman, not Elisha.  And Naaman, after some arguing back and forth, gets the point, because he ends up taking dirt so he can worship the true God, rather than his pagan gods.  Naaman wants to give thanks to God by offering a sacrifice.

            In the Gospel, it can be very easy to moralize this story of the ten lepers.  How many times have parents used it to teach children to say thank you?  And that certainly is part of the message.  But we shouldn’t want to say thank you simply because there’s a rule.  Whenever we receive a gift, thanksgiving should exude from us quite naturally.  Yes, Jesus wondered why the other nine lepers did not return to give thanks (though it should be noted that He never told them to return).  But he does wonder, that is, He is impressed, that thanksgiving is the natural response of the leper, a Samaritan, back to Jesus.  And this Samaritan has some faith that Jesus is God, as Jesus says, “‘your faith has saved you.’”  Jesus accepts what Elisha cannot, because Jesus is the same God who healed Naaman centuries before.

            How often are we thankful, and how often do we give God thanks for the many blessings He has given us?  We are meant to give thanks each time we come to Mass, because even the work Eucharist comes from Greek which mean “to give thanks well.”  We offer thanks to God the Father through Jesus the Son in the power of the Holy Spirit first and foremost for the gift of new life that was made possible by the death and resurrection of Jesus.  But we should also give thanks to God for all the other great gifts He has given us: life; our talents; love; perhaps financial stability; perhaps a good education; friends; faith; the list can go on and on.  I want to challenge you to spend 3 minutes before each Mass thanking God.  I know that a lot of us talk to our friends when we’re here in the nave of the church.  Catching up with friends is a great thing, but spend 3 minutes before Mass here in the pews thanking your best friend, God, who has given you the other friends to whom you can speak.  Talk with your other friends earlier before Mass or after Mass in the vestibule, so that everyone can take time in silence to thank God for the many blessings.

            And, the next time you do something kind for someone, and they say “thank you” (because they were taught good manners), don’t say, “no problem,” or text n-p, but say you’re welcome, and accept the gratitude that the other person is sharing with you, no matter how big or how small you think the gift or favor was.  In this way we’ll build up a culture of gratitude, which will certainly make the world a better and holier place.  T-t-y-l.

"If you're going through hell, keep on going"

Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

            “Is anybody there?”  This is the question the Prophet Habakkuk asks God in the first reading.  He is frustrated by the evil that is all around him, how violence and wickedness seem to be everywhere.  And yet God, who is supposed to be the source of justice, the one who punishes the wicked, seems absent from the situation.  The wrongs are not being righted.  The oppressed are not being liberated.  The wicked are not being punished.  Where is God in this situation?

            “Is anybody there?”  This is probably a question that we have asked God from time to time.  “Don’t you care what’s going on in my life?  Don’t you care how bad things are?”  Maybe it’s not violence like the Prophet Habakkuk is frustrated by.  Maybe you’re a senior citizen and no one comes to visit you and you feel alone.  Maybe you’re married, yet the spark of love seems to have died, and all you seem to do is fight with your spouse.  Maybe you’re divorced and feel alienated.  Maybe you’re a college student and the pressure of midterms is weighing heavily upon you and you feel like you’re drowning in your classes.  Maybe you’re a child and nothing seems to be going right with friends, family, or school.  Maybe someone you love has just died and you don’t know how to live without him or her.  No matter what the scenario, many people have dark times in their life.  And what makes it particularly dark is when God doesn’t seem to care, and when the answer to prayer that we want, the thing we are sure will fix the whole situation, doesn’t come. 

            But in our first reading, God responds.  He does not leave Habakkuk in silence.  He says, “Write down the vision clearly upon the tablets…For the vision still has its time…if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late.”  In essence, God tells the prophet, “Just wait.  I am going to work things out in my own time.”  That’s probably not the answer we want to hear when we feel like everything is going wrong.  But God doesn’t answer our prayers exactly the way we want.  He loves us too much to give us only what we want.  He loves us so much, that He knows how and when to give us what we need.  But to persevere through the tough times takes trust and faith in God.

            It’s easy to say with St. Paul, “All things work for the good of those who love God,” when we’ve just won the lottery, when we feel on top of the world, when everything seems to be going well.  It is much harder to say that same phrase when loss and darkness seem to be the norm.  But the gift of faith gives us the strength to trust that all things are working for our good if we love God, and to say with Job, “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord!”  With faith, great things are possible.

            Certainly this is the point of what Jesus said to the apostles in today’s Gospel.  Jesus wasn’t talking about landscaping when he said you could move mulberry trees if you have faith.  In some sense, that’s quite easy.  How much harder is it to trust in God when everything seems to be working against us!  And how much more impressive is it to continue to remain faithful to God and persevere than just to move a tree!  In one sense, moving a tree with faith is easy.  Remaining faithful to God and continuing to trust in Him when your heart and your will tell you just to give up is much more of a miracle.  And that is possible if we have faith the size of a mustard seed.  That’s not a lot of faith.  Mustard seeds are not big.  If I were to hold a mustard seed between my finger and thumb, no one could see it, unless you’re Clark Kent.

           

But we were all given the gift of faith in Baptism.  All of us received that precious gift when we became an adopted son or daughter of God.  Sometimes people will say to me, “Father, I don’t have any faith!”  Well, if you were baptized, then you do, even if you don’t feel it.  St. Paul, speaking to St. Timothy in the second reading, reminds St. Timothy to stir into flame the gift of God that he received through the imposition of hands.  St. Paul is talking here about the ordination of St. Timothy, and stirring into flame that gift of the Sacrament of Holy Order.  But the same could be said for the gift of baptism.  We have to stir into flame that gift of the Sacrament of Baptism, the gift of faith, so that we do not fall into the spirit of cowardice or apathy or despair.  We have to exercise that gift of faith, especially when it is tough. 

            Think of a few, small, burning embers in a fire that was burning the night before.  All it takes is some paper and small twigs, some gentle breaths of oxygen, and that fire can start burning once again the next morning and can return to the greatness of the night before.  The same is true with our faith: even when we feel our faith is nothing but a small ember, a small remnant of what it was before, with the proper fuel, our faith can once again be a roaring fire.  How does this happen?  Through reading the Word of God, either alone or in a Bible Study; by sharing with others the little bit of faith we have through Small Faith Sharing Groups; by taking time for prayer, especially before the Blessed Sacrament in Adoration; by removing any obstacles to faith through the Sacrament of Penance.  In that way we nurture the mustard seed of faith, until it grows into a large tree that provides home and comfort for others.

            In a country song, Rodney Atkins sings, “If you’re going through hell, keep on going.”  By the gift of faith we can persevere through all the trials of life, even when we feel like it’s going through hell, knowing that God never abandons us, but sometimes asks us to wait to receive the best things that He has in store for us in the way and the time that He wants to give it.  “If it delays, wait for it, it will surely come, it will not be late.”

Right in front of our Face

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

            Have you ever had a time when you really needed to get something done, or when you really wanted to get something, so much so that you miss a lot of the things that are right in front of you?  I know I have!  It’s so easy to become fixated on one thing or on a task to be done and to not be effected by anything else.  Sometimes it’s a positive: for example, most times when I’m celebrating Mass, I’m so focused that I don’t notice the babies screaming.  Many times parents come up to apologize for how loud they felt their child was, but it honestly didn’t bother me because I was focused on the celebration (and, for the record, screaming babies are a blessing to our church, because they remind us of new life, so don’t be giving dirty looks to parents who have screaming babies!!).  Sometimes it’s negative, like when we’re so focused on a task, we forget the people who are also involved.

            Perhaps the rich man from our Gospel today was such a person: determined, focused, wanting to get something done.  Maybe he was focused on nothing else but gaining more riches.  But what he missed was obvious: Lazarus, the poor man.  After all, Lazarus was at his doorstep, which means that every time the rich man left the house, he should have seen Lazarus.  And more than just seeing him, the rich man should have taken pity on him, and helped him out.  But he did not, and this neglect was to his own eternal peril.

            We’ve all heard this parable, probably countless times.  But who are the people who we don’t see because we’re so focused on something or someone else?  Who are the people that we step over, whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually, to get to our own goals?  The US Bishops have asked priests to talk a bit about the situation of immigrants in our country.  Now, let me preface this by saying that immigration policy is a complicated thing; if it weren’t we probably would have solved the problems already.  But what I can say with clarity is that we are obliged to treat immigrants with human dignity and respect, not step over them because they are nuisances.  When we think about how we think immigration should be handled, are we first and foremost thinking, “Is this they way I would treat Jesus?”  Because, especially the immigrants who come from Mexico, Central America, and Iraq, though not limited to them, are members of the household of faith!  Most of them are brother and sister Catholics!  And even those who are not still have human dignity and still are created in the image and likeness of God!

           

Our country has struggled with immigration for a long time because, while anyone who is not a Native American was an immigrant to these shores, after a few generations it can be hard to remember that.  On my mother’s side of the family, I only have to go back to my maternal grandmother to find a first generation American.  Many of us probably only have to go back 3 or 4 generations to find an immigrant in our family.  But we can forget that fact, and act like those, especially during the mid-nineteenth century from the Know Nothing party, or any of its variants, that wanted to make sure that the Catholics coming in droves, especially from Ireland and Germany, knew that they were not welcome here.  Again, the Church is not saying that we cannot have legal ways to enter the country, and penalties for doing so illegally, but as we form policy, as you write your Congressman and Senator, is your opinion formed by treating that person with the respect that comes simply from being a member of the human race?

            Even beyond the issue of immigration, the way we treat each other is part of the criteria upon which we will be judged.  The rich man suffers because he neglected Lazarus at his front door, while God noticed Lazarus, who suffered so greatly during his life, and rewarded him accordingly. 

And the best part of this whole story is the twist at the end.  The rich man begs Abraham to send Lazarus back from the dead to warn his brothers about what will happen if they neglect others.  Abraham tells them, “‘“They have Moses and the prophets.  Let them listen to them.” [The rich man] said, “Oh no, father Abraham, but if someone from the dead goes to them, they will repent.”  Then Abraham said, “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.”’”  For nearly 1500 years, the Jews had been told about the importance of caring for the widow, orphan, and poor.  But somehow, according to the rich man, that wasn’t enough.  Of course, standing from our perspective, we can see the humor and irony in Jesus telling this story, that some will not believe even when a person rises from the dead.  But then it begs a very sober question for us: does Jesus rising from the dead compel us to act differently?  Does it open our eyes and broaden our horizons so that we are not fixated in a negative way on just the things we want, or the tasks we are trying to accomplish, but sees those in need around us?  And we don’t have to look to Africa, Asia, or South America to find those in need; they are right here in East Lansing.

Sometimes we need to be focused on one thing alone.  But let’s not make that our rule of life, so we ignore and neglect Lazarus sitting at our front door, and risk eternal suffering because we did not help relieve that suffering in others right in front of us.