Sunday, February 22, 2015

Ser frío y hambre y cansado...

          La Cuaresma nos invita a compartir la experiencia de Jesús en el desierto. Sé valiente. Entra en el desierto de este tiempo de Cuaresma y usted sabrá la verdadera alegría de celebrar la Pascua.

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Homilía: 1º Domingo de Cuaresma – Ciclo B
          La semana antepasada estaba haciendo un retiro al monasterio de San Meinrad, donde fui al seminario. Era bueno estar de vuelta allí porque yo tuve la oportunidad de conectar con mucha de la personal del seminario y los monjes que conocía cuando era seminarista. También fue bueno porque tuve la oportunidad de pasar tiempo de caminata por el área, que fue una de mis actividades favoritas durante mi tiempo allí.
          San Meinrad se encuentra en un entorno muy rural en el sur de Indiana, que es en realidad mucho más boscosa y montañosa que aquí. Por lo tanto, una caminata por cualquiera de los caminos traseros de todo el seminario le proporcionará una gran cantidad de soledad junto con una caminata exigente. Long Johnnytown Road fue una de mis favoritos de estos caminos, y así que hizo un punto para caminar ese camino una vez más. El día que salí el clima era menos favorable. Se había vuelto bastante frío y el viento soplaba con fuerza desde el noroeste. Afortunadamente, el camino está rodeado en su mayoría por bosques y por eso, a excepción de unas pocas partes, yo no tenía que hacer frente al viento. Es un duro camino para caminar en cualquier condición, pero las condiciones de ese día lo hizo uno o dos grados más difícil (quizá más aún porque he estado viviendo aquí en el llano por tanto tiempo). Era tan difícil, de hecho, que a veces me preguntaba si iba a hacer que volver. Lo hice, por supuesto, y, aunque estaba cansado, me sentía renovado por haber hecho. Como he leído y reflexionado sobre la lectura del Evangelio de hoy, la experiencia de Jesús de estar en el desierto me recordó esto.
          En el Evangelio hemos escuchado cómo Jesús fue impulsado al desierto y que permaneció allí durante cuarenta días, donde fue tentado por Satanás y vivió entre las animales salvajes mientras los ángeles, sin embargo, le servían. Como lo es para nosotros hoy en día, el desierto es un lugar duro: un lugar de soledad en la que usted está expuesto a condiciones extremas. Jesús fue impulsado en estas duras condiciones físicas del desierto y tuvo que enfrentarse a las duras condiciones espirituales y emocionales, así: las tentaciones de Satanás y el temor de ser atacado por un animal salvaje. No obstante, él fue de buena gana, impulsada por el Espíritu que apenas lo había ungido después de su bautismo en el río Jordán. Salió de ese momento de ensayo más profundamente consciente de la verdad acerca de sí mismo y de su misión. Vemos esto porque lo siguiente que el Evangelio nos dice que es lo que Jesús comenzó su misión de predicación; tomando literalmente hasta donde Juan el Bautista dejó, al proclamar "El reino de Dios ya está cerca. Arrepentirse y crean en el Evangelio”.
          Cuaresma, para nosotros, tiene la intención de imitar esta experiencia del desierto de Jesús. Nos llama a dejar fuera de lo que se sienta cómodo y que se "impulsada por el desierto", por así decirlo—la soledad dentro de nosotros mismos—con el fin de hacer frente a los demonios y animales salvajes dentro de nosotros—que son nuestras inclinaciones pecaminosas y pasiones indomables—de manera que salgan más profundamente consciente de la verdad acerca de nosotros mismos y de nuestra misión. Y lo que es esto, pero una llamada a la oración: una llamada a enfrentar la verdad sobre nosotros mismos ante Dios y permitir que Él nos muestre la verdad más profunda de lo que somos en Él.
          Debido a que somos criaturas corporales, sin embargo, esta "experiencia del desierto" debe incluir también un aspecto físico. Por lo tanto, creamos un "desierto" físico para nosotros por el ayuno: al renunciar a ciertas comodidades y placeres a fin de crear las condiciones en las que podríamos enfrentar nuestras inclinaciones pecaminosas y las pasiones indomables más fácilmente. Irónicamente, toda esta introspección está destinado a llevarnos fuera de nosotros mismos: al encuentro con el verdadero sufrimiento de nuestros hermanos y hermanas alrededor de nosotros—nuestros vecinos—y trabajar para aliviar su sufrimiento a través de los medios que se han dado a nosotros. A través de la limosna que promulgamos nuestra misión de anunciar que el reino de Dios ya está cerca, el reino en el que la buena noticia se anuncia a los pobres. Por lo tanto la limosna, de alguna manera, se convierte en el fruto de nuestra experiencia en el desierto cuaresmal.
          El poeta estadounidense, Henry David Thoreau una vez aconsejó "Dar largos paseos en tiempo tormentoso o a través de la nieve profunda en los campos y bosques, si desea mantener el ánimo. Encaja con la naturaleza bruta. Ser frío y hambre y cansado." Creo que esta cita habla a algo muy cierto: la vida es difícil y si tratamos de ocultar ese hecho al llenar nuestras vidas con las comodidades y distracciones entonces nunca voy a vivir de verdad. Después de esa caminata que tomé mientras que en el retiro yo era "frío y hambre y cansado", pero renovado por haberlo hecho. Que se ocupó de la "naturaleza bruta", lo que me hizo enfrentarme a algunos de los demonios dentro de mí (como mi miedo a hacer de vuelta), y salí con un espíritu más profundamente consciente de la verdad acerca de mí mismo y de la misión que me ha dado.
          Mis hermanos y hermanas, la Cuaresma nos invita a enfrentar la realidad de nosotros mismos—con todos sus demonios y animales salvajes—así como la verdad de lo que somos—hijos de Dios y coherederos con Cristo a Su Reino—para renovarnos en la fe de bautismo que podamos salir a proclamar el más grande de todas las verdades con vigor renovado: que Jesucristo ha resucitado y que el reino de Dios verdaderamente está cerca! Por lo tanto, no debemos tener miedo de ir a los desiertos dentro de nosotros mismos para hacer frente a los demonios de nuestras inclinaciones pecaminosas y los animales salvajes de nuestras pasiones indomables; y allá para llamar a los ángeles para ministrar a nosotros; y no debemos tener miedo entonces salir a los desiertos en nuestra comunidad para encontrar a los marginados: los que tenemos miedo de encontrar por lo que podrían exigir de nosotros. Por ahí, en estos encuentros, la verdad sobre nosotros mismos será conocida y nuestra misión será clara. Entonces, después de haber hecho esto, saldremos a experimentar una vez más (o tal vez por primera vez) la verdadera alegría que trae la Pascua: la alegría que incluso ahora se nos invita a experimentar aquí, en esta Eucaristía.
Dado en la parroquia de Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN

22º de febrero, 2015

Be cold and weary and hungry...

          Lent invites us to share the experience of Jesus in the desert.  Be brave.  Go into the desert of this Lenten season and you'll know the true joy of celebrating Easter.

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Homily: 1st Sunday of Lent – Cycle B
          Two weeks ago I was off making my canonical retreat (that is, my retreat that is required by canon law) down at Saint Meinrad, where I went to seminary.  It was good to be back down there as I was able to connect with a lot of the seminary staff and the monks whom I knew when I was a seminarian.  It was also good because I was able to spend time doing some hiking around the area, which was one of my favorite activities during my time there.
          Saint Meinrad is located in a very rural setting in southern Indiana, which is actually much more wooded and hilly than here in the “northern plains”.  Thus, a hike down any of the back roads around the seminary will provide you with a lot of solitude along with a challenging hike.  Long Johnnytown Road was one of my favorite roads to take and so I made it a point to hike that road once again.  The day that I went out the weather was less than favorable.  It had turned quite cold and the wind was blowing hard from the northwest.  Thankfully, the road is surrounded by woods, for the most part, and so, except for a few stretches of road, I didn’t have to face the wind.  It is a tough road to hike under any conditions, but that day’s conditions made it a degree or two more difficult (perhaps even more so because I’ve been living here in the flatlands for so long now).   It was so tough, in fact, that at times I wondered whether or not I was going to make it back.  I did of course and, although I was tired, I felt refreshed for having made it.  As I read and reflected on today’s Gospel reading, Jesus’ experience of being in the desert reminded me of this.
          In the Gospel we heard how Jesus was driven into the desert and that he remained there for forty days where he was tempted by Satan and dwelt among the wild beasts while angels, nonetheless, ministered to him.  As it is for us today, the desert is a harsh place: a place of solitude in which you are exposed to extreme conditions.  Jesus was driven into the harsh physical conditions of the desert and had to face harsh spiritual and emotional conditions as well: the temptations of Satan and the fear of being attacked by a wild animal.  Nonetheless, he went willingly, driven by the Spirit who had just anointed him after his baptism in the Jordan River.  He emerged from that time of testing more deeply conscious of the truth about himself and his mission.  We see this because the next thing that the Gospel tells us is that Jesus began his mission of preaching; literally taking up where John the Baptist left off by proclaiming “The kingdom of God is at hand.  Repent and believe in the gospel.”
          Lent, for us, is meant to mimic this desert experience of Jesus.  It calls us to leave off what we are comfortable with and to be “driven into the desert”, so to speak—the solitude inside of ourselves—in order to confront the demons and wild beasts within us—which are our sinful inclinations and untamed passions—so as to emerge more deeply conscious of the truth about ourselves and our mission.  And what is this, but a call to prayer: a call to confront the truth about ourselves before God and to allow him to show us the deeper truth of who we are in Him.
          Because we are bodily creatures, however, this “desert experience” must also include a physical aspect.  Thus, we create a physical “desert” for ourselves by fasting: by giving up certain comforts and pleasures so as to create the conditions in which we might confront our sinful inclinations and untamed passions more readily.  Ironically, all of this introspection is meant to lead us outside of ourselves: to encounter the real suffering of our brothers and sisters around us—our neighbors—and to work to relieve their suffering through the means that have been given to us.  Through almsgiving we enact our mission to proclaim that the kingdom of God is at hand, the kingdom in which the poor have the good news proclaimed to them.  Thus almsgiving, in a way, becomes the fruit of our Lenten desert experience.
          The American poet, Henry David Thoreau once advised “Take long walks in stormy weather or through deep snow in the fields and woods, if you would keep your spirits up.  Deal with brute nature.  Be cold and hungry and weary.”  I believe that this quote speaks to something very true: life is difficult and if we try to mask that fact by filling our lives with comforts and distractions then we’ll never truly live.  After that hike I took while on retreat I was “cold and hungry and weary”, but refreshed for having done it.  I dealt with “brute nature”, which caused me to confront some of the demons within myself, and I emerged with a spirit more deeply aware of the truth about myself and of the mission that I have been given.
          My brothers and sisters, Lent invites us to face the reality of ourselves—with all of its demons and wild beasts—as well as the truth of who we are—children of God and coheirs with Christ to His Kingdom—so as to renew us in baptismal faith that we might go forth to proclaim the greatest of all truths with renewed vigor: that Jesus Christ is risen and that the kingdom of God is truly at hand!  Therefore, let us not be afraid to go into the deserts within ourselves to confront the demons of our sinful inclinations and the wild beasts of our untamed passions; and there to call on the angels to minister to us; and let us not be afraid to then go out into the deserts in our community to encounter the marginalized: those who we are afraid to meet because of what they might demand of us.  For there, in these encounters, the truth about ourselves will become known and our mission will become clear.  Then, having done this, we will emerge to experience once again (or perhaps for the first time) the true joy that Easter brings: the joy that even now we are invited to experience here, in this Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 21st & 2nd, 2015

Sunday, February 15, 2015

The power of a human touch

          Sometimes the healing we need is not just physical, but emotional as well.  Only the loving touch of a fellow person can bring healing of the emotional pain that sometimes afflicts us.  As Lent approaches, may we allow Jesus' touch to bring us healing for all the ways that sin has hurt us.

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Homily: 6th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B
          One of the most indispensible parts, it seems, of any intimate relationship is touch.  Parents touch their children regularly in order to show them their care and affection.  A husband and wife will hug and kiss each other when they are coming and going or when they get up in the morning or go to bed at night, and various other times in between.  Children who are best friends will walk side by side each other with an arm around the other’s shoulder (“they’re ‘joined at the hip’” is the common expression).  Grown men, sometimes less comfortable with more sensitive expressions of intimacy, will often slap their friends on the shoulder as a sign of camaraderie.  And for young couples, holding hands is often the first expression of a growing affection.  From the opposite standpoint, turning away from touch is often an indicator that intimacy has been broken or damaged, such as when a husband or a wife gives their spouse the “cold shoulder.”
          As a matter of fact, in the Catholic Church we know this very well.  We ritualize the intimacy of human touch in the sacraments, most poignantly in the sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick.  February 11, the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes, is designated in the Church as the “World Day for the Sick,” in which we remind ourselves of the special place that care for the sick and dying holds in the life of the Church.  And in the Church’s sacrament for the sick, which is meant to be a spiritual strengthening for “one who has begun to be in danger of death due to sickness or old age,” human touch plays a prominent role, in the laying on of hands and the anointing with oil.  And so again we see that, for humans, touch is important.
          In the first reading today, we heard the instructions given to Moses and Aaron regarding how to handle a person afflicted with leprosy inside of the community. The ancient Hebrews, like any closely knit community, were deeply concerned with maintaining the purity and health of their community.  And so, whenever someone in the community became afflicted with an exteriorly visible sickness—such as the sores that appear on the skin when one is afflicted with leprosy—this person was obligated to separate themselves from the community so as to avoid spreading the disease (because they didn’t understand how this person became afflicted with it and, thus, how it might be spread to another) and so maintain the purity of the community.  Thus, the segregation of lepers was intended to ensure that the rest of the community was kept safe from defilement through contact with them.  As a result, the physical suffering of the leprous person was compounded by an emotional suffering as he or she was literally cut off from all human touch, and, thus, intimacy, for fear of making others sick and “unclean”.
          One only needs to look at the crisis of the Ebola epidemic in western Africa to see a modern example of this.  In this case, we are all well aware of the highly communicable nature of the Ebola virus and thus impose strict segregation on those afflicted with it.  We can all perhaps imagine how depressing it would be not only to be afflicted with a life-threatening illness, but then to endure weeks in which your only human contact is through doctors and medical staff covered head to toe in protective garments for fear of making “flesh-to-flesh” contact with your body.  If you can imagine that, then you will have a sense of what it was like to be afflicted with leprosy among the ancient Hebrews.
          In today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark, we find a leper who was so moved by faith in Christ’s power to heal him that he completely disregarded the rules regarding the segregation of lepers and approached Jesus in order to beg him for healing.  Jesus knew well the purity laws and what he would have to go through if he touched this man (just think of the reports of what health care workers had to go through if they came into direct contact with an Ebola patient).  He also knew that he would not have to touch this man in order to heal him of his leprosy.  He knew that a simple word would affect the cure.  Yet, he saw more than a physical ailment in this man.  He saw the emotional suffering of shame and humiliation that comes from being cut off from one’s community and he knew that more than just a word was needed to make him whole again.  Thus, the Gospel tells us that Jesus was “moved with pity” and that he first touched the man before he pronounced his words of healing.  No, it wasn’t the touch that healed the man of his leprosy, Christ’s word alone was sufficient.  It was the touch, however, that made him feel human, connected again with the community that was his life.
          Of course it’s easy to see modern day examples of leprosy in our own society.  I’ve already mentioned the situation of those afflicted with Ebola and it doesn’t end there.  We simply need to look around at those who have been marginalized and pushed “outside the camp” of our daily living so as not to defile our efforts to live a “pure” life.  It also would be easy to remind ourselves of our duty to respond to these individuals as Jesus did by reaching out to them, touching them, helping them to find healing, and inviting them to join the community once again.  What is not so easy for us is to look inwardly, at ourselves, in order to discover the spiritual leprosy of sin that afflicts each of us.
          St. Bede, in commenting on this passage, has said: “This man prostrated himself on the ground, as a sign of humility and shame, to teach each of us to be ashamed of the stains of his [or her own] life.  But shame should not prevent us from confessing: the leper showed his wound and begged for healing.”  St. Terese of Liseux has said that shame for our sins should never prevent us from reaching out to Jesus.  In fact, she has said, our increasing awareness of and shame for our sins should make us reach out all the more desperately to him, because the more that we acknowledge our sinfulness, the more that we openly show our wounds to Jesus, the more, in a sense, attractive we are to him, to his mercy, and thus he is more moved to touch us and to heal us.
          My brothers and sisters, the trick to living the Christian life is not just in reaching out to the marginalized in our society, the modern-day lepers with “outward” afflictions, which we must do.  Rather, the trick is being able to first recognize our own afflictions, our own leprosy, and having the courage—or rather the faith—to throw ourselves down before God, before Jesus, and beg for his mercy.
          As his Body, the Church, Jesus wants us to be his hands in this world, bringing his healing touch to those who need it.  He wants his hands to be pure, however.  And so, as we seek to extend Christ’s ministry of mercy to those around us, let us acknowledge also our need for healing and thus seek out the sacrament of reconciliation, so that we might be truly open to share each other’s burdens.  And finally, my brothers and sisters, let us give thanks, as we do here today, for Christ’s saving mercy, so that we may go forth from this place making known the good things he has done for us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 15, 2015

Sunday, February 8, 2015

Pray and Act to End Slavery

          Today (among other things) is the first annual day of prayer and awareness to end human trafficking.  Fitting that it falls on the liturgical feast day of Saint Josephine Bakhita, who herself was a victim of human trafficking.  Please go to the US Bishop's website for information on how you can become more aware of the problem of human trafficking and what you can do to help stop it (click on the "Become a SHEPHERD" link on that page).

          Most of all, pray!  Make known to Jesus the sufferings of these people and he will draw close to them to set them free.

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Homily: 5th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B
          Saint Josephine Bakhita was born in the Darfur region of South Sudan in 1869.  When she was seven years old, she was kidnapped and sold into slavery.  In the ensuing years, she was sold and resold to different slave owners, suffering physical and psychological abuse everywhere she went.  Bakhita was the name given to her by her first slave owner.  The abuse she received over the years traumatized her so much that she actually forgot the name that her parents had given her.  Finally, she ended up in the hands of an Italian ambassador, Callisto Legnani.  With this family, however, there was no abuse and Bakhita’s long journey of healing could begin.
          Because of political tensions in Sudan, ambassador Legnani had to leave Africa to return to Italy and, per her request, he brought Bakhita along with his family.  Upon returning to Italy, the Michieli family, who were friends of the Legnanis, requested that Bakhita stay with them.  Mr. Legnani agreed and when the Michielis gave birth to a daughter, Bakhita became her babysitter and friend.  When the Michielis were forced to move back to Africa for business, Bakhita and their daughter were entrusted to the Canossian Sisters of the Institute of Catechumens in Venice.  It was there that Bakhita would come to know God.
          After several months of prayer and study in the catechumenate, Bakhita received the Sacraments of Initiation, taking the name Josephine.  Not long after, the Michielis returned, having established their business back in Africa, to take their daughter and Josephine to be with them.  Josephine refused to go back to Africa, however, requesting to stay with the Canossian Sisters, instead.  Because Italian law had abolished slavery, the Michielis could not force her to go and thus she was granted her wish.
          Josephine stayed with the sisters; eventually following the call to enter religious life herself.  Six years after she was baptized she made her solemn profession as a Canossian Sister.  For the next fifty years, she humbly and dutifully served her fellow sisters and those with whom she came in contact through the sisters’ apostolate.  All who knew her knew the joy that radiated from her in every encounter.  She was known to say “Be good, love the Lord, and pray for those who do not know him. What a great grace it is to know God!”  In her, we today find the inspiring story of a woman set free from oppression and slavery through Christian action who then turned to offer herself completely in service to God.
          In our Gospel reading today, we hear a story with a similar outcome.  Having taught in the synagogue in Capernaum (where he freed a man from an “unclean spirit”), Jesus returned to the house of Simon and Andrew.  Simon’s mother-in-law lay seriously ill with a fever.  When they told Jesus about her, he went to her and healed her.  Then the Gospel says that “she waited on them.”  Viewed in the light of St. Josephine’s story, we can make these correlations: Simon’s mother-in-law was “enslaved” by an illness; Jesus’ disciples, having seen him cast out the unclean spirit just hours before, “immediately” tell him about her; Jesus approaches her and sets her free; and she, in her freedom, then chooses to serve.  In other words, set free by Jesus whom they encountered through the actions of his disciples, these women then freely chose to subject themselves in service to others.
          Although slavery is almost universally abolished, millions of men and women throughout the world still suffer from it.  Every day men and women are forced into oppressive work or, worse yet, are bought and sold as sex slaves to feed humankind’s exponentially growing lust.  More than ever, these men and women need help to be set free.  As Christians, our first recourse is always to prayer, in which we beg the Lord Jesus to approach them and set them free.  Our work never ends there, however; for then we must act in the world and draw close to them, as Jesus would, so that, through our Christian action, they might actually be set free.
          Set free, therefore, by our prayer and our action, these men and women can then choose to serve, like Simon’s mother-in-law did and like Saint Josephine did: for having been loved, most people will choose then to return love through service to others, because Jesus assures us that “there is no greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”
          My brothers and sisters, as a people set free by the love of Christ, who came close to us when he became one of us, and who remains close to us, especially here in this Eucharist, we must act to be his hands and his feet that draw close, in prayer and in action, to those still enslaved, so that they, too, might be set free and thus “know the freedom of the sons [and daughters] of God.”  Even as Saint Paul gave himself over freely (and free of charge) for the sake of the gospel, so that he might have a share in the blessings that come from it, so too we must bring this good news to those who are enslaved in our day; for we will only share in its blessings in proportion to the measure in which we have shared it with others.
          Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let us act so as to see the power of the Lord Jesus manifest: both throughout the world and right here in Cass County.  For when we do, we will begin to share in the blessings of the good news and, thus, when we return to this place, we will be inspired to sing, like the Psalmist in today’s Responsorial Psalm, “Praise the Lord, who heals the brokenhearted.”

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February 7th & 8th, 2015

Sunday, February 1, 2015

Do we truly accept Jesus as the one sent to save us?

Homily: 4th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B
          The 1993 Stephen Spielberg film Schindler’s List provided the world with a glimpse into the story of Oskar Schindler whose heroic acts during World War II in Nazi Germany would save the lives of over one-thousand Jews.  Nevertheless, he was a very unlikely hero.  His biography notes that he was a member of the Nazi party who was a spy for Germany.  He was a businessman whose was always looking for an angle—ethical or otherwise—to gain an advantage and to maximize his profits.  And he was a husband known for being unfaithful and for drinking in excess.  As he was confronted with the horrors of the Holocaust, however, he was transformed from a Nazi war profiteer to a protector of Jews.
          Thankfully, many Jews overcame their fear of trusting Germans to accept work in his factories, in which he often falsified documents so as to protect them from being sent to concentration camps.  I wonder how many others could not overcome their fear, however, perhaps in spite of having seen the good works he had already been doing, and thus missed a chance to find some semblance of protection from the Nazi oppressors, all because Oskar Schindler didn’t fit what they imagined their savior would be?
          Nearly three thousand, three hundred and fifty years earlier, the ancient Israelite people stood on the cusp of entering the land that God had promised to give them when he led them out of the Egypt.  Moses, then about one-hundred and twenty years old, who had led them in their dramatic exodus, and in the forty years of desert wandering that followed, would not cross into the promised land with them, for he was about to die.  Knowing this, he gave his last testimony to God’s chosen people, which is recorded for us in the book of Deuteronomy.  In it, he tells the people of God’s promise to raise up for them another prophet, like himself—a man mighty in word and deed—to lead them once again.  Although in the ensuing years many a prophet had arisen from among God’s chosen people, none of them seemed to completely conform to the prophet promised by God through Moses.
          Just over fourteen-hundred years later, a man named Jesus, the son of a carpenter from Nazareth, appeared on the scene in Galilee and began to teach in a new way.  He had come out of nowhere, it seemed, as he had not been a student of any of the great Jewish teachers of the day.  Nonetheless, he taught the people as one having authority.  This means that, instead of teaching according to the generally accepted experts of the Scriptures, claiming their authority, he taught claiming his own authority over them (for example, when he said “You have heard it said… but I say to you…” he was claiming his own authority to interpret the Scriptures).  To back this up, he also commanded evil spirits: thus proving that his word had definitive authority.
          The people who witnessed this were amazed and many began to wonder whether or not Jesus was the prophet promised to them by God through Moses so many years ago.  Nonetheless, many doubted as Jesus did not seem to fit the image of the Messiah who was to come to save God’s people: the image of a warrior prince who would topple all of Israel’s enemies; an image that had been imprinted in the minds of the Jewish people ever since they returned from the Babylonian exile.  Therefore, many refused to follow him and, as we know from the Gospels, some even turned against him.  Perhaps it was fear that led them to this.  Perhaps, however, they weren’t ready to let go of what they had—the security of their livelihoods or, perhaps, their favorite sins—so as to follow him.
          In our own time, we see that we are in a time of serious trouble: and one doesn’t need to be but half-serious about being Christian to see that.  (And, by the way, if you aren’t troubled by what you see happening in the world—even here in our own town—then I would seriously question your commitment to being a Christian!)  And so, perhaps we, too, are looking for a hero, a prophet, who will come and save us from this mess.  Pope Francis, of course, is doing everything in his power to fit this bill, speaking frankly about the evils of our time and challenging all peoples, himself first and foremost, to take an active role in reversing this tide.  Our own bishop, Bishop Doherty, is the prophet of our Local Church who also strives to speak grace into our modern lives and to challenge us to take up our part in this mission.  Fr. Mike and myself are extensions of the bishop’s ministry right here in Cass County.  Ultimately, of course, it’s Jesus—mediated through us, his human instruments—that we are looking for, regardless of whether or not we recognize it.
          Yet how often do we turn away from these prophets, because our priest, or the bishop, or the Pope, doesn’t fit the image of a true prophet/hero that we have created for ourselves?  Better yet, how often do we fail to seek them out because we are afraid that they will challenge us to leave off our sin—you know, our favorite sin, the one we hope no one will ever make us feel guilty for—and so choose to remain oppressed by these evil spirits instead of approaching these prophets, and pleading for their help so that these spirits might be cast out?
          My brothers and sisters, it is clear to me—and hopefully to all of us here—that the world is full of evil spirits who are wreaking havoc on our lives.  It is also clear to me, however, that most of us spend far too much time pleading with God that the spirits oppressing others—you know, the ones that offend us the most—would be cast out, when we should be pleading with God—and with the prophets that God has sent to us—that he would cast out the evil spirits within us.  This, my brothers and sisters, is the work of a true disciple: to acknowledge one’s own sin—and the havoc that it has caused—and to plead for God’s mercy to be liberated from it; and it is a work that the disciple must take up every day. ///
          I imagine that the man oppressed by the unclean spirit, who nonetheless came to the synagogue in Capernaum of Galilee that day, was probably afraid to approach Jesus.  We read, too, that the spirit who was oppressing him was even more afraid.  Had the man turned away from this carpenter from Nazareth, he would have remained oppressed by this spirit and Jesus’ power would not have been made manifest.  The man approached, however, and Jesus showed his power.  Let us, then, come to the Lord Jesus—both here, at this altar, and there, in the confessional—even if we are full of fear, so that we, too, might experience his power and begin to see our world set free.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – January 31st & February 1st, 2015