Loving Father and Mother

 Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

My sisters and I on a family vacation

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  My sister, Amanda, was married six months before I was ordained a deacon, so I cantored for her Mass.  My sister, Allison, was married after I was a priest, so I was able to celebrate that wedding Mass.  In both cases, I was blissfully unaware of all that goes in to planning a wedding reception.  But at some point after they were both married, the topic came up, and I learned about the cost and stress that accompany planning a wedding reception, and trying to see how many people will come.  They both mentioned how difficult it can be when a person RSVPed that they would attend (and so food had to be ordered for them), but then didn’t show up to the actual reception.  Perhaps that’s why the king in today’s parable from the Gospel was so upset, though I doubt my sisters were at the point of sending an army and destroying those who were AWOL.
    But the king was certainly mad, not only at those who abused his servants who announced the impending nuptials and killed the messengers, but even at those who would not come to the wedding, due to farming or business.  Was it simply because the king wanted his son’s wedding to be filled with guests?  Or was the king worried about all the food that had been ordered that no one would eat?
    Our Lord uses this image of a wedding, and God often uses the image of a husband and wife throughout the Scriptures to talk about His relationship with us.  So this parable is not simply about a party from two people getting “hitched.”  God is talking about the marriage that is taking place between God and us, His Bride, the Church.  In Christ, divinity and humanity are wed in an unbreakable bond.  Christ takes to Himself His Bride, the Church, and they become one flesh.  Those who are invited to the wedding are both guest and bride.  And God wants all His children, all those whom He created in His image and likeness, to be in attendance.  Nothing is more important, nothing more pressing.  And for those who seek to keep the bride away, a harsh punishment awaits.
    St. Augustine wrote a homily for the thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost which dealt with this idea of marriage between God and His Church.  He writes:
 

Let us love the Lord our God.  Let us love His Church: Him as our Father, her as our Mother; Him as our Lord, her has His handmaid; for we are the children of His Handmaid.  And this marriage is joined together by a great love: let no one offend one partner, and seek to gain the favour [sic] of the other.

The love that we have for Christ extends to His Bride, the Church.  If we truly desire to love one, we must love the other.  We cannot hate our Father and at the same time love our Holy Mother Church.  Nor can we hate our Holy Mother Church and then claim to love the Father.  
    We probably don’t think of ourselves of hating one or the other.  But what do our actions say?  St. Augustine continues, “Let no one say: ‘I do go to idols; I also consult those who have familiar spirits, and the fortune tellers.  All the same, I have not left the Church of God.  I am still a Catholic.’  While clinging to your Mother, you have offended your Father.”  The particular sins in the time of St. Augustine may not be our particular sins, but he could ask today: do we make more time for sports than for God?  Do we read our horoscopes?  Do I put more trust in my own planning and will than the will and providence of God?  Those are probably more current ways that we may offend our Father.
    St. Augustine then looks at whether we can love our Father and yet hate our Mother.  He writes:
 

Again another will say: ‘Far be it from me to do such things.  I have nothing to do with soothsayers.  I do not go looking for someone possessed by a spirit, nor seek advice through sacrilegious divinations; nor do I go to the worship of demons.  And neither do I serve idols.  But I am however a Donatist.’  What does it avail you not to offend your Father, since He will punish your offenses against your Mother?  What does it profit you to praise the Lord, to honour [sic] Him, to preach Him, believe in His Son and confess that He sits at the right hand of God the Father; while at the same time you blaspheme His Church?  Does the example of human marriage not move you to correct your error?

How easy it can be to say that we love God, and then not respect or not follow the Church and those whom God has put over us to govern us in the Church!  The Doctor of Grace continues, “If you have some patron, to whom you pay respects each day, whose doorstep you wear out with your attentions…supposing you were to make just one accusation against his wife, would you enter his house again?”  If someone came up to you with the kindest of words, showering love and giving you gifts, and then proceeded told you that your wife is a wicked woman, and that you married down, would you ever see that person again?  We cannot simply say we love God without loving the Church which is His Bride and our Mother.
    Certainly this is a difficult time of the Church.  It is difficult when the liturgy which we, and I include myself in that we, love and which helps us grow in holiness and adoration of our Father, has been restricted by Pope Francis (though in our own diocese, Bishop Boyea has been very gracious in basically letting us continue as we did before).  Every time Pope Francis gets on a plane, I get nervous about what he might say, and how I will need to explain it.  Certainly, select bishops (the bishops of Belgium, the homeland of my maternal grandmother, comes to mind) are tearing themselves away from the Church as did the Donatists.  
    But will we stay faithful to the one Church of Christ, which subsists in the Catholic Church?  Instead of saying vile things about this bishop, or the pope, can we simply say, “I don’t understand” or “It saddens me that…” and, “I pray that God will resolve this issue”?  I am trying to move more and more to this approach, not always successfully, but I believe it is helping me grow in holiness.  And it pains me to see the calumnies and/or detractions hurled at others.  If others be wrong, then do not join in their error.  But do not add sin to sin by speaking uncharitably about another, be he prelate, priest, or layperson.  
    “Hold fast…Dearly Beloved” St. Augustine continues, “let all of you with one mind hold fast to God our Father, and to the Church our Mother.”  The Church has not erred on faith nor morals, as promised by Christ to St. Peter, our first pope.  Stay with our Holy Mother, the Church, no matter how the waves break against her hull, and stay with our Triune God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

As We Forgive Those Who Trespass Against Us

 Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  When we think about participating in the divine, what occasions first come to mind?  I know for me, the sacraments are the most obvious answer.  The mysteries of our Lord’s life, Pope St. Leo the Great says, have passed into the sacraments.  Specifically, I think about the Mass, the joining of heaven and earth that takes place here in our church.  Not only do we hear God’s Divine Word, proclaimed for us in the Scriptures, we also receive God into us through the Most Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist, which is the very Flesh and Blood of Christ.  The Eucharist best exemplifies the way in which we can become like God, as St. Augustine reminds us that the intent of the Eucharist is to make us more like the one whom we receive.
    But another way to participate in the divine is through the act of forgiveness.  We heard this very familiar story about the paralytic being brought to our Lord.  He forgives the man’s sins, at which the Pharisees become indignant because only God can forgive sins.  But, to demonstrate His authority to forgive sins, Christ then heals the paralytic as well.
    The Pharisees were not mistaken in their estimation that only God can forgive sins.  In fact, our Lord demonstrated His divinity to them by this miracle.  So any time you hear someone say that Jesus never asserted He was God, point them to Matthew, chapter 9.  There are other times that our Lord reveals His divinity also, but this is certainly one of those times.
    So, if only God can forgive sins, then how can we say, “sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris”; “as we forgive those who trespass against us”?  How can we forgive if forgiveness belongs to God?
    As a good Thomist, we can consider forgiveness in two ways.  The first way, which is reserved to God alone, is the remission of sins.  When God deals with sin, He eliminates it, wipes it away, and makes it so it ceases to exist.  Only the consequences of that sin remain (and even those can be dealt with through pious acts).  When we examine who forgives our sins in the Sacrament of Penance, it is God.  Yes, God uses the ministry of the priest to convey that forgiveness, but it is God who forgives, which is why the priest is bound to secrecy (we call it the seal of confession).  Those sins have been absolved by Christ through the ministry of the priest, but their use belongs only to Christ, not even to the minister, who then does not divulge or act on those sins in the future.  It is the sacrifice of Christ which washed away the sins of the world, the sacrifice of the unblemished Lamb of God.  We cannot add to that, but we can participate in it.
    But, as with so many aspects of life, God allows us to participate in His work.  We see this in the garden of Eden, as God calls Adam and Eve, not only to continue to care for the garden of Eden, but to create with Him and order with Him, and even to create new life (procreation).  God, further, calls humans to speak for Him when He calls prophets to proclaim His Word, both of comfort and of conversion.  We see that especially with Moses, Samuel, and the prophets that follow them.  God also allows men to exercise governance over His people, as seen through Kings David and Solomon, and the kings of their line.  God shepherds His people through kings who cooperate with His will.  
    But God also allows us to participate in His forgiveness.  He gives us the gift of saying “I forgive you” to a person, and not having it be empty words, detached from reality.  When we forgive someone, something in that person changes, and something in us changes.  We participate in the mercy of God.  It may not eliminate that sin (because a person has offended not only us, but also God), but it does eliminate the attachment of that sin that exists between the two  or more people.  God’s mercy flows through us, and the burden of sin can be lifted from hearts.
    To be Catholic is to be a person of forgiveness, because Christ tells us that the measure we measure out to others, will in turn be measured out to us.  He calls those who show mercy blessed because they will be shown mercy.  And He condemns the servant who was forgiven a great debt, but who could not forgive others their smaller debts.  We are merciful because God was first merciful with us, just as we love God because He first loved us.

    And He showed that love for us by sending His Son to die on the cross so that we could be forgiven.  God’s forgiveness wasn’t an ethereal reality.  God demonstrated His forgiveness by the spit that was hurled upon the face of Christ; by the skin viciously torn out from his back and side at the scourging; by the bruises and scrapes and split skin that came from falling under the weight of the cross as He carried it to Golgotha; by the holes in His hands and feet from the nails that pierced them; by the gall put to His lips; by the thorns pressed into His Sacred Head; by the gash in His side to prove He was dead, whence came Blood and Water that are the streams of Divine Mercy.  God forgave through the crucifixion.  Though He doesn’t ask us to be nailed to the cross in the same way, He does ask us to forgive in the same way.
    And the easiest way to forgive others is to first recognize that we need to be forgiven, not only directly by God, but also by our neighbor.  I wish that I could tell you that I’m a perfect priest, that I always make good decisions, that all my words are the words that our Blessed Savior would speak.  But that would be a lie.  I myself am beset by weakness, and sometimes I act out of my pride; or choose a hurtful word when a loving one works much better; or I choose the easier path instead of the virtuous one; and so many other ways that I fall short of the image of the Good Shepherd, to whom I am configured by sacred orders.  I am a sinner; sometimes it is hard to admit that I am wrong and have followed the wrong path.  And so I ask your forgiveness, as your brother and your father.  For any ways I have hurt you, or not demonstrated the love of Christ the Good Shepherd, I seek your mercy.  And perhaps, to those in your life who have hurt you, you can also show mercy.  
    One of my favorite quotes from saints is from St. Maximus of Turin, who preached, “Sinner he may indeed be, but he must not despair of pardon on this day which is so highly privileged; for if a thief could receive the grace of paradise, how could a Christian be refused forgiveness?”  If our Lord could shower His mercy on St. Dismas, the good thief, in the moments before He died, how could he not have mercy on us whenever we come to Him as He reigns in glory?  And, having received that mercy, our Lord also instructs us: “Go, and do likewise” to the praise and glory of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Healing and Thanksgiving

 Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    While it’s not November yet, based upon our first reading and Gospel, it could be fitting to set the roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing (or dressing; however you call it), cranberry sauce, and corn out on the table, because the evident theme to these readings is thanksgiving.  Naaman gives thanks to God for his healing, and the Samaritan leper gives thanks to Christ for his healing.  So thanksgiving is certainly part of the readings and part of the message that God is communicating through His Word.
    But besides thanksgiving, there is another theme that is prevalent in both the first reading and the Gospel: healing.  Healing is what led to giving thanks to God in both readings that I mentioned.  Naaman had leprosy, and so did, obviously the ten lepers.  What else is common?  In both cases, the healing comes from God through a very ordinary means.  Naaman is told to wash in the Jordan River; the ten lepers are told to go show themselves to the priests (which is how the community could be sure, according to the law of Moses, that the leprosy had been healed).  There was no special drink or salve.  They didn’t have to find some rare flower with healing properties, or do extraordinary feats of strength to be healed: they were all healed in ordinary ways.
    We say “thank you” when someone has done something for us or given us something.  This very Mass is an act of thanksgiving, united to the thanksgiving sacrifice of Christ on the cross.  And this Mass not only thanks God, but also has the opportunity to heal us in very ordinary ways.
    But do we seek God’s healing?  If a doctor were to give us a prescription that alleviated our suffering or took care of our symptoms, we would say thank you, since we no longer have to go through pain or illness.  God offers us, not only healing of body (which still sometimes miraculously happens), but especially healing of soul: healing of the wounds that afflict us from injuries we have taken from family and/or friends over the years.

    We are now engaged in a spiritual battle to protect all life, including that in the womb.  Bishop Boyea has asked us to pray a daily Rosary through election day for the defeat of Proposal 3.  We should vote no on Proposal 3, because it would make abortion on demand available, even up to right before the delivery; because it would allow the butchering of a baby inside the womb (what we antiseptically call “partial-birth abortion”); and because minors could obtain abortions without their parents knowledge, among other evils of the proposal.  
    But I have heard stories, and I’m sure they have happened, of people walking out of homilies, or walking out of talks that remind people how horrible abortion is.  Most of the accounts I have heard have the people walking out being women.  And as I thought about healing, I thought about the almost 630,000 women in the US who had abortion in 2019 (the latest US stats I could find).  
    I have no doubt that women who have had an abortion feel deep spiritual, emotional, and psychological pain.  I have no doubt that listening to someone speak about how wrong an abortion is can be a struggle, because that person is having to relive the pain and is being confronted with truth, a truth that no one can escape: that the direct, intentional killing of a human being, no matter how developed, is a grave sin.  That sin causes pain; it causes one to be wounded.  And sometimes it seems easier to ignore the pain, ignore the wound, than to get treatment for it.  
    The good news is that Jesus came to save, He did not come to condemn.  Yes, Jesus calls for conversion, for changing our lives so that we say no to evil and yes to good.  But if we have evil in our past (and everyone does), Christ can heal us of that evil, and the wounds that the evil caused.  We don’t have to carry those wounds with us any longer.  Healing is possible, the healing that leads to thanksgiving, just like it did in the first reading and Gospel.
    One woman was relating to me her story that she had procured an abortion.  She felt like she had no other choice, even though she knew, in her heart, that it was wrong.  But she went through with it because she felt trapped.  Eventually she had a conversion, and asked God’s forgiveness for what she had done.  That night, she had a dream of her unborn child, who was rejoicing in heaven, and the child told the mother that she forgave her.  That mother felt such relief; her wound was healed.  
    To any woman here who has had an abortion: God loves you and wants you to be whole and healed.  He doesn’t want you to carry around the burden of what you did.  God wants to set you free from that pain and guilt.  To any person here who knows someone who has gotten an abortion: remind them of God’s love for them, and that God doesn’t want them to be in pain, but to be healed and to be made whole by God’s forgiveness, available to us through the Sacrament of Penance.  Do not say it with judgment, but only with the love of Christ, who calls all sinners to Himself, no matter what the sin.  
    Healing leads to giving thanks to God.  Whatever your wounds, whatever your pain.  Bring it to God and let Him heal you.  Sometimes it happens in the most ordinary ways.

Humility, Gentleness, and Patience, Even When We Disagree

 Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  We are in the midst of the midterm elections.  And both in the partisan elections and in the ballot proposals, there are high stakes and heavy consequences for the outcomes.  Whether in the debates or in television ads, we see all kinds of name-calling and mud-slinging, accusing the opposition of being the worst kinds of people.  In the midst of this rancor, we hear from St. Paul today: “live…with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love, striving to preserve the unity of the spirit through the bond of peace.”  
    We may think that this admonition is easy to make for St. Paul, because he doesn’t have to deal with “those kind of people” in his letter.  But, in almost every Pauline letter, there is division in the Church, and not simply divisions between rich and poor, but divisions in faith and morality.  Indeed, St. Paul exhorts the faithful in Corinth to excommunicate a member for his egregious behavior.  But still, he calls for gentleness and humility here, along with patience and unity.

    Fast forward a few centuries to St. Augustine of Hippo.  St. Augustine was no wilting flower.  He fought heresy whenever he found it.  Indeed, he fought heresies that sometimes made him seem to be contradicting himself, in order to emphasize either God’s grace or our participation with it.  The Pelagians taught the heresy that original sin has not tainted us, and so we can do good works simply by our nature, rather than by the grace of God.  The Donatists taught the heresy that sin was everywhere and made us wretches and the priest had to be a saint in order to validly confect the sacraments.  St. Augustine also fought the Manichaeans, who taught the heresy that the world was divided into good and evil, the spiritual being good, and the material being evil.  
    But St. Augustine, even while being tough on heresy, strove to follow the words of St. Paul that we heard today.  The Doctor of Grace wrote of those who denied the validity of Catholic baptism (no small accusation):
 

when we do not repeat their baptism but acknowledge it to be our own, we are saying to them: You are our brothers.  […] And so, dear brothers, we entreat you on their behalf, in the name of the very source of our love, by whose milk we are nourished, and whose bread is our strength, in the name of Christ our Lord and his gentle love.  For it is time now for us to show them great love and abundant compassion by praying to God for them.  […] They respond with the same Amen, not with us, but still the same.  And so pour out your hearts for them in prayer to God.  

This guardian of orthodoxy (right belief) and orthopraxy (right practice or worship), neither gave up the faith, nor gave up charity to those who had wandered away.
    Christ shows us the basis for what St. Augustine taught and lived.  He was very hard on the Pharisees, who had twisted the words of Sacred Scripture in favor of their own traditions.  They executed a sham trial of Him for blasphemy, and led Him to be put to death by the Romans, all the while mocking Him as He offered Himself for us on the altar of the cross.  Christ did not give in to their lies and perjury, but He also prayed for them as He offered Himself to the eternal Father.  
    So how are we are unity?  How gentle and humble are we, especially with those whom we oppose?  Do we automatically condemn and excise from our life, or do we seek reconciliation and peace, whether from afar when it is not possible due to antagonisms when in person, or even close up when we have the chance?
    And this goes, not only for political opponents, many of whom profess the same faith, even if their actions show a lack of understanding of that faith and a lack of integrity in living out that faith, but also for fellow Catholics and priests and bishops.  It is easy to ostracize those with whom we do not agree, and sometimes we must take harsh action.  But are we willing to pray for them, and even to meet and dialogue with them, not giving up the truth, but being willing to hear their position and agree where we can, and be charitable where we can?
    Last weekend I was in Chicago for the Annual Investiture Weekend of the Equestrian Order of the Holy Sepulcher of Jerusalem.  I am honored to be a member, and was glad to welcome one of our parishioners, Kishore, to this august group that supports the Christian presence in the Holy Land.  The spiritual leader of our North Central Lieutenancy is the Cardinal Archbishop of Chicago.  He and I likely disagree on a number of priorities and prudential decisions when it comes to our Catholic faith.  There may even be areas where we disagree on the faith.  But, during one of our evening socials, he was suddenly right in front of me, and extended his hand in greeting.  I introduced myself, told him that I was a priest of Lansing, and we joked a bit about Bishop Boyea, who followed the Archbishop at the Josephenum as Rector.  We had a short, but pleasant conversation, before he moved on to other members to greet them.  I was struck by His Eminence’s sincere interest in meeting us, his charm, and his willingness to give of his time to be with us, when he likely has other more important matters (at least in his estimation) with which to deal.
    Meeting him didn’t change my disagreements with the head of the Church in Chicago.  It didn’t convince me that his prudential decisions were well-made.  I’m not signing up to be a member of his fan club (if he has one).  But it did bring home the Apostle’s admonition today, to be gentle and humble, patient, and to strive for unity where one can find it.
    Many Catholics today are quick to write-off those whom we feel are heterodox or heteropracticers (I just created that word for those who practice heteropraxy).  We can demonize them in words on blogs and Facebook posts, and then advocate all kinds of hateful actions, justified, in our minds, by seeking to maintain orthodoxy and orthopraxy.  But I think we would do well to follow the method of St. Augustine, who followed the method of St. Paul, who followed the model of our Lord: profess the truth, without giving in to error; hold fast to what God has revealed, even when it means suffering; but do all this with charity towards others, seeking forgiveness for those who have wandered away and who persecute us, simply for following and conforming ourselves to God.  Pour our your hearts for them to the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Praying Like Veruka Salt

 Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time
    It seems to me that recently, Hollywood in general does not know how to make good movies anymore.  They simply rehash old ones that were popular.  A case in point in the newer version of “Willy Wonka” released in 2005, called “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory,” which re-told the story of the movie released in 1971.  For me, Willy Wonka is always Gene Wilder, not Johnny Depp, even though the 1971 has some pretty scary scenes in it.

    In both movies, though, we see all sorts of bad character in children.  One in particular, Veruka Salt, is very demanding and self-centered.  She wants what she wants and she wants it now.  She often wants it without any personal labor.  Indeed, to find the golden ticket, her dad forces his workers to open thousands of bars of candy, until it’s found.  And then, when she’s on the tour with Willy Wonka, she wants a goose that lays a golden egg (in the 1971 version), demonstrated by her song, “I Want It Now," which ends with her standing on a scale, that determines that she’s a bad egg, and sends her to garbage chute.  
    While we don’t prefer to think of ourselves this way, this approach, that we want what we want and we want it now, can creep into our faith life.  We heard in the first reading from the Prophet Habakkuk, who probably wrote this book in the 7th century (600s) BC.  Perhaps, in our prayers, we have even used words like his: “How long, O Lord?  I cry for help but you do not listen!”  God, I’m praying to you!  You’re supposed to give me what I want as soon as I ask for it!!  Habakkuk, expressing that cry of his people, was not asking for anything bad.  The Babylonians are about to capture Jerusalem, God’s Holy Dwelling.  So they’re asking for His protection.  This is not a bad thing.  But remember, God had previously sent prophets to instruct the people to turn away from their evil, and they had not listened.  The consequences of their rebellion against God are about to fall on their own heads.
    Sometimes, we, too, ask for things that are not bad.  We seek some good that God can give us.  We feel that something should be in accord with God’s will.  And so we want it now.  Of course, we know that God allowed the Babylonians to sack Jerusalem, and the Jews went into exile from 587-539 BC.  But, God conveys through Habakkuk, that “the vision still has its time, pressed on to fulfillment, and will not disappoint; if it delays, wait for it, it will surely come.”  God will answer the cries of the people, but it will be on His schedule, not on theirs.  
    God invites us to be patient, and to trust that He will give us what we need, even if it’s after when we think we need it.  That takes faith, which Jesus encourages in the Gospel.  But there’s the curious follow-up to Jesus’ invitation to us to have faith, where He talks about us as servants, who need to wait for the Master’s schedule of dining.  Still, with ears to hear, we can see how often our prayers requests can come from an attitude where we are in charge, and we are the ones around whom God should make His plans.  But we are not the Master, but the unprofitable servants, whose job it is to serve the Master.  God’s will doesn’t have to conform to ours; quite the opposite: our will needs to conform to God’s.  
    I admit, I do not always exemplify that trust in God’s timing and the priority of God’s will over mine.  Because of my strong will (which can help me cling to God even in difficult times), I struggle saying “Thy will be done” and acknowledging that if it didn’t happen, then it’s not for the best.  When I want something, I automatically presume it’s for the best.  But, compared to God’s omniscience, we are like children who want dessert all the time, rather than eating our peas and carrots first.
    I think this struggle to accept God’s will and timing is most evident when someone we love is struggling with poor health and is approaching death.  There’s nothing wrong with seeking alternative treatments and second opinions, to make sure that we have explored every option.  But sometimes there is no other outcome than death.  Still I have seen adult children struggle greatly with accepting that reality, and wanting to keep trying every new medicine and prolong life, even when doctors are clear that there is no cure, beyond a miracle, and death is the only end to a disease or condition.  It’s not wrong to pray for miracles and have faith that God can accomplish mighty deeds, but are we willing to accept when God’s plan is different than ours, no matter how hard that is to accept?  
    And it is hard, especially when the answer we want in prayer deals with someone we love.  Love, we so often think, is doing everything we possibly can for the beloved.  But sometimes love is also accepting that God’s will is not ours, that what we love will not continue in the same way as before, and that love will simply treasure the days, weeks, or maybe months that we have left.  
    Faith is hard; faith requires us to battle our own desires and wills.  If it were easy, everyone would have faith, and it wouldn’t be so important for us in our relationship with God.  But today God invites us to make that move from “I want it now!” to “the just one, because of his faith, shall live.” 

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. 

Two Sides of the Coin

 Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost
    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  The cliché phrase is: there are two sides to every coin.  Some use this phrase to talk about how there are different points of view.  Others use the phrase as some Manichean view that good and evil are balanced.  The first is an important consideration.  The second is just wrong.  But I want to use this phrase as the two ways to approach growth in holiness and preparation for heaven.

    The one side of the coin, we’ll call this one tails, is the things that we shouldn’t do.  We might call it a via negativa.  St. Paul outlines these in his epistle to the Galatians today.  He is basically saying, “Don’t be immoral, impure, licentious, worship false gods, do sorcery, hate others, encourage rivalry, jealousy, or fury, be selfish, divide others, envy others, drink too much, etc.”  He’s telling us all the things we shouldn’t do.  And he makes clear the reason for what he warns us against: “those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.”  So this is pretty serious stuff.  
    This via negativa is important, and is one valid way of approaching holiness.  We need to know the things that we shouldn’t do because they are contrary to God’s law, natural law, or legitimate human law.  Think about it like driving: you need to know that you can’t drive through an intersection at a red light or at a stop sign, or you can’t drive the wrong way down the road.  Such things will get you (and others) injured or maybe even killed.  It’s not like we just tell 16 year olds to drive safely, and then give them the keys to the car without letting them know there are things they should not do.  A world without the word no while driving is like driving in Flint sometimes, where some people just run red lights and stop signs or speed because they do whatever they feel like.
    Or, think about it with the image of food.  We teach children what to eat and what not to eat, not merely in a dietary sense (eat healthy foods, avoid junk food), but even in the sense of foods that might do you harm.  We don’t simply say, “Just make sure you’re eating the right types of food,” and then let a kid chomp down on some raw chicken, or let the child figure out that bread which looks like it’s growing green fur is not a good thing to eat.  We tell that person there are things which should not be eaten at all, and things which need to be cooked before we can eat them.  The no that we teach kids and young adults when it comes to food can end up saving their lives.  
    But let’s say that you’ve handled the negatives well.  You stop at red lights and you don’t eat moldy bread.  Still, you feel like there is more.  That’s because there is.  The other side of the coin, we’ll call it heads, is the positive things that we do.  St. Paul talks about these, too: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.”  You might say that you don’t struggle with sexual sins, or bouts of rage, or seeking to divide people, or worshiping false gods.  Good!  How are you at loving others, especially those who don’t treat you well?  Can you maintain peace and joy when things don’t go your way, and you cant’s understand the customer service agent on the other end of the phone?  How do you give to others, whether your time, talent, or treasure?  
    These things to which we say yes are important, too.  There is an ease to driving when we know how, beyond simply the “don’t do these things.”  It can become enjoyable, even relaxing, in the right context.  Or a good cook can go beyond not eating raw chicken or moldy bread.  He or she knows how to combine different flavors, how long to cook the meat to keep the flavor but avoid sickness, and how to provide not only sustenance, but enjoyment in dining.  This past Friday I buried a Polish woman who loved to cook traditional Polish foods.  As her child and grandchildren got older, they wanted to know how to make the food she did.  But the struggle was that the amount of spices she used were not measured by spoons or cups, but by shakes and pinches.  The dough was ready when it felt a certain way between her fingers.  She had moved beyond the restrictions of what not to do, to making those foods without much consideration because she knew how to in the core of her being.
    We priests can often preach about what not to do, and that’s important, especially for those who are young in the faith.  But as we mature in the faith, we also need to emphasize the things to do, the ways that we can say yes to God, not simply no to sin.  
    And this can even be seen in our Lord’s teaching on worrying.  He tells us not to worry about what we are to eat, drink, or wear.  God, He tells us, will take care of us.  The no, in this case, is no to worrying.  The yes in this case is to seeking the will of God.  But contained within those are other things to avoid and things to pursue.  Don’t buy a new toy, when you haven’t paid for your basic necessities according to your vocation.  Do pray to God when you want to make a big purchase.  Don’t become a penny-pincher whose only concern is material stability, where money or mammon becomes a false god.  Do trust in God with your life and security, and have confidence in giving to those who are in need.  Christ knew when to walk through fields of grain, and He knew when to go to Martha and Mary’s house for a good meal.  The Apostles kept a small money bag for their needs, but also trusted that God would somehow provide at the feeding of the 5,000.  
    Lastly, the negatives don’t go away because we are advancing in the positives.  Some things are always wrong, no matter how much we’re progressing in our relationship with God.  It’s not like we can say that we’ve progressed so far in kindness, that we can be as divisive as possible on occasion.  Or that we so love God that a few times of adultery won’t make a difference.  We need both no and yes in order to live holy lives.  
    Consider today where you are at in your relationship with God.  Do you still need to focus on what not to do?  Or can you focus on what to do and doing that better each day?  That probably depends on the area of your life, as you will have some where you simply focus on what not do, while in other areas you can grow more deeply in what to do.  And don’t try to do it by yourself.  All of this is made possibly only by the grace of the Holy Spirit, who with the Father and the Son live and reign for ever and ever.  Amen. 

How God Offers Mercy

 Twenty-Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    There is a kind of parable told about a man whose house was in the path of a flood.  The waters were starting to cover the roads, and a patrol car came by to take him to safety.  “No thanks,” he said, “God will save me!”  The water kept rising, until it was up to his porch.  A rescue boat came by to take him to safety.  “No thanks,” he said, “God will save me!”  The waters kept rising, until it was up to his roof.  A helicopter hovered over his house and offered to take him to safety.  “No thanks,” he said, “God will save me!”  The waters kept rising, and the man drowned.  Standing before the judgment seat of God, the man asked the Almighty why He didn’t do anything to save him.  God said, “I sent you the patrol car, the rescue boat, and the helicopter to save you.  You didn’t want my help.”  
    God is merciful.  We hear it again and again in our readings.  Our first reading mentions the mercy of God after Moses pleads for the people.  The verses of our responsorial psalm is the prayer King David wrote after he realized he had sinned greatly by committing adultery with Bathsheba and then having her husband, Uriah, killed in battle.  St. Paul recounts in our second reading how God treated him mercifully, even though he was a blasphemer and arrogant.  And in our Gospel, Jesus speaks about how the mercy of God goes out, seeking the lost to return him to wholeness, in three parables of His own.
    God is merciful.  But do we accept how He sends His mercy?  God’s mercy was shown in a most perfect way in the Incarnation.  Jesus revealed the mercy of God.  And yet, we rejected Him.  The very people God had chosen to be His own; the people who had the prophets, telling the people about the savior God would send them; the people who knew God’s revelation from Genesis to Malachi; many could not accept God’s merciful presence in the Incarnation because it was not the way they wanted to receive God’s mercy.  And so Mercy Incarnate took upon Himself the justice that should have been meted out to us because of our sins.  As Isaiah prophesied about Jesus: “He was spurned and avoided by men, a man of suffering, knowing pain, Like one from whom you turn your face, spurned, and we held him in no esteem.  […] We thought of him as stricken, struck down by God and afflicted.”

    How does God offer us His mercy?  He offers it through the Sacrament of Penance.  This is the ordinary way that God forgives sins.  Can He forgive in other ways?  Certainly; He is God.  But God told His apostles that they would have the power to loose and bind, the power to release people from their sins.  Why would God give a power if He didn’t intend that power to be exercised?  
    The Church has discerned two ways in which a person may be sorry: perfect and imperfect contrition.  Perfect contrition is when sorrow for sin “arises from a love by which God is loved above all else.”  That is, we recognize how our sins have offended our God and our relationship with Him, not because of any effects it may have on us, but simply because it is contrary to who God is, and “breaks the heart” of the Beloved.  Imperfect contrition is when sorrow for sin is “born of the consideration of sin’s ugliness or the fear of eternal damnation and the other penalties threatening the sinner.”  In other words, imperfect contrition is more so the sorrow that comes from knowing that we will, eventually, get caught, and have to pay the price for our sins.  As I reflect on my life I would like to hope that I am moving towards perfect contrition when I sin, but I am often at least partially sorry simply because I don’t want to suffer the consequences of my sins.
    In the Sacrament of Penance, God transforms our imperfect contrition into perfect contrition so that we might be forgiven.  But through the Sacrament of Penance, God also reconciles us with the Church and with each other, which is why confession to a priest is necessary.  Standing alone in our home or in the woods, we can certainly ask God for forgiveness.  But each sin, no matter how private or personal, also affects the other members of the Body of Christ, to whom we are connected by Baptism.  So we also need to ask forgiveness from them, and the priest is authorized by God to act in the name of the entire Body, including the head (Jesus Christ, who, as God, is the only one who can forgive sins) and the other members.  
    This way of receiving God’s mercy is not as popular now as it has been.  But do we seek this ordinary way of being forgiven by God?  Or do we reject it like some of the Chosen People rejected the Incarnation?  God is seeking us out through the Sacrament of Penance.  He is looking for us while we are still a long way out, so that He can run to us and restore us to our status and sons and daughters in the Son of God.  But are we like the man in the parable at the beginning of the homily today: convinced God will save us, but not open to the way that He wants to do so?  If it’s been a while since you’ve been to confession: do not be afraid.  The confession of your sins is merely the means by which God conveys His mercy.  Let God save you in the way He has chosen.

"Thank God Ahead of Time"

 Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Bl. Solanus Casey

    In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.  “Thank God ahead of time!”  This was a phrase that I had heard Bl. Solanus Casey used in counseling others.  When I looked it up on the Internet, just to make sure I was getting it correct, I found a story that accompanied the phrase from the Capuchins Vocations Director.  Bl. Solanus said this phrase to the parents of a sixteen-month-old girl, Elizabeth, who was dying of leukemia.  I don’t know what I would think or say if a priest, no matter how holy he was supposed to be, told me, as I presented my dying one-year-old, to him.  And yet, the girl got better once she got home, with no trace of leukemia.
    Thank God ahead of time.  It’s easy to thank God when we get something we want.  I would dare say that most of us are probably the type of people who, when we get something we want, say thank you, especially to God.  It’s a lesson we learn with others, too, from a young age: when someone gives us something, we say thank you.  The Samaritan leper in today’s Gospel certainly was grateful and returned to Jesus to express that gratitude.
    But can we thank God ahead of time, when we don’t know what will happen, or when we don’t get what we want?  That is much harder.  This Friday is my birthday, but my best friend is working, so we had made plans to spend Wednesday afternoon together.  I had it all planned out (as we planners tend to do): he’d come to Mass, then we’d grab a bite to eat, then watch a minor league baseball game.  A fun time.  Then, two Fridays ago, my friend told me that he had been unexpectedly scheduled to work on Wednesday, and wouldn’t be free until 5 or 6.  Thanking God was not on my mind or in my heart.
    That afternoon is really not all that important.  There are certainly things much more grave and important than having a good time with a friend to celebrate a birthday.  But I still found it hard to thank God, because I felt like something had been taken away from me that I deserved.  
    Perhaps that’s what makes thanking God so hard when it’s not what we want: we feel we deserve better, or are being cheated.  And when that’s the case, there’s very little room in our hearts for gratitude.  That mentality can still be present when we get what we want: we deserve this blessing; we earned this good thing that God allowed for us.  Perhaps that’s what the other nine lepers were thinking: I put my faith in Jesus, I have confidence that He can heal me, so when I am healed, it’s exactly as I planned.  When we receive good things from God, things we want, that mentality may even creep into our minds: I go to Mass every Sunday (maybe even some weekdays); I donate time, talent, and treasure to the Church; I pray my daily devotions and my rosary; I deserve good things from God.
    Contrast that mentality with the mentality of another saint, St. Thomas More.  He wrote these words to his daughter Margaret from his cell in the Tower of London, and, soon after writing this, witnessed to the faith by his death:
 

Although I know well, Margaret, that because of my past wickedness I deserve to be abandoned by God, I cannot but trust in his merciful goodness.  His grace has strengthened me until now and made me content to lose goods, land, and life as well, rather than to swear against my conscience. […] And, therefore, my own good daughter, do not let your mind be troubled over anything that shall happen to me in this world.  Nothing can come but what God wills.  And I am very sure that whatever that be, however bad it may seem, it shall indeed be the best.

Here was a man who was falsely imprisoned, who had lost material stability, as well as personal access to his family, and was facing death, and yet he could say that whatever God wills is for the best.  This was not a man who thought he deserved anything, except for abandonment by God because of past sins.  And yet, he could stay faithful to God and thank Him for whatever occurred.

St. Thomas More

    I’m clearly not a model of this virtue, and no saint.  But I suppose that what helps me is to try to abandon the belief that I am owed anything by God, other than His love, and even love cannot, we could say, be owed; it must be freely given or not be love.  Yet God does love us, and He does give us many blessings, but also allows certain difficulties.  But anything that God even allows, somehow is meant to work for our good, the good of our salvation.  And if it is for our good, then perhaps we can, even begrudgingly, thank God for it, even ahead of time.
    Saying thank you to God usually happens after something happens to us, usually for the better.  But, in order to grow in this virtue of gratitude, in order to embrace thanking God ahead of time, we should start the practice each day, as part of our morning offering or morning prayers and devotions, to thank God for whatever will happen to us during that upcoming day.  Even the simple phrase, “Thank you God for whatever will happen today” can put us in the mindset that whatever happens, “however bad it may seem, it shall indeed be the best,” as St. Thomas More said.  Or perhaps you can make as your own the phrase of our beloved Michigan saint, Bl. Solanus Casey: “Thank God ahead of time!”: the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Amen. 

Doing It On Our Own?

 Twenty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time

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