Monday, March 30, 2015

It's not just what happened, it's what's happening still...

Homily: Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord – Cycle B
          Each year, Palm Sunday invites us to enter deeply into that fateful week in which Our Lord fulfilled the Father’s plan to redeem us from sin and to conquer sin and death forever.  In this week we follow literally in his footsteps as we watch, day by day, as events unfold leading up to his passion, death, and resurrection.  Today, we preview what Friday will bring us by recounting our Lord’s Passion.  In order to help us to enter more deeply into this experience of Our Lord’s Passion, I would like to share with you a reflection by Father Edward Steiner that was recently published in The Priest magazine.  Fr. Steiner invites us to identify with various persons highlighted in this Passion account so that we might more deeply experience the profound power of God’s mercy, poured out in what Jesus—God’s only Son—suffered for us.  Let us now consider his words.


(I have no desire to invite any sort of copyright complaints, so click here to read Fr. Steiner's full reflection, found on the Our Sunday Visitor website. What follows is what I added to his words at the end of my homily.)

          But what about the woman who anointed Jesus with costly perfumed oil? Are we ever her, offering all that we have simply to honor Jesus for who he is and for what he has done for us?  If we can see and admit our role in the crucifixion, then perhaps we can also acknowledge the chance we are being given to humble ourselves before the Lord and to anoint him with our praise and our service.
          Therefore, this week, let us courageously humble ourselves before the Lord and let us acknowledge our role in his Passion and Death, so that we, too, might glory in the power of his mercy when we celebrate his Resurrection on Easter Sunday: the power that we receive, even now, in this Holy Eucharist.
Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 28th & 29th, 2015

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Sea una semilla muriendo

          Bien, así que yo no escribí un blog acerca del fin de semana de Cursillo. No es porque no fue un buen fin de semana... la semana sin duda me ha escapado! Mis reflexiones tienen que venir en una fecha posterior, sin embargo, porque esta semana ya está ocupado. Definitivamente estamos orando por los mujeres quienes van a hacer el Cursillo el fin de semana que viene. Que Dios bendiga el equipo y los candidatos con su Espíritu!

          Una cosa que me quedó claro durante el fin de semana es que estoy continuamente siendo llamado a morir a mí mismo para que mi vida podría dar frutos abundantes para el reino de Dios. Que todos nosotros aceptar ser "semillas muriendos" para el reino de Dios, para que todos podamos conocer el gozo pascual de Cristo!

-----------------------------------------

Homilía: 5º Domingo de la Cuaresma – Ciclo B
          San Juan de Brebeuf era un jesuita francés y mártir del siglo 17. Se crió en Francia y fue allí que él entró en la orden de los jesuitas. Él era un buen estudiante y tenía oído para los idiomas. Su trabajo como estudiante (y más tarde como profesor) a menudo se ve obstaculizada por problemas de salud que tuvo que soportar. Juan iba a encontrar una nueva vida, sin embargo, cuando su superior le enviaría a trabajar en su misión en América del Norte. Pasó un par de años con la nación Algonquin en Quebec, pero luego sintió un llamado a salir a la misión aún sin explotar de la nación Huron.
          Esta fue una misión difícil y peligrosa. Difícil porque no había habido ningún contacto significativo entre el Hurón y los colonos europeos y así Juan y sus compañeros tuvieron que comenzar primero aprender su cultura y su idioma. Peligroso porque el Huron siempre estaban bajo amenaza de ataque de los iroqueses, una nación rival. Juan y sus compañeros perseveraron, sin embargo, y, finalmente, más de siete mil personas serían convertir al cristianismo a través de sus esfuerzos.
          Al mismo tiempo, la nación Huron estaba debilitando en sus defensas y los iroqueses fueron fortaleciendo. En 1649 los iroqueses lanzaron un feroz ataque contra la nación Huron. En este punto, Juan y sus compañeros estaban muy querido por el Huron y por lo que los instó a huir de su pueblo antes de los iroqueses llegó. Juan y sus compañeros se negaron, sin embargo, y con el tiempo fueron capturados, horriblemente torturados y asesinados.
          Este momento del ataque fue un momento liminal para Juan y sus compañeros. Fue un momento de decisión; una decisión que tendría un profundo impacto en el resto de su vida y el legado que dejarían atrás. Podrían haber respondido a la insistencia de los Huron y huyeron hasta que puedan regresar con seguridad; pero en su lugar se quedaron con su amado Huron hasta el final.
          En nuestra lectura del Evangelio de hoy, Jesús también se ha encontrado con un momento liminal. En ella algunos griegos vienen en busca de ver a Jesús. Cuando Jesús se entera de esto, dice algo extraño. Él dice: "Ha llegado la hora de que el Hijo del hombre sea glorificado." Podríamos esperar que él contesta, "¡Qué bueno! Muéstrales a dentro" o "Diga a los griegos que he venido para los Judíos, así que no voy a verlos." La respuesta que Juan registra para nosotros en el Evangelio, sin embargo, no se espera; es decir, no menos que entienda lo que se había profetizado acerca de la venida del reino de Dios.
          En las profecías del Antiguo Testamento, se predijo que, cuando el reino de Dios se ha manifestado, todas las naciones (los judíos y los gentiles) correrían hacia Jerusalén y adorarían a Dios en su templo. Y así, cuando estos griegos (es decir, gentiles) vinieron en busca de Jesús, él sabía que el tiempo para cumplir su propósito había llegado. En otras palabras, esta petición aparentemente inofensiva era una señal a Jesús que su ministerio de la predicación y la curación estaba llegando a su fin y que ahora tiene que ir a morir a fin de redimir a la humanidad. Por lo tanto, todo el discurso que sigue a esas palabras—"Ha llegado la hora de que el Hijo del hombre sea glorificado"—es una expresión de la realización de Jesús de lo que ahora debe suceder.
          Jesús revela algo del drama de este momento cuando dice "Ahora que tengo miedo." Tal vez él no esperaba que este momento llegaría tan pronto; y así la ansiedad por lo que tendrá que sufrir le agarra a él. Es un momento liminal para él: un momento de decisión. Sabía, sin embargo, que sufrir y morir por la salvación de la raza humana fue el propósito por el que fue enviado y por eso, a pesar de su ansiedad, se niega a alejarse—o incluso a pedir ser relevado de esta carga—y ora, más bien, que el Padre dale gloria a su nombre. En otras palabras, en lugar de tratar de protegerse a sí mismo, siguió a la voluntad del Padre hasta el final.
          Todos y cada uno de nosotros ha vivido un momento liminal en una forma u otra: un momento en el que el resultado positivo depende de si o no elegimos a huir de una situación peligrosa o incómoda o que aguantar hasta el final. Tal vez, sin embargo, a diferencia de Jesús o santos como Juan de Brebeuf, que hemos fallado a elegir el camino difícil—el camino del sacrificio de si y la incomodidad—en lugar de elegir la protección de si o la comodidad. Si es así, la Cuaresma nos ofrece la oportunidad de pedir perdón por estas fallas, así como la oportunidad de elegir de nuevo para seguir a Cristo—es decir, que "se aborrece a sí mismo" con el fin de se asegura para la vida eterna—que es el grano que muere, a fin de producir mucho fruto.
          Algunos años después de la muerte de San Juan de Brebeuf y sus compañeros nació una niña iroquesa que, a pesar de la resistencia de su familia y otras personas en su aldea, convertiría al cristianismo. Esta chica es la mujer que hoy conocemos como Santa Kateri Tekakwitha: la primera santa nativa americana. Ella es la primera de las joyas de la corona del martirio que San Juan y sus compañeros recibieron; que demuestra de hecho que el grano de trigo tiene que ser sembrando en la tierra y morir para producir mucho fruto.
          Por supuesto, es sólo Dios quién sabe qué fruta se produce cuando damos nuestras vidas por completo a él. La nuestra, de hecho, no es saber la fruta. Más bien, la nuestra es ser la semilla que está de acuerdo en ser sembrando y morir para que una cosecha abundante podría ser producido. Mis hermanos y hermanas, la Cuaresma es el tiempo para ofrecer una vez más a nosotros mismos para ser las semillas de Dios y este domingo marca un momento liminal en este tiempo santo: porque el próximo domingo comenzamos la Semana Santa. Por lo tanto, vamos a tomar la decisión hoy de ser “semillas muriendo” para Dios y así seguir a Cristo todo el camino a la Cruz; para que nosotros, también, podría llegar a ser glorificado con él en su gloria Pascual: la gloria que vislumbramos aquí en esta Santa Eucaristía.

Dado en la parroquia de San Jose: Rochester, IN – 21 de marzo, 2015

Be a Dying Seed

          Okay, so I didn't get around to writing a blog about the Cursillo weekend.  It's not because it wasn't a good weekend... the week definitely got away from me!  My reflections will have to come at a later date, though, because this week is already running away from me.  We're definitely praying for the women's Cursillo weekend coming up next weekend.  May God bless the team and candidates with His Spirit!

          One thing that was clear to me over the weekend is that I am continually being called to die to myself so that my life might bear abundant fruit for God's kingdom.  May all of us agree to be "dying seeds" for God's kingdom so that we all might know the joy of Christ's Easter glory!

-------------------------------------------

Homily: 5th Sunday of Lent – Cycle B
          Saint John de Brebeuf was a French Jesuit and martyr from the 17th century.  He was raised in France and it was there that he entered the Jesuit order.  He was a good student and he had an ear for languages.  His work as a student (and later as a teacher) was often hindered, however, because of health problems that he endured.  John would find new life, however, when his superior would send him to work in their mission in North America.  He spent a couple of years with the Algonquin tribe in Quebec, but then felt a call to go out into the yet untapped mission of the Huron nation.
          This was a difficult and dangerous mission.  Difficult because there had not yet been any significant contact between the Huron and the European settlers and so John and his companions had to begin by first learning their culture and language.  Dangerous because the Huron were always under threat of attack from the Iroquois, a rival nation.  John and his companions persevered, however, and eventually over seven thousand persons would convert to Christianity through their efforts.
          All the while, the Huron nation was weakening in its defenses and the Iroquois were strengthening.  In 1649 the Iroquois launched a fierce attack on the Huron nation.  At this point, John and his companions were well beloved by the Huron and so they urged them to flee their village before the Iroquois arrived.  John and his companions refused, however, and eventually were captured, horrifically tortured, and killed.
          This moment of the attack was a liminal moment for John and his companions.  It was a moment of decision; a decision which would have a profound impact on the rest of their lives and the legacy that they would leave behind.  They could have responded to the urging of the Huron and fled until they could return safely; but instead they stayed with their beloved Huron to the end.
          In our Gospel reading today, Jesus has also encountered a liminal moment.  In it, some Greeks come forward seeking to see Jesus.  When Jesus hears of this, he says something strange.  He says, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.”  We might expect him to say either “Great! Show them in.” or “Tell the Greeks that I came for the Jews, so I will not see them.”  The answer that John records for us in the Gospel, however, is not expected; that is, not unless you understand what had been prophesied about the coming of God’s kingdom.
          You see, in the Old Testament prophecies, it was foretold that, when the kingdom of God was made manifest, all nations (the Jews and the Gentiles) would “stream towards Jerusalem” and worship God at his temple.  And so, when these Greeks (that is, Gentiles) came looking for Jesus, he knew that the time to fulfill his purpose had arrived.  In other words, this seemingly harmless request was a sign to Jesus that his ministry of preaching and healing was coming to an end and that he must now go to be killed in order to redeem mankind.  Therefore, the entire speech that follows those words—“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified”—is an expression of Jesus’ realization of what now must happen.
          Jesus reveals something of the drama of this moment when he says “I am troubled now.”  Perhaps he wasn’t expecting this moment to come so soon and so anxiety over what he will have to suffer grips him.  It’s a liminal moment for him: a moment of decision.  He knew, however, that to suffer and to die for the salvation of the human race was the purpose for which he was sent and so, in spite of his anxiety, he refuses to walk away—or even to plead to be relieved of this burden—and he prays, rather, that the Father would glorify his name.  In other words, instead of trying to protect himself, he followed his Father’s will until the end.
          Each and every one of us has experienced a liminal moment in one form or another: a moment in which the positive outcome depends on whether or not we choose to flee from a dangerous or uncomfortable situation or to endure it until the end.  Perhaps, however, unlike Jesus or saints like John de Brebeuf and his companions, we’ve failed to choose the difficult path—the path of self-sacrifice and discomfort—instead choosing self-protection or comfort.  If so, then Lent provides us with the opportunity to ask forgiveness for these failures as well as the opportunity to choose again to follow Christ—that is, to “hate” our lives so as to preserve them for eternal life—to be the grain that dies, so as to produce much fruit.
          Some years after the death of Saint John de Brebeuf and his companions a girl was born of Iroquois descent who, in spite of resistance from her family and others in her village, would convert to Christianity.  This girl is the woman we know today as Saint Kateri Tekakwitha: the first Native American saint.  She is the first of the jewels in the crowns of martyrdom that Saint John and his companions received; demonstrating indeed that a grain of wheat must fall to the ground and die for it to produce much fruit.
          Of course, it is only God who knows what fruit will be produced when we give our lives completely over to him.  Ours, in fact, is not to know the fruit.  Rather, ours is to be the seed that agrees to fall to the ground and die so that an abundant harvest might be produced.  My brothers and sisters, Lent is the time to once again offer ourselves to be those seeds for God and this Sunday marks a liminal moment in this holy season: for next Sunday we begin Holy Week.  Therefore, let us make the decision today to be dying seeds for God and so to follow Christ, all the way to the Cross; so that we, too, might come to be glorified with him in his Easter glory: the glory that we glimpse—even if only obscurely—here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 22nd, 2015

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Perdido en el paisaje

          No deje caer en los mismos hábitos en esta Cuaresma! Que Jesús vuelca las mesas de los familiares en sus corazones! Orar, Escuchar, Actuar y Repetir, y usted tendrá la mejor Cuaresma nunca porque estarás más cerca que nunca a Jesús.

(Nota al margen: Voy a estar haciendo el Cursillo este próximo fin de semana, así que no voy a publicar una homilía. Tal vez, sin embargo, voy a pensar en publicar algunas reflexiones sobre mi experiencia. Por favor oren por mí y los hombres haciendo. el Cursillo conmigo!)

----------------------------------------------------

Homilía: 3º Domingo de Cuaresma – Ciclo B
          Hay un cierto peligro en el familiar. La familiaridad tiende a adormecer en la complacencia. Esto no es necesariamente una mala cosa, pero la complacencia nos puede dejar vulnerable a ser tomado por sorpresa por las cosas. La familiaridad también conduce a la rutina. Como seres humanos, somos criaturas de hábito y nos gusta cuando las cosas son predecibles. Por lo tanto, tenemos una "rutina de la mañana" en la que repetir más o menos los mismos hechos cada mañana, así que no tenemos que pensar en lo que tenemos que hacer para levantarse y seguir con nuestro día. El problema con este tipo de familiaridad es que el mundo que nos rodea se desvanece rápidamente en el paisaje y ya no se registra en nuestra conciencia como algo de lo que a tener en cuenta.
          He sufrido de esto por mí mismo. Cuando viaje a San Meinrad, donde fui al seminario, tienes que navegar a unas 8 millas de un camino de dos carriles después de salir de la autopista. En mis primeros años en el seminario, esta fue una de las partes más agradables de el viaje al pasar muy cerca de los campos y masías, alguno completas con gallinas picoteando en el patio delantero. Después de seis años, sin embargo, este camino se hizo tan familiar que prácticamente podía navegar con mis ojos cerrados. A veces he experimentado que había pasado algunos de los "hitos" en el camino sin haber reconocí que yo los había visto. Porque estaba tan familiarizado con el camino, el paisaje circundante ya no entró en mi conciencia. Creo que la mayoría de nosotros puede reconocer esta experiencia en nuestra propia vida: en nuestro viaje al trabajo, nuestras escuelas y aulas, las oficinas y edificios de oficinas, en nuestros barrios, y con frecuencia también en nuestras relaciones, cosas se familiarizan y así desaparecer de nuestra conciencia.
          En nuestra primera lectura de hoy, escuchamos el relato de los Diez Mandamientos. Para muchos de nosotros, sospecho que la escucha de estos siendo leído es como conducir por el camino al seminario: a medida que avanza en lo, que podría detenerse y pensar a nosotros mismos, "Espera, qué dijo el sexto mandamiento? No recuerdo escucharlo." Para muchos de nosotros, los Diez Mandamientos son tal vez tan familiares que se han convertido en "parte del paisaje" y ya no impactan en nuestra conciencia cotidiana.
          Los antiguos Judíos también cayó en esta trampa de familiaridad. Habían tenido la Ley de muchos años y la mayoría de las personas estaban muy familiarizadas con él y con sus demandas. Por lo tanto, ya no pensaban en la Ley, sino que había trabajado su vida a su alrededor. Tanto es así que convirtieron el culto del templo—es decir, los sacrificios que fueron prescritos por la ley—en un negocio con fines de lucro.
          Entonces Jesús irrumpe en la escena y se vuelca el familiar. Él ve la forma en que Satanás, el padre de la mentira, había distorsionado la verdad de lo que se suponía que el culto del templo para representar: el hombre, en una relación especial con Dios, para ofrecer sacrificios, tanto en el culto y homenaje del todopoderoso creador del universo y en expiación por los delitos contra Él. Ofrendas, intentadas de restaurar y mantener esa relación especial, habían sido distorsionadas en demandas frías y las transacciones comerciales y este es lo que Jesús estaba echando fuera. Dando la vuelta a las mesas de la familiar, Jesús tenía la esperanza de volver a despertar la conciencia de la verdadera relación a la que Dios los había llamado.
          El celo con el que Jesús deseaba que el templo—la casa de su Padre—estar libre de contaminación es el mismo celo que tiene para nuestros corazones. Quiere volcar las mesas de lo familiar en nuestros corazones y expulsar a alguna de las imágenes distorsionadas de nuestro ser, de Dios y de lo que Dios pide de nosotros, así que una vez más podemos ver la belleza de la relación a la que ha llamado nosotros: tanto colectiva como pueblo de Dios y de forma individual como hijos e hijas adoptivas. /// La diferencia entre la limpieza de Jesús del Templo y su purificación de nuestros corazones es que él no puede estallar en nuestros corazones sin permiso; eso violaría nuestra dignidad. Más bien, él tiene que esperar a que le invitemos a fin de arrojar luz sobre todo que es falso, que no es santo, en nuestros corazones y en nuestras vidas.
          Mis hermanos y hermanas, si todo lo que hemos hecho en esta Cuaresma es asumir nuestras viejas prácticas familiares entonces tenemos poco más que esperar cuando llegamos al Domingo de Pascua que un sentimiento de alivio por no tener que mantener estas disciplinas más. El desafío que tenemos ante nosotros hoy es hacer esta Cuaresma de alguna manera diferente, al permitir a Cristo en nuestros corazones, al exponer a él todos aquellos aspectos de nosotros mismos de que no estamos orgullosos—las formas, tal vez, que nos hemos vuelto complacientes en siguiente sus mandamientos, sobre todo a lo adoran solo—y cooperando con él en el duro trabajo de sacar todo lo que no es puro, que eso no es verdad, de nuestras vidas.
          Mira, Jesús sabe que esto no es fácil para nosotros. Él sabe que el mundo nos va a tirar constantemente hacia la comodidad de la familiaridad. Y por lo que no espera que hagamos todo a la vez. Él simplemente le pide que empecemos. Una forma sencilla de comenzar este trabajo de conversión, es decir, de abrir nuestros corazones cada vez más a Cristo, es seguir estos cuatro pasos: orar, escuchar, actuar, repetir.
          Orar: Primero debemos orar para que Dios nos ayude a examinar nuestras conciencias e identificar aquellas cosas que necesitan ser expulsados. A medida que los revela a nosotros, tenemos que rezar para que él nos revele alguna manera que podamos actuar para superar esa disposición o actitud en nuestras vidas. Por ejemplo: tal vez reconocemos que luchamos con el egoísmo. Y por eso oramos para que Dios nos revele a alguien con quien podemos practicar el ser desinteresado en la próxima semana.
          Escuchar: Una vez que hemos identificado nuestro vicio y le pedimos a Dios que nos muestre cómo podemos superarlo, tenemos que escuchar—no sólo en el silencio de nuestro tiempo de oración, sino también a medida que avanzamos a través de nuestro día—para que Dios se revele a nosotros cómo, en las circunstancias concretas de nuestro día, hemos de actuar para sacar a este vicio de nuestros corazones. En otras palabras, escuchamos a esa pequeña voz que nos dice: "¡Espera! ¡No seas egoísta aquí!"
          Actuar: Si somos sinceros en nuestra oración y atento en nuestra vida diaria, pronto veremos cómo es que Dios nos ha pedido dar de nosotros mismos de una manera que supera nuestro vicio. Cuando esto sucede, estamos llamados a responder. Por lo general, será inesperado, pero cuando respondemos a estas inspiraciones del Espíritu Santo para los que hemos orado intencionadamente, nuestros corazones cambian y vuelto más y más abierto a permitir que Cristo habite en nosotros y dirija nuestra vida cotidiana.
          Repetición: Una vez que haya respondido entonces la parte difícil comienza realmente, porque mantener esta práctica durante toda la vida, sin permitir que usted se convierta complacientes debido a la familiaridad, es realmente una tarea difícil. Es una tarea, sin embargo, que le hará un santo.
          Mis hermanos y hermanas, que sólo pueden superar los malos hábitos mediante el cultivo de los buenos y si tratamos de hacerlo por nosotros mismos, estamos destinados al fracaso. Si dejamos que Cristo dirigir la forma en que cultivamos estos buenos hábitos, sin embargo, nuestros esfuerzos no sólo van a ser sostenido, pero que van a llevar alegría a nuestras vidas.
          Y así, si su Cuaresma ha comenzado lentamente, no te preocupes... porque hay una aplicación para eso: orar, escuchar, actuar, repetir. Mis hermanos y hermanas, permiten Cristo a entregar lo familiar en sus corazones para que la alegría de la Resurrección—la alegría de la verdadera liberación de la familiaridad del mundo—puede ser tuyo esta Pascua.
Dado en la parroquia de Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN

8º de marzo, 2015

Lost in the landscape

          Don't let yourself fall into the same old habits this Lent!  Let Jesus turn over the tables of the familiar in your hearts!  Pray, Listen, Act, and Repeat, and you'll have the best Lent ever because you'll be closer than ever to Jesus.

(Side note: I'll be making the Cursillo weekend this coming weekend, so I won't be posting a homily.  Perhaps, however, I'll think to post some reflections about my experience.  Please pray for me and the men making the Cursillo weekend with me!)


----------------------------------------

Homily: 3rd Sunday of Lent – Cycle B
          There’s a certain danger in the familiar.  Familiarity tends to lull us into complacency.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but complacency can leave us vulnerable to being caught off-guard by things.  Familiarity also leads to routine.  As humans, we are creatures of habit and we like when things are predictable.  Thus, we have a “morning routine” in which we repeat pretty much the same acts every morning so that we don’t have to think about what we need to do to get up and get on with our day.  The problem with this kind of familiarity is that the surrounding world quickly fades back into the landscape and no longer registers in our consciousness as something of which to take account.
          I’ve suffered from this myself.  When you travel to Saint Meinrad, where I went to seminary, there’s an approximately 8-mile strip of Indiana Route 62 that you must navigate after exiting Interstate 64 coming from the east.  In my first years at the seminary, this was one of the most enjoyable parts of the trip as I passed in close proximity to fields and farmhouses, some complete with hens pecking around in the front yard.  After six years, however, this strip of road became so familiar that I practically could navigate it with my eyes closed.  At times I experienced that I had passed some of the “milestones” along the way without having acknowledged that I had seen them.  Because I was so familiar with the road, the surrounding landscape no longer entered my consciousness.  I think most of us can recognize this experience in our own lives: in our commute to work, our schools and classrooms, our offices and office buildings, in our neighborhoods, and often too in our relationships things become familiar and thus fade out of our consciousness.
          In our first reading today, we heard the recounting of the Ten Commandments.  For many of us, I suspect that listening to these being read is kind of like making that drive down Route 62: as it goes on we might stop and think to ourselves, “Wait, did he/she say the 6th one?  I don’t remember hearing it.”  For many of us, the Ten Commandments are perhaps so familiar that they’ve become “part of the landscape” and no longer impact our daily consciousness.
          The ancient Jews also fell into this trap of familiarity.  They had had the Law for many years and most people were very familiar with it and with its demands.  Thus, they no longer thought about the Law, but rather had worked their lives around it.  So much so that they turned the Temple Cult—that is, the sacrificial offerings that were prescribed by the Law—into a business for profit.
          Then Jesus breaks into the scene and disrupts the familiar.  He sees the way that Satan, the father of lies, had distorted the truth of what the Temple Cult was supposed to represent: man, in a special relationship with God, offering sacrifices both in worship and homage of the all-powerful creator of the universe and in atonement for offenses against Him.  Offerings, meant to restore and maintain that special relationship, had been distorted into cold demands and business transactions and that is what Jesus was driving out.  By turning over the tables of the familiar, Jesus was hoping to reawaken an awareness of the true relationship to which God had called them.
          The zeal with which Jesus desired that the Temple—his Father’s house—be free from defilement is the same zeal that he has for our hearts.  He wants to turn over the tables of the familiar in our hearts and drive out any distorted images of self, of God, and of what God asks of us so that we can once again see the beauty of the relationship to which he has called us: both collectively as the People of God and individually as adopted sons and daughters.  The difference between Jesus’ cleansing of the Temple and his cleansing of our hearts is that he cannot just burst into our hearts without permission—for that would violate our dignity.  Rather, he must wait for us to invite him in so as to shed light on anything that is untrue, that is unholy in our hearts and our lives.
          My brothers and sisters, if all we have done this Lent is take up our old familiar practices then we have little more to hope for when we arrive at Easter Sunday than a feeling of relief for not having to maintain that discipline any longer.  The challenge we have before us today is to make this Lent somehow different by allowing Christ into our hearts, by exposing to him all of those aspects of ourselves that we are not proud of—the ways, perhaps, that we have become complacent in following his commandments, most especially to worship him alone—and by cooperating with him in the hard work of driving out all that isn’t pure, that isn’t true from our lives.
          Now, Jesus knows that this isn’t easy for us.  He knows that the world is constantly going to pull us towards the comfort of familiarity.  And so he doesn’t expect us to do it all at once.  He simply asks that we begin.  A simple way to begin this work of conversion, that is, of opening our hearts more and more to Christ, is to follow these four steps: pray, listen, act, repeat.
          Pray:  First we must pray that God will help us to examine our consciences and identify those things that need to be driven out.  As he reveals them to us, we need to pray that he will reveal to us some way that we can act to overcome that disposition or attitude in our lives.  For example: perhaps we recognize that we struggle with selfishness.  And so we pray that God will reveal to us someone with whom we can practice being selfless in the coming week.
          Listen:  Once we’ve identified our vice and asked God to show us how we can overcome it, we need to listen—not just in the silence of our prayer time, but also as we go through our day—for God to reveal to us how, in the concrete circumstances of our day, we are to act to drive out this vice from our hearts.  In other words, we listen for that little voice saying to us “Wait! Don’t be selfish here!”
          Act:  If we are sincere in our prayer and attentive in our daily living, we will soon see how it is that God has asked us to give of ourselves in a way that overcomes our vice.  It will click like a light bulb going on.  When this happens we are called to respond.  It usually will be unexpected, but when we respond to these intentionally prayed-for promptings of the Holy Spirit, our hearts slowly change and we become more and more open to allowing Christ to dwell in us and to direct our daily lives.
          Repeat:  Once you’ve responded then the hard part truly begins because maintaining this practice over a lifetime, without allowing yourself to become complacent because of familiarity, is truly a challenging task.  It is a task, however, that will make you a saint.
          My brothers and sisters, we can only overcome bad habits by cultivating good ones and if we try to do it ourselves, we are bound to fail.  If we let Christ direct the way that we cultivate these good habits, however, then our efforts are not only going to be sustained but they’re going to bring joy to our lives as well.
          And so, if your Lent has gotten a slow start, don’t worry… because there’s an app for that: pray, listen, act, repeat.  My brothers and sisters, let Christ turn over the familiar in your hearts so that the joy of the Resurrection—the joy of true liberation from the mundane familiarity of the world—may be yours this Easter.

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

Monday, March 2, 2015

"I can't hear you, Jesus, because I'm not listening."

          In the story of the Transfiguration of Jesus, God does two amazing things: 1) He confirms Jesus' identity as the Son of God, and 2) He gives a simple command to help guide us as disciples - Listen to him.  Abraham listened to God, even when He demanded something horrific, and he was abundantly blessed for placing his trust in God.  May we use this Lent to "turn off" some of the other noises in our lives so that we might begin to hear Jesus more clearly; for when we can hear him more clearly, we'll be more disposed to listen.

-----------------------------------------

Homily: 2nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle B
          For most of us, I would guess, the word holocaust is associated with the horrific events during World War II in which an attempt was made to eradicate the entire Jewish population from the European continent.  Although, technically speaking, this was not really a holocaust, but rather an attempt at genocide (a term indicating the complete eradication of a race of people), using the term holocaust to describe it is actually quite fitting.  You see, a holocaust is a form of ritual sacrifice in which the offering is completely burned up.  In this type of sacrifice, there is nothing that is held back.  To describe the attempted genocide of the Jews in World War II as a holocaust, therefore, is to describe how thoroughly complete its perpetrators intended it to be: if all had gone according to their intentions, then there would not have been one Jewish person left in the world.  Holocaust, therefore, aptly describes the gravity of these events.
          In our first reading today from the Book of Genesis we hear how God commanded Abraham to take his son Isaac and to “offer him up as a holocaust”.  Even without knowledge of what a holocaust is, its association with those horrific events of World War II should give anyone in this church pause to think about what a horrific thing it was that God was asking Abraham to do.  Perhaps even more shocking, however, is that Abraham readily obeys this command of God, taking his son willingly to the high place that God would point out to them in order to murder him and then, essentially, to cremate him.  I mean, how was this even possible?  If I had to guess, I’d say that it was because Abraham had learned not only to hear God’s voice, but rather how to listen to him, as well.
          Although we can sometimes use these words interchangeably, I think that there is an important difference between hearing and listening.  We can hear something without necessarily listening to it.  It drives me crazy sometimes to visit my mom and dad because when they’re awake there is almost always a TV on, in spite of the fact that half of the time no one is watching it.  “I just have it on for noise”, my mom will say, “I’m not really listening to it.”  In other words, she could hear it, but she wasn’t listening. (On the flipside, one of my favorite ways to get her goat is to respond like this when she is trying to tell me something that she thinks is important, but that I don’t really want to hear: I’ll say, “What? Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t hear you because I’m not listening.”)  Hearing, it seems, is something passive: something that happens when sounds enter a properly functioning ear.  Listening, on the other hand, seems to be something active: an intentional hearing in which the sounds that one hears are consciously acknowledged.
          For Abraham to be able to respond to God’s command he had to have been listening to him.  In other words, he had to have heard God’s voice many times so as to recognize it clearly in order to have responded so readily to God when he gave him this horrific command.  And from the moment of that command, I imagine that Abraham must have been intently listening for God’s voice to come to him again, perhaps this time with a command to stop the sacrifice before it was completed.  How else could Abraham have stopped so abruptly, knife in hand and ready to slaughter his son, if he wasn’t continually listening for God’s voice?  We are quick to commend Abraham for his obedience to God by being willing to sacrifice his son at God’s command, but how often do we commend Abraham for his obedience to God when God commanded him to stop at the moment when the sacrifice was about to take place?  If he had stopped listening, Isaac would have died.  Abraham listened, however, and for that he was given abundant blessings.
          In our Gospel reading today, we heard Mark’s account of the Transfiguration, in which Jesus allowed the hidden glory of his divinity to shine forth outwardly in the presence of his “inner circle” of disciples, Peter, James and John.  Then, the cloud of God’s presence descended upon them and God’s voice was heard in the midst of the cloud saying: “This is my beloved Son.  Listen to him.”  Listen to him.  Interesting that the Father chose to use the word listen.  He could have used any number of words.  For example, he could have said: “This is my beloved Son.  Imitate him”, but he didn’t.  He said listen.  Therefore, my brothers and sisters, it is not enough for us merely to hear Jesus.  Rather, we must also listen.  It begins with hearing, of course, and so the first question that we need to ask ourselves is “Can I hear him?”  In other words, “Is my world so full of noise that I couldn’t hear Jesus’ voice, even if I wanted to?”  If the answer is “yes” then congratulations because you have an opportunity to have the most incredible Lent of your life: the only way you can go is up!  If the answer is “no” and the reality of your life is that Jesus’ voice is just one of many that you hear day in and day out, then you have to ask yourself this question: “Will I listen to him?”  Perhaps for most of us this is the question that we have to face this day.  If so, then our Lenten practices can help us say “yes” to listen to Jesus.
          By fasting, we begin to turn off the noise generated both in the world around us and in our own hearts: for when we fast from material things, we also calm the passions in our hearts that can keep us from listening.  This, of course, leads into prayer: in which we intentionally listen for God speaking to us.  Then, in giving alms, we listen for the Lord’s voice speaking to us in the voices of the “least of these”: the poor with whom he identified himself in the famous chapter from Matthew’s Gospel.
          My brothers and sisters, during Lent, God calls us to renew our commitment to make our lives a holocaust to him: a holy sacrifice in which nothing is held back for ourselves.  He is not asking for a senseless abandonment—it would have been incredibly sinful for Abraham to choose for himself to make a holocaust of his son—rather, God is asking for a trusting response from one who listens to him: a response like Abraham made when he did not withhold his son and like Jesus made when he did not withhold his own life.  Let us, therefore, pray for the faith to listen, like Abraham did, and for his courage to act, so that we, too, might see and share in the glory of God—the transfigured glory of Jesus that we will soon encounter here, veiled in the form of bread and wine.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 1st, 2015