One of the Hardest Things about being Catholic

 Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    What’s the hardest thing about being Catholic?  Is it believing that Jesus, who looked just like us, is God?  Is it believing that Mary never sinned, and did not have original sin?  Is it trusting that Jesus will not allow His Church to teach anything about what we are to believe or how we are to live that goes against His will?  Is it that bread and wine are transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit to truly become the Body and Blood of Jesus?  Is it having only one spouse for an entire life?  Is it not using artificial contraception, or artificial means of conceiving?   Is it going to church every Sunday and holyday?  Is it not lying, not gossiping, not coveting?  Or is it Jesus’ command that we hear today, that we are to forgive?
    Maybe some of those other things are hard for us as well, but I hazard a guess that forgiving someone who has hurt us is one of the most difficult parts of our faith.  I don’t mean forgiving someone who didn’t really do us that much harm, or even forgiving someone who did us harm, but whom we easily love and so we easily forgive.  And I don’t mean forgiving a stranger whom we don’t care about and will never see again.  I mean forgiving someone who truly pierced our hearts by their actions, by their betrayal, by their serious wrongdoing, whom we know, with whom we interact.  
    And yet, that’s what Jesus calls us to do as His followers.  We forgive, not only seven times, but seventy-seven times (and if you think that the number seventy-seven is meant to be exact, think again; it means over and over again).  Forgiveness should be easy, because, as the author of Sirach says, “Wrath and anger are hateful things.”  We usually stay away from things that are full of hatred.  But for some reason, we can cling to wrath, anger, and unforgiveness.  
    We think that by holding on to the pain, to the hurt, to the wrong, to our grudge, that it makes us more powerful.  We think that it hurts the other person by our being mad at them (when, in fact, the other person generally doesn’t know and/or doesn’t care).  So we nurture our hatred toward that person.  What that person did can be truly wrong, maybe even heinously wrong.  Maybe someone ruined our good name, or cost us our job.  Maybe someone inflicted great bodily harm against us, or, sometimes even worse than bodily harm, emotional or spiritual harm.  I’m not talking, and neither is the Lord, about ignoring the bad behavior, or saying that it doesn’t matter.  Forgiveness only means something when what happened does matter, and did really hurt us.  
    Perhaps even more striking than what Jesus teaches us about forgiving others, though, is that the way we forgive, or don’t forgive, others, is how we will be forgiven.  Elsewhere in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus says it this way: the measure we measure out to others will in turn be measured out to us.  In other words, God will forgive us as we forgive others.  This shouldn’t come as a shock, though, because we say it each time we say the Our Father: forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.  May we take it as: forgive us, because we’re forgiving others.  But we can also look at it as: forgive us in the measure that we forgive others.
    I want you to close your eyes now.  Go ahead, close them.  Think of a person that has hurt you, that you are having a hard time forgiving, or maybe cannot forgive.  Think of that person’s face, their eyes.  Think about what that person did that you are finding it difficult or impossible to forgive.  Maybe you feel that hurt welling up inside you again, that anger pulsing through your body, wanting retribution, wanting justice, wanting revenge.  What words did you say to that person in anger?  
    Keep your eyes closed.  Now picture yourself standing before the judgement seat of Christ.  You are there, cognizant of your sinfulness, but wanting mercy, wanting to be welcomed into heaven.  You can almost feel the joy, the warmth, the light coming from just beyond where you are.  You can sense that you were made for that place, that it would complete you.  And from the mouth of Christ you hear the words that you spoke in anger to the person you cannot forgive.  What do you feel now?  
    You can open your eyes again.  If we really took that exercise seriously, it was probably pretty stark; maybe even scary.  I know it was for me as I composed this homily.  Jesus died for us, He forgave us for leading Him to the cross, not because He had to, but because He loves us.  He wants to forgive us, and the only thing that can stand in our way is our lack of forgiveness towards others.  So today, even if it can only be far away and can’t or shouldn’t be in person, forgive that person who has harmed you.  Let go of the hatred and the grudge you’ve been holding on to.  Forgive others, so that your heavenly Father can forgive you.

Interdependence not Independence

 Twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time
    Think about the great milestones in a person’s life that we celebrate: first steps; going to school; riding a bicycle without training wheels; driving; going to college; buying your first house.  What do all those have in common?  They are all about independence.  It’s not so amazing that a child walks while his or her parents are holding on; it’s noteworthy (as well as the beginning of a new, scary part of childhood) when the child can walk on his or her own.  Yes, kids first learn how to drive with a parent in the car.  But when do we really celebrate?  When you can drive on your own.  Going off to college is, yes, going to a large group of people in a new place (at least before COVID), but it’s striking out on one’s own away from parents.  And buying one’s own house (or apartment) means, generally, that you’re not living with your parents anymore.
    There’s nothing in se wrong with this, but look at how much we celebrate independence and individuality and doing things on one’s own.  We celebrate when a person doesn’t need another person anymore, but can do something on his or her own.  I can tell you that I really knew I was an adult when my parents didn’t have to pay for their own birthday dinners, but I paid the check.
    And yet, our readings today all talk about interdependence, rather than independence.  Let’s start with the Gospel.  Jesus recognizes that there will be conflicts among His disciples.  While He calls them to love one another, He also realizes that we do not always do that.  And so, Jesus says that if our fellow disciple sins against us, we are to deal with it, not independently (by gossiping and holding on to grudges by ourselves), but interdependently, by telling our brother or sister that they have sinned against us, and need to repent.  If the other doesn’t listen to us, we invite others who have knowledge of the fault to bolster our case.  If the other doesn’t listen to them, we invite the church to get involved (notice that running to tell the priest is not the first step!).  If the other won’t even listen to the church, then we can work on separating from them.  The process of reconciliation is not one-sided in Jesus’ church, but always works with at least two.
    In our second reading, St. Paul tells us that we are to love one another, because love fulfills the law.  Love, by its very nature, is diffusive.  It seeks an outlet.  Self-love is not really what is meant by love.  Yes, we have to care for ourselves, but if we truly love, then it always involves the way we treat each other.  All of the commandments that we are bound to keep, are examples of ways that we should love each other.  We cannot say that we are keeping the commandments if we cut everyone else out of our life or only do what is best for ourselves.  That narcissism is part and parcel of our current culture, but it’s anathema for followers of Jesus.
    And lastly, in our first reading, Ezekiel talks about the shepherds of Israel.  He’s not talking about people who care for sheep, but people who care for people, the religious leaders.  And God says through Ezekiel that shepherds have a responsibility to look out for others, to warn them about sin and death, so that they can avoid it.  When the shepherds warn about sin and death, they also save themselves.  If they don’t warn the sheep about sin and death, not only do the sheep die, but God promises to hold the shepherds responsible, too.  
    As followers of Jesus, we are interdependent.  What we do affects each other.  We are our brother’s keeper.  We cannot simply say that we’re doing the right thing, so let the world go to hell in a hand basket.  We have a responsibility towards each other, especially as fellow believers.  
    There’s a word that we have when a follower of Jesus doesn’t do publicly what he or she is supposed to do, and that word is scandal.  We currently associate that work with priests who committed horrible crimes against the most innocent, and that is certainly a horrible scandal.  But scandal applies to all, not just priests and not just about sexual abuse.  When a Catholic says publicly that he or she supports abortion, euthanasia, artificial contraception, sex outside of marriage, marriage between two people of the same sex, or that sex has no connection to biology, that is a scandal, because Catholics are not to support such practices or ideas because they are contrary to God’s revelation.  When a Catholic makes derogatory comments about a person simply because of that person’s race, gender, IQ, economic status, or religion, that is a scandal, because Catholics are called to show respect to every person as created in the image and likeness of God.  As Catholics we can judge certain beliefs and actions to be wrong without judging another because God has revealed to us that those things are wrong.  Sin, too, is always interdependent: it always effects more than simply the person committing the sin.  We are both to work so that we are not a scandal to others, as well as work to correct others so that they are not a scandal to the world.
    G.K. Chesterton, an early 20th century Catholic author said, “Christianity has not been tried and found wanting; it has been found difficult and not tried.”  So often, when we come to a difficult part of our faith, we try to be independent, to make it on our own, or to choose to reject what the Church calls us to believe or how the Church calls us to live.  We owe it to Jesus, and to each other, to be interdependent; to help each other live as followers of Jesus.  Catholicism is not a religion of independence; it’s a religion of interdependence which calls us to care for and to challenge each other to be the saints that God call us to be in Baptism.

Broken for the Lord

 Solemnity of St. Pius X

    There’s a Trooper I know who used to work in Flint, but now works for our Aviation Unit, flying helicopters.  He and I both enjoy drinking bourbon (a quality pastime if ever there was one), as well as watching movies.  Obviously the latter has become impossible in theaters during the pandemic.  But, over the past couple of months, we’ve gotten together to watch movies in each other’s homes, either on Netflix or on DVDs that I own.  His wife is not a big mafia movie fan, so when she’s been gone, I’ve introduced him to “The Godfather” trilogy (we’ve finished one and two so far).  
    In the second movie (spoiler alert!), there’s a scene where Michael Corleone and his brother Fredo are in pre-Castro Cuba celebrating the New Year in the presidential palace.  Michael has learned that his brother, Fredo, has betrayed Michael and his family to competing interests, and in one of the famous movie lines of all time, Michael says, “I know it was you, Fredo.  You broke my heart.  You broke my heart.”  Hold that thought.

    This weekend we celebrate our heavenly patron, Pope St. Pius X.  He was known for many things, but one of the things he is especially known for is lowering the age for First Holy Communion to the age of reason, usually around 7, and encouraging frequent reception of Holy Communion (as well as of confessing regularly).  For that reason, he is often called Pope of the Blessed Sacrament.  
    Perhaps we have heard the encouragement to be Eucharistic people.  And that certainly is a good thing, especially as we celebrate the Pope of the Blessed Sacrament.  Maybe we think that means that we need to go to Mass (and confession) frequently, or spend more time in adoration.  Both of those things are good, and are ways to be Eucharistic Catholics.  But sometimes being Eucharistic Catholics is a bit more messy than simply going to Mass.
    It’s like First Communions themselves.  On the holy cards we’re used to seeing cute little girls in a white dress with a veil, kneeling down, about to receive the Sacred Host, or a little boy, all gussied up in a suit and tie, with an angelic look on his face.  Any parent knows that, while that one moment may happen, it was preceded by the young girl not wanting her hair done the way you want it done, or trying to brush out the tangles five minutes after you were supposed to leave for church; or by that young boy, dressed up and ready to go, who found a cool-looking frog or snake and just had to pick it up, never worrying that the animal may release a liquid surprise on the hands, or even the suit, of the boy.  The reality is often messier than the image we try to create in our minds.
    The same goes for being Eucharistic Catholics.  Again, going to Mass (and confession) frequently is a great thing.  Spending time with Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, especially during Eucharistic Adoration, is a marvelous way to grow in our love and appreciation of the Eucharist.  But another part of being a Eucharistic Catholic is having happen to us what happened to Jesus, and to Michael Corleone: our hearts are broken.  
    The Eucharist comes from grains of wheat that have been crushed into flour.  And so, we are invited to have the same happen to us: to be crushed to make of ourselves an offering to God.  The flour is added to water, and is baked to make the unleavened hosts that we use for the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ.  So for us, when our sufferings are added to the water of baptism, and baked in the fire of the Holy Spirit, they become an offering that we can give to God, which He receives, and transforms by His power, into something that gives us life.   
    Being Eucharistic Catholics doesn’t mean we betray our family to its enemies, and celebrate in Cuba.  But it does mean that our hearts are going to be broken, just as the Sacred Heart of Jesus was.  We don’t have to go looking for that suffering; it will find us easily enough.  But when it comes, we have the choice to accept it as merely people of the world, and try to ignore it, fight our way out of it, or pass it along to another.  Or we can be Eucharistic Catholics and accept necessary sufferings, unite them to Jesus on the cross in His perfect offering to the Father, and receive God’s life-giving grace from that sacrifice. Suffering is not the only part of being a Eucharistic Catholic, but during this continued pandemic, we can find ways to unite our sufferings with Jesus and grow in new ways in our faith life.
    Being crushed was the path that Jesus took when He suffered and died.  That was the way of the Master; that is the way of his disciples.  In the first “Godfather” movie, (again: spoiler alert!) Vito brings the dead body of his son, Santino, aka Sonny, and says to the undertaker: “Look how they massacred my boy.”  God the Father could have said the same thing about Jesus.  And yet, Jesus willingly offered Himself to the Father, in all the pain and the suffering of the crucifixion, so that we could be reconciled to the Father.  Jesus’ love for His Father and for us, His Bride, meant suffering.  Our love for Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, as well as for each other, will also mean suffering in our lives, suffering that can be salvific.  Just as the wheat is ground so that it can become bread which gives eternal life, so our suffering can become an acceptable sacrifice which, when united to Jesus, brings salvation to us or to people we love.  
    A broken heart is part of being a Eucharistic Catholic: a heart broken for the Lord and His people.  Jesus asks us today if we love Him enough to be broken and offered to the Father.  He asks us as He asked St. Peter and St. Pius X: “‘Do you love me?’”

You Look At Me

 Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    One of my many memories from college seminary was being able to watch “The Return of the King,” the last movie of the trilogy, “The Lord of the Rings,” on opening night.  I had read the books by J.R.R. Tolkien, and was excited to see the video representation of what I had read.  Years later, I found the same joy watching Peter Jackson’s version of “The Hobbit,” the prequel to “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy, which, unlike the book which is one volume, was released in three parts.
    One powerful scene from the third movie, “The Battle of the Five Armies” is when Bard, a peasant from Lake Town, is trying to defeat Smaug, the dragon who is spewing fire on the wooden town built upon the lake.  Bard has one arrow left, and his son, Bain, has come to help his dad fire the arrow.  Bard has to rest the arrow on his son’s shoulder, because the wind lance (a stationary bow for firing large javelin-like arrows) had broken.  Then Smaug the dragon taunts Bard and his son.  Smaug says, “What will you do now, bowman?  You are forsaken; no help will come!  […] Is that your child?  You cannot save him from the fire!  He. Will. Burn!”  Meanwhile, Bard says, “Stay still, son.  Stay still.” as Bard puts the arrow on his shoulder and starts to aim.  Smaug then taunts Bard again, “Tell me, wretch, how now shall you challenge me?  You have nothing left but your death!”  Bard’s son, Bain, is scared at the dragon’s voice, and starts to look back toward the dragon, but Bard says to him, “Bain.  Look at me.  You look at me.”
    As I read this Gospel earlier this week, that exchange between Bard and his son, Bain, came to my mind.  It is only when Peter takes his eyes off Jesus, perusing the strength and danger of the wind and the waves, that he starts to sink.  If Peter would have only kept his eyes on Jesus, Peter would have been fine.  
    And the same is true for us: if we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, like the myriad men and women saints who have gone before us of all races and states of life, we have nothing to fear; we can walk on water.  If our attention oscillates to the cares and tribulations of the world, we start to sink, maybe not physically, but emotionally and spiritually.
    This whole COVID deal has been a tempest of a storm for our State and our nation since March.  Schools closed, and some, like ours, whether directly tied to COVID or not, will not reopen this fall.  Families have unexpectedly lost loved ones.  Parents who work in hospitals have spent long hours, and even days, separated from children, as, especially in the early days, we didn’t want doctors and nurses to spread the virus to the other members of the family and had them quarantine.  Even now, I know people who have been shut up in their room for over a week because they tested positive for COVID, even while the other members of their family or their roommates did not, and so cannot visit them.  Many people have lost their jobs, temporarily or permanently, and, like schools, some businesses will not be able to reopen.  And I won’t even get into the politics of the pandemic.  It’s hard not to focus on all those things, and more.  But if we do, we’ll sink.  If we focus on all the negatives, we can easily fall into a depression, or start to doubt God’s love for us, or give in to our favorite sins that promise us comfort without really giving it to us.  
    Instead, we are called to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus.  It is as if Jesus is telling us, “Look at me.  You look at me.”  He knows the dragon is around us, and that there is destruction, but He is about to slay the firedrake, and His aim is perfect.  The dragon will certainly perish.  But will we go down with the dragon, or will we stay connected to Jesus?
    I don’t know what things are going to look like in September, December, or a year from now.  I don’t have a special gift of foresight that will allow me to tell you what changes are still in store for us, both the changes the come from our continuing fight of COVID and just the daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly changes that happen due to the regular cycles of life.  But I can say that, if we stay connected to Jesus, if we keep our eyes fixed on Him, we have nothing to fear, and we won’t succumb to the trials, but will conquer them.  
    I don’t know about you, but when I think about all the junk (or, to quote Bishop Mengeling, puke) that has happened in 2020, it does not put me in a good emotional or spiritual place.  Life seems dreary and a drudge, and doesn’t seem much worth it.  So why do we keep focusing on those things that are past, those things that have been bad, when we can’t do a thing about it?  Why do we fixate on things we missed or are still missing?  All that does is drain our batteries and sap our strength.  Instead of focusing on those things, read a consoling Bible passage, pray to Jesus or through the intercession of the saints, or make a visit to church.  
    Instead, focus on Jesus.  Keep your eyes trained on Him.  Don’t pay attention to the waves and the wind, because they just make you sink.  Gaze, instead, on Jesus, who lifts you from the cares of the storm, and keeps you safe in the harbor of his love.  Jesus calls us by name: “Look at me.  You look at me.”

Physical and Spiritual

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

From the Church of the Multiplication

    Last Saturday night, I somehow managed to pop out a couple of ribs.  I was not doing any strenuous activity, so I joked Sunday morning at Mass that 36 is the new 80.  I can tell you that I was very aware that something was wrong (even before I knew exactly what it was).  At the same time, I was due for confession and arranged to meet Fr. Jim Rolph after Mass on Sunday.  We joked that, even though my soul had the more serious pain from my sins, the pain in my body was crying out for more attention.
    In our readings today, we see a distinction between the physical and the spiritual realms.  Isaiah in the first reading and Jesus in the Gospel are dealing with physical realities.  Isaiah says that if we are thirsty, we should come the water of the Lord.  If we have no money, we can still approach the Lord and eat.  And Jesus, after healing people’s illnesses, recognizes that they will need food, and He cannot simply send them away to their homes, but gives them bread and fish, multiplied in a miraculous manner from five loaves and two fish.
    Often times when it comes to religion, we focus on the spiritual only.  And the spiritual is important.  But Catholicism deals not only with the spiritual, but also with the bodily needs.  The Letter of James says, “If a brother or sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well,’ but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it?”  We can’t simply ignore the needs of the poor and think that we’re living as a disciple of Jesus.  After all, in Matthew 25, Jesus condemns those who did not provide for the physical needs of the least of his brothers. 
    As followers of Jesus, we should look for opportunities to assist those who are in need.  We cannot simply say that it’s only the work of Catholic Charities or of the government to help the poor.  To the extent that we’re able, we are called to help those who need help.  I know that sometimes there are scams where people claim to be in need, but aren’t, and that makes it hard to know when to give to others.  One good piece of advice is, if a person asks for money, and you’re not sure if they truly need it, offer to go buy them a sandwich or a drink from a local restaurant and give it to them.  If they’re truly in need, they’ll take the help. 
    If you listen to the Holy Spirit, you can also tell whether God is nudging you to assist others.  Just a few weeks ago I was at McLaren getting some blood work.  As I was waiting, a woman probably in her 50s was talking about how the lab had given her the wrong test for her illness, and this was her second trip to the hospital that week.  She talked about how she had to use extra gas to get back to McLaren and get the new test, and I could tell that it was a hardship for her.  At that moment I felt that nudging in my conscience to offer to assist her.  I asked her if I could help her with gas money, and handed her a $5 bill.  I know it only got her a couple of gallons, but she said it would help her make sure that she could make it back home without getting stuck on the side of the road.  I don’t say that to brag, but just to illustrate how those circumstances can happen.
    But at the same time that we are required to assist others with bodily needs, we’re not simply fighting a physical battle.  St. Paul reminds us that, “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor present things, nor future things, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.”  Those are all spiritual things, at least for the most part.  St. Paul says elsewhere that we don’t battle so much against earthly powers, but against spiritual ones.  It’s not only the things that we notice with our senses, there are so many more things happening on a spiritual level of which we need to be aware.  When we abstain from meat on Fridays, or do some sort of physical penance, it’s not the steak or the drumstick that we’re fighting against.  We’re fighting against our fallen humanity which wants to give in to whatever desires the body has at any given moment.  And the fallen angels are trying to push us to give in. 
    The Church on earth is described as the Church Militant, because we’re in a fight.  And while we do sometimes face oppressive governments that want to hamper our faith life, more often than not we’re fighting spiritual battles that want to take us away from God.  We can’t pretend that we’re not at war, any more than a soldier could pretend in Normandy, or Korea, or Vietnam, or Iraq, or Afghanistan that he wasn’t in a battle that meant life or death.  Pretending the battle isn’t happening means losing the battle.  So each day we need to put on the helmet of salvation, the breastplate of righteousness, the shoes of peace, the shield of faith, and the sword of the Spirit which is the Word of God. 
    Humans are a union of body and spirit.  Both are important and need care.  Often times, we are more attentive to the needs, desires, and pains of the body.  But we can’t forget the spiritual realities, either.  Our call, as followers of Jesus, is, to the best of our ability, to address whatever bodily needs we can, as well as fighting those spiritual battles, equipped with all the spiritual defenses and weapons that God gives us.

Treasures and Grocery Stores

Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    I saw something on the internet that read, “You can’t truly refer to yourself as an adult until you catch yourself getting really angry when the grocery store changes their layout.”  I chuckled when I read this, because, if true, it means I’m adult.  I can’t stand when the thing I went to buy at Meijer’s has changed aisles! 
    We treasure funny things, don’t we?  I think we’d all admit that grocery store layouts are not the highest on our list of things we value, but it’s certainly on the list.  We have other things we treasure, like family and friends, which have no monetary value.  And then we actually do treasure…treasure, something of value.  A man recently buried $1 million in treasure across the State of Michigan after his jewelry store went out of business due to COVID-19.  The treasure is buried from Detroit to the UP, and for $49, you get clues to help you find it. 
    To what extent do we treasure or value our faith?  Obviously, if you’re here, you do treasure it to a certain extent.  And I would echo that sentiment for those watching on Facebook live.  There are concerns, very valid concerns, being expressed that people won’t come back to Mass in the same numbers as before the pandemic.  Now, to be clear, many of our parishioners have very valid reasons for not attending Mass.  It’s probably not an exaggeration to say that a super-majority, around 66%, or our parishioners are in the very vulnerable age group where COVID-19 is more likely to be fatal.  And I would encourage those people to stay home.  But people with lowers risks are starting to go to restaurants, and beaches, in larger and larger numbers, and yet not going to church.  And that reveals precisely what they treasure more.
    When we started to open up to Mass, there were a few people who were even crying they were so happy to be back to Mass.  And even those who weren’t crying expressed their joy to be able to worship God in church, which is infinitely better than watching it stream online. 
    But not that long ago, we pared down our Mass schedule, due to a diminishing crowd, and I had parishioners, some very faithful, who left because I dropped their Christmas Mass, or because the weekend Masses that parishioners chose was not convenient for them (this doesn't include those who have commitments at the time of our new Mass schedule).  I know change is hard, and I can promise you that I have been required to make more changes here than I ever would have wanted to.  But, especially across the US, there is this growing phenomenon of Catholics treasuring their convenience more than their own parish, or even their faith.  People have used, are using, and will use, the excuse that their pastor isn’t doing what they want as the “reason” that they will no longer be Catholic.  And that concerns me, both as your pastor, and as a priest who preaches the Gospel.
    Because both our parish and our diocese are in for some changes over the next few years.  By June 2024, 4 years from this past June, we hope to ordain 10 seminarians as priests.  By that same time, we could have 24 priests currently working in the Diocese who could take senior priest status (“retire”) at or beyond the age of 65, with 4 of those coming from Genesee County. Three of those four in Genesee County are over the age of 65 right now.  We will not be able to have the current configuration of priests that we have now for much longer in the future.  Most priests in the near future will be serving at least 2 sites, and it’s not out of the realm of possibility that some churches will close.  Priests will still do all we can to provide the sacraments and pastoral care to the faithful, but it may not be at the time people prefer, or at a time that is as convenient as it has been in the past.  To be clear and transparent, I am not aware of any plans for any parish, including St. Pius X, across the Diocese of Lansing; so don’t go saying that we’re closing.  But even I can work out that the math of priests retiring versus priests being ordained is not going to allow the status quo to continue.
    I don’t say this to depress us, but to remind all of us that, as we go through these changes, we have to hold on to the treasure of our faith.  If our preferred Mass time is our great treasure, or our convenience is our great treasure, then we will fall away when difficult times come.  COVID-19 has made us re-evaluate what our great treasure is in our lives.  I saw this when I went to Woodhaven on 15 July, to see residents gather outside, socially distant, to receive the Eucharist for the first time since March.  It was beautiful to see the treasure that they had in the faith and the Eucharist, and how much it meant to them. 
    We are also looking at times across our country which remind me of what I learned about in school of the time of the French Revolution, where many faithful Catholic priests, consecrated men and women, and laity were executed at the guillotine because they would not swear allegiance to the new secular religion of France.  As our statues of saints are toppled, our churches are set ablaze, and our religion is mocked and ostracized, we will have to decide what we treasure more: our faith or our quiet life, or even simply our life period. 
    My hope is that we remain faithful, no matter what the cost, to the treasure that we found in Christ and in the one Church He founded.  We pray for the grace of perseverance not to abandon our parish or our faith because we have fewer Mass times, or they’re not when we want Mass to be.  There are many things we desire and want, like a grocery store that keeps the same layout.  But is Christ truly the one we treasure above all else?

Does the Word Look Good?

Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

    The way that the Prophet Isaiah describes the Word of God in our first reading, it sounds like something everybody would want.  It’s like rain and snow that water the ground, which provides grain for the farmer, which provides bread for the hungry.  That sounds like a pretty good deal!  So why, in the Gospel, does Jesus describe people who, when given the Word of God, do not understand it, or give it up only for a short time, or abandon the Word of God during persecution and tribulation, or even let worldly cares and riches choke it out? 
    We can have this idea that if something is truly good, then we would automatically, or naturally, want it.  Or, the alternative side of that same approach, if we want something, then it must be good.  In fact, St. Augustine says that we wouldn’t choose something if we didn’t think it was good for us.  But if we take a step back, we know that we don’t always choose things that are truly good for us, and the things that are good for us don’t always seem attractive.  Take food: hopefully, if given the choice between an apple and a Snickers bar, we would choose the apple.  But let’s be honest: the Snicker bar looks better and sounds like a more enjoyable treat.  Only when we recognize the value of health and well-being can we recognize that, for at least a majority of occasions, we should choose the apple over the candy. 
    While cliché, there is truth to the phrase, “The Word of God comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable.”  The Word of God only looks good if we have correct vision and understanding of what is truly good.  It looks bad if our vision is off, if we have a wrong idea of what is good.  The Letter to the Hebrews says, “the word of God is living and effective, sharper than any two-edged sword, penetrating even between soul and spirit…and able to discern reflections and thoughts of the heart.”  As a two-edged sword, the Word of God cuts both ways.  A sword can be something that defends, but it can also be something that attacks.
    The Word of God is meant to challenge us, because, given our fallen nature, we don’t always appreciate what is good.  Adam and Eve were told that the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil was not for them, though they could have every other fruit from every other tree in the garden, including the tree of immortality.  But, at least for that moment of the Fall, their vision, their desire, went askew.  They thought that something contrary to God’s will was good for them, and did not trust that what God had revealed was always good for them, even when He told them that the couldn’t have something.  Parents experience this with their children.  The child wants something that is not good for them, like candy for dinner.  The child doesn’t believe them, and may even try to get away with it once or more.  But then the stomach ache comes, or the cavities come, or any other amount of health problems comes. 
    What God has revealed to us, through the Scriptures and through the teaching of the Church, is good.  But we only recognize it as good if we are viewing the world with the eyes of God.  If we are viewing the world through the eyes of sin, then it can seem bad.
    We might not understand the Word of God, and so, we can be tempted by Satan to think that it’s not good (the seed sown on the path).  We might enjoy hearing the Word of God, but we don’t let it take hold in our lives, and then when we have to choose between a good from the perspective of God and a good from the perspective of fallen humanity or the world, we abandon the Word (the seed sown on rocky ground).  We might hear the Word of God, enjoy it, and even let it start to take root in our lives, but then when other desires of the world pop up in our lives, we see those as good, and those choke out the Word of God (the seed among thorns). 
    Let’s be honest: the call to follow Christ, who is the Eternal Word of God, currently does not always go along easily with our culture.  Certainly, there are parts of our faith, of our life in Christ, that the culture readily accepts: the rejection of racism; care for the poor and the immigrant; treating others as we would want to be treated.  But there are also parts of the Word of God that are contrary to the values of today’s culture, and are often mocked: the respect for human life from natural conception until natural death; marriage is only between one man and one woman for life; sex is only for marriage; the dignity of workers and not using them as pawns to simply raise more money.  And so often Catholics, those who claim to follow Christ in the one Church He established, simply skim past the parts of the Bible or the teachings of the Church with which they don’t agree.  But, as St. Augustine wrote, “If you believe what you like in the gospels, and reject what you don’t like, it is not the gospel you believe, but yourself.”  If you only choose the parts of Jesus’ teaching that you agree with, then you’re choosing the Snickers bar over the apple.  It may feel good now, but it could have bad effects later.  Belief in the Word of God leads to eternal life; belief in the self leads to eternal disappointment.

    We’ve heard this Gospel passage countless times before.  But each time we hear it, it’s a good opportunity to ask ourselves: what kind of ground does the Word of God find in me?  Am I open to the Word of God as truly good?  Or have I decided that I know better than the Word of God, that sometime else looks better?  God wants to refresh us with His Word, so that we can be fruitful.  May we accept the Word of God into our hearts and bear fruit “‘a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold.’”

I'm Not 25 Anymore

Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Powers Catholic Soccer Team after
winning the State Championship

    Many of you will probably remember that, about 2 or 3 years ago (the time flies by so quickly), I broke my thumb while practicing soccer with our Powers JV soccer team.  We were doing 3 v 2 drills, and I had tripped a little, and was on the ground, but I didn’t want a sophomore or freshman to beat me, so I hyper-extended my thumb pushing myself up, and got a little chip fracture.  As George Strait sings in his 2008 hit song, “Troubadour,” “I still feel 25 / most of the time…”  But that day was a good reminder that there’s a big difference between being a teenager soccer player and a 30-something priest. 
    When it comes to our spiritual life, sometimes we’re as much deceiving ourselves as I was thinking that I could still hang with even a JV soccer team.  We think that spiritual progress–deepening our prayer life, combating certain sins, growing in virtue–is something that we have to muscle through by ourselves.  It’s the theory of holiness that we simply pull ourselves up by our bootstraps.  This mentality of doing it ourselves is ingrained in us from a young age.  It is, as we might say, a quintessentially American trait.  That American spirit to do it ourselves led us to declare our independence 244 years ago; it led us blaze pioneer trails across the Appalachian mountains; it pushed Lewis and Clark to find passage from St. Louis to Oregon; it rocketed us to the moon in the 1960s.  So when it comes to building and growing a nation, it’s not a bad thing, but when it comes to building our spiritual life, it’s not the way the spiritual order works. 
    Our readings talk to us of humility, and that virtue is nothing more than the recognition of the truth.  It’s not pretending that we’re not as good as we are, but it’s also not puffing ourselves up on our own, either.  Jesus fulfills the prophecy of Zechariah by entering Jerusalem on a donkey.  He does so, not to say that He’s not a king, but to demonstrate that His kingdom isn’t one of force, but that His kingdom is established in peace. 
    Jesus also said today that the wisdom of the spiritual life has been hidden from the wise and learned, but has been revealed to the little ones.  The wise and the learned don’t get it, because they are used to doing things on their terms, to working with the mindset of the world where a person has to do it all by him or herself.  But the little ones realize how little they can do on their own, and always turn to their parents to help them achieve their goals. 
    Jesus also invites all who labor and are burdened to come to Him, because His yoke is easy and His burden is light.  Again, this is a clear demonstration that the spiritual life is not meant to be pursued on one’s own, but is to be striven for in partnership with the Lord.  A yoke is not meant for one ox, but for a team of oxen.  So the yoke that the Lord offers us, an easy and light burden, is meant for us to carry with Jesus, not apart from Him.
    So when we want to deepen our prayer life, look to Jesus to guide your prayer.  It could be a formal prayer (the Church certainly has a treasury of beautiful prayers that have been prayed over the centuries), or it could simply be talking with Jesus as one talks with a friend.  Maybe ask Jesus to help you add an extra 5 minutes to your daily prayer routine.  Or maybe try adoration from 7-7:45 a.m. on Fridays.
    When we’re trying to root out a sin from our life, whether it’s big or it’s small sins, a lot of times we think that if we only tried harder, then we’d get better results.  But often times sins can be so deeply ingrained in our lives that we don’t know how to get them out on our own.  It may be sin like gossip; it may be a sin like pornography; or maybe it’s a different sin altogether.  But the Lord doesn’t want us to try to rid the sin from our lives on our own.  His grace is effective at casting sin out of our life, just as light casts out darkness.  It may not happen all at once, but with the Lord’s help, we can find the freedom from the slavery that sin brings.  Invite Jesus to help you get rid of whatever sin is enslaving you right now.
    When we’re trying to grow in virtue, it’s much easier with the Lord.  A virtue is a stable disposition to act in the right way.  It comes through habitual actions of doing the right thing.  So we have to cooperate.  But the Lord’s grace can make it easier for us to do the right thing when we have the opportunity to do the wrong thing.  I know that patience has often been a difficult virtue for me, especially when traveling.  It seems like my plane is always delayed, or having mechanical problems, or the flight is cancelled due to bad weather.  And for years I would get so worked up and frustrated when my travel plans wouldn’t go as I had prepared or wanted.  Last November my vacation to Australia was delayed by a day because of weather; and then in January my trip to Dayton was delayed due to weather as I missed my connecting flight by mere minutes; and even my most recent trip to Nashville was delayed by a day due to weather.  But, in all those circumstances, I could see the Lord’s grace at work, supporting and sustaining my own efforts, to keep me calm and entrust myself to the Lord’s will.  I’m not perfectly patient, but I can see progress working with the Lord, rather than by myself.
    We’re often tempted to do things by ourselves, for a variety of reasons.  But to think that we can be fully successful by ourselves in the spiritual life, is about as realistic as thinking that I can keep up with high schoolers in soccer.  Don’t strive for holiness on your own.  Work with Jesus to be a saint; you won’t be disappointed.

No Quid Pro Quo

Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time   

    Our society operates most frequently on a transactional mentality.  If I give you this, then you give me that.  It used to require physical money, or at least a card which represented money, but not you simply click a button, input some information, and the transaction can take place.  I click on the song I want in iTunes, it asks for some information which I have to input, and then the song is mine. 
    Maybe, in hearing the first reading and the Gospel today, we suppose that God’s blessings and eternal life operate in the same way.  Elisha goes to the Shunamite woman, who gives Elisha something, so he wants to give her something back.  In this case, Elisha intercedes and the woman is able to conceive a son, even though she has an old husband.  At the end of today’s Gospel, Jesus says that if we host a prophet, we’ll get a prophet’s reward, or if we welcome a righteous man, we’ll receive a reward for that, or if we simply give a cup of cold water to a little disciple, we will not lose our reward.  Sounds very much like a quid pro quo. 
    But, while God does reward generosity, and, in fact, cannot be outdone in generosity, getting to heaven is not about a transaction.  It’s not so much about giving up anything, as it is about becoming something.  St. Paul in the second reading talks about being baptized into the death of Jesus, buried with Jesus through baptism, so that we can rise with Christ.  What St. Paul is talking about here is becoming one with Jesus, in His Death, so that we can also be one with Jesus in His Resurrection.  And the whole of the Catholic life is about becoming one with Christ, so that, as St. Paul says elsewhere, it is not longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. 
    Heaven is our destiny if and only if we have been transformed into the Person of Christ.  In the Christian East we use this term, divinization.  St. Athanasius said, “God became man so that man might become God.”  Baptism, into the Death of Jesus, is meant to being that transforming process by which, each day, we die to our fallen humanity and rise with our risen humanity, which is seated at the right hand of the Father in Christ.  Heaven is a reward, but perhaps it’s better to speak of it as the logical destination for one who is configured to Christ, since Jesus Christ is already there.  It’s not, “If I give Jesus the right stuff, then He’ll let me in to heaven.”  In that mentality, we’re viewing salvation as secular economic theory: I need to give the least I can to get the most I can; it’s getting the biggest bang for our buck.  But that mentality is antithetical to the Christian life.  Christ demands all of us, because that is what He has given fully the Father.  That’s why Jesus also says today, “‘Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me, and whoever loves son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me.’”  It’s not that Jesus says we can’t love our parents or children, it’s that Jesus deserves all of who we are.  He wants to transform us entirely, not simply the parts that we feel we can part with.
    How do we know if we’re living in a wrongheaded, transactional mentality?  All we have to do is ask ourselves: ‘Is there a part of my life that I don’t want to give over to Jesus?’  And of course, Jesus’ Mystical Body is the Church, so what the Church teaches as belonging to faith or morals is precisely important for recognizing what we’re truly willing to give to Jesus.  How often to we hear some form of, “The Church can’t tell me how I’m supposed to live out my sexuality;” or, “I want my wedding on the beach, not in a church;” or “Why does the Church think that she can tell me what to consider when I’m voting?” or, “I’ll only support the Church financially if I approve of what this priest/bishop/pope is doing”?  If our mission, as Catholics, is truly to conform our lives to Christ, then no part of our life, those I’ve mentioned or others, is off limits to being transformed by Jesus.
    But take comfort that we may want to give ourselves entirely to Jesus, but we’re not quite experts in it, yet.  One can easily say, “Jesus, I give you my entire life; do with it as you please,” and shortly thereafter, as Jesus tells us what He desires of us, we fall into the temptation of holding back from the Lord.  Our first parents, Adam and Eve, grasped at the fruit because they were afraid that they had to take in order to receive good things, and that tendency remains strong in us.
    Still, the important part of our pilgrimage with the Lord is that we are doing our best to allowing the Sacraments of Baptism, Penance, Confirmation, the Eucharist, and Holy Matrimony or Holy Orders to truly transform us to be more like Jesus.  It’s not about giving Jesus the least amount of ourselves that we can, just barely enough so that we can squeak into heaven by the skin of our teeth.  Today, and everyday, Jesus invites us to give all of who we are to Him, so that we might, in return, receive everything from Him.

Love which Helps Us Love

Solemnity of the Body and Blood of Christ (Corpus Christi)

    This past Thursday I celebrated the tenth anniversary of ordination to the priesthood.  Sometimes the days are long, other times the days pass quickly, but it’s hard to believe that I’ve been a priest for a decade. I look back and can remember some great moments at each of the three parishes at which I served, and I can remember some moments that I’d probably rather forget at each parish.  But that’s life, isn’t it?  It’s no different for married couples, who promise fidelity in good times and in bad.
    What is it that keeps priests and married couples going through the ups and downs?  It’s love.  Last week I mentioned that love is one of the most fundamental things for humanity, and that Bishop Barron defines love as willing the good of the other.  To love is to act in a way that places the other above oneself, and to do what it takes to help the other, no matter the cost.  As a priest, love means getting up at 2 a.m. to go to a nursing home and baptize and confirm a dying man who had earlier requested to a nurse to become Catholic; love means standing with a family and helping them grieve in the hope of the resurrection as they bury their newborn baby, or dad or mom; love means bringing a couple together in marriage, some of whom have been preparing for marriage for over a year, some of whom have just found out that the intended is about to be deployed overseas and they need to be married soon so that the US military will pay for the move to military housing; love means feeling the crushing sting of defeat in a State Championship game one year, and crying tears of pain with the seniors who will never play organized soccer again, as well as the sweet taste of victory in the State Championship game the following year, and crying tears of joy with the team who achieved the goal they set for themselves before the season even began; love means baptizing, forgiving, and confirming all in the name of Christ; and yes, sometimes love even means correcting a sheep who is starting to wander away, and the pain of that correction not having its intended effect to call back, but pushing the sheep farther away.
    As a priest, as of last Thursday, I have celebrated or concelebrated 4,073 Masses, baptized 116 people, confirmed 60 people, blessed the marital unions of 67 couples, and been the principal celebrant of 174 funerals, including 4 grandparents and other family members.  There are a lot of things that have gotten me through all of these times in three parishes: a loving family; friends, especially one or two that I can vent to; my brother priests; from time-to-time a drink or two; but most of all, the Eucharist: the Body and Blood of Christ.
    And the reason why the Eucharist is what really gets me through is because the Eucharist is love.  Follow the connections: God is love, Jesus is God, the Eucharist is Jesus, so the Eucharist is love.  And it’s not only true intellectually.  We know that the Eucharist is the fruit of Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, the fruit of His love for us.  And His love for us is precisely proven in that He was willing to die for us.  Jesus Himself said that no one has greater love than to lay down his life for a friend.  The weight that Jesus had in saying that was that, in about a day from when he said it, He would lay down His life for His bride, the Church.  But since most of the apostles would not be there, and because He wanted the Church through all time to be able to be joined to that sacrifice of love, He instituted the Eucharist and the priesthood on Holy Thursday, so that we would not only think of His love, or remember His love, but we would be able to partake of His love. 
    But the Eucharist isn’t simply for priests to give them strength and spiritual nutrition in their vocation.  No matter what your vocation, the Eucharist is meant to strengthen and nourish you.  It is meant to increase your joys and lessen your sorrows.  By receiving love Himself, the Body and Blood of Christ, you are meant to be empowered to love more, to will the good of others, whether it’s the members of your family, your co-workers, or even the stranger you meet on the street.  The Eucharist is the love which allows you to show love by caring for a sick family member all through the night; to go to sporting events for your children, grandchildren, nephews and nieces; to support friends and family as they begin married life, or even as they struggle through married life; to walk through the valley of the shadow of death for those you know; to work to the best of your ability with integrity in your job; to treat everyone as created in the image and likeness of God. 
    I thank God for my ten years as a priest.  I thank God for sending me to East Lansing, to Adrian, and now here in Flint.  But most of all, I thank God for the Eucharist, the fruit of Jesus’ love, which allows me, unworthy though I am, to love to the best of my ability, and act in Jesus’ power and name.