Sunday, October 30, 2016

Cubriendo nuestras faltas con la misericordia

Homilía: 31º Domingo del Tiempo Ordinario – Ciclo C
          Hay una historia sobre una pareja casada—no estoy seguro de lo que eran sus nombres, pero llamémoslos Lorenzo y Sara—que había estado casado 15 años. Lorenzo y Sara comenzaron a tener más que los problemas usuales que las parejas casadas tienen y comenzaron a sentir como si hubieran perdido su camino y que su matrimonio estaba en crisis. Ninguno de los dos estaba dispuesto a renunciar a la unión, sin embargo, por lo que ambos decidieron trabajar en él. Sara tenía una idea de cómo cambiar las cosas. Su idea era hacer dos cajas: una para Lorenzo y uno para ella. Las cajas eran "cajas de fallos" y la idea era que cada vez que sea Lorenzo o Sara estaba irritado por algo que el otro lo hizo, él o ella podría escribir lo que era en un trozo de papel y ponerlo en la caja. Entonces, cuando el otro vio lo que había sido escrito, él o ella sería consciente de las muchas maneras en que él o ella creó tensión entre ellos.
          Tanto Sara y Lorenzo fueron diligentes en el llenado de los pequeños trozos de papel. Entonces, después de hacer esto durante un mes, la pareja se sentó después de la cena una noche para abrir sus cajas y revisar todos los pequeños trozos. Como Lorenzo hojeó las hojas de papel que leer cosas como "dejando abierto el tarro de jalea", "toallas mojadas en el piso del baño", "calcetines sucios no en el cesto", y así sucesivamente. Lorenzo empezó a pensar seriamente en cómo las pequeñas cosas a las que no le prestan mucha atención fueron creando grandes problemas en el corazón de su esposa. Sara luego abrió la caja y se puso a leer los pequeños trozos. Todos dijeron lo mismo. En cada hoja de papel que Lorenzo dejó caer en la caja escribió simplemente, "Te amo." No es necesario decir, tal vez, pero la crisis terminó en este momento.
          Lo que Lorenzo demostró fue el poder de la misericordia. Ya ves, no era que no creía que Sara tenía ningún fallo, ni era que él estaba tratando de hacer que ella se ignore sus propios defectos, pero más bien era que decidió encubrir esas faltas con la misericordia. ¿Y no es esto exactamente lo que Dios hace con nosotros? En el libro de la Sabiduría, la primera lectura de hoy, leemos: "Amas todo cuanto existe y no aborreces nada de lo que has hecho; pues si hubieras aborrecido alguna cosa, no la habrías creado... Perdonas a todos, porque todos son tuyos, Señor, que amas la vida, porque tu espíritu inmortal, está en todos los seres." Dios ama todo lo que él ha hecho, ¡sobre todo cada uno de nosotros! Y así, a pesar de que él ve todos nuestros defectos, que se esfuerza por encubrirlos con misericordia.
          Sin embargo, ¿cuántas veces pensamos que Dios nos mira como Sara miró a Lorenzo, como una bolsa de fallos que deben ser corregidos? ¡Él sabe que hagamos! Pero esta es una de las muchas razones por las que envió a su Hijo para asumir nuestra naturaleza humana: de modo que, por la forma en que nos trataba mientras caminaba entre nosotros, pudimos conocer la forma en que siempre nos ha tratado, que es la forma en que nos va a tratar para siempre. Y esta gran historia de Jesús y Zaqueo, el publicano, que hemos escuchado en nuestra lectura del Evangelio, es sólo un ejemplo.
          Zaqueo era un gran pecador a los ojos de todos, porque era un publicano, lo que significaba que era un colaborador de los romanos que ocupaban sus tierras. Los publicanos no se les paga de los romanos, así que le añadieron las tasas de los impuestos que recogen al fin de ganar dinero. Estos fueron completamente desregulados, por lo que los publicanos frecuentemente se hicieron ricos mediante el aprovechamiento de sus parientes, lo que los despreciaron aún más. Zaqueo, el Evangelio dice, era un jefe de los publicanos, lo que significaba que estaba particularmente despreciado por el pueblo. Tal vez por eso, cuando Jesús vino a pasar a través de Jericó, Zaqueo, que era muy curioso sobre él y, por lo tanto, quería verlo, no estaba preocupado por lo extraño que debe haber parecido para él, un hombre adulto, subir a un árbol para que pudiera verlo: hace mucho tiempo que había renunciado a su preocupación por la opinión pública.
          Tal vez Jesús se fijó en él en el árbol y preguntó por él; o tal vez sus discípulos se fijaron en él y decidieron decirle a Jesús sobre él. De cualquier manera, Jesús llegó a saber quién era y, tal vez, un poco de su historia: en especial la forma en que se había convertido en rico como publicano. Jesús tuvo que tomar una decisión. ¿Se centrará en los fallos de Zaqueo o tendría que encubrir sus faltas con la misericordia? Creo que vemos, por supuesto, que Jesús hizo el segundo: invitando a sí mismo a la casa de Zaqueo para que pudiera expresar el amor de Dios por él y, por lo tanto, instarlo a dejar fuera cualquier trato de pecado en su vida. Por lo tanto, después de haber sido tratado con misericordia, Zaqueo convierte su vida y se compromete a restituir sus tratos injustos. En otras palabras, la crisis de si o no Zaqueo podría perderse al pecado para siempre terminó cuando Jesús encubrió sus faltas con la misericordia.
          Mis hermanos y hermanas, de muchas maneras, esto es exactamente la razón por la cual el Papa Francisco pidió para un Año Jubilar de la Misericordia: él quería que experimentemos de nuevo cómo Dios encubre nuestras faltas con la misericordia. Más que eso, sin embargo, él quería que aprendemos de nuevo que nuestra experiencia de la misericordia de Dios es una experiencia que está destinado a ser compartida. En otras palabras, el Papa espera que, a través de nuestra experiencia de la misericordia del Padre, que se convertiremos a ser "misericordiosos como el Padre", como se dice el lema del Año de la Misericordia.
          Hermanos, esta experiencia de la misericordia viene a nosotros cada vez que celebramos la Eucaristía. A medida que nos acercamos a este altar hoy en día, vamos a abrir nuestros corazones para experimentar la misericordia de Dios de nuevo una vez más—la experiencia de Dios viendo nuestras faltas y encubriéndolos con amor—para que podamos salir de aquí dispuestos a compartir esa experiencia con todo el mundo hasta que el día en que todos somos uno con nuestro Padre misericordioso en el cielo.
Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN

30 de Octubre, 2016

Covering our faults with mercy

Homily: 31st Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C
          There’s a story about a married couple—I’m not sure what their names were, but let’s call them Lawrence and Sarah—who had been married 15 years.  Larry and Sarah began to have more than the usual trouble that married couples have and they started to feel as if they had lost their way and that their marriage was in crisis.  Neither of them was ready to give up on the marriage, however, so they both decided to work on it.  Sarah had an idea of how to turn things around.  Her idea was to make a box: one for Larry and one for her.  The boxes were “Fault Boxes” and the idea was that every time either Larry or Sarah was irritated by something the other one did, he or she would write what that was on a slip of paper and drop it in the box.  Then, when the other one saw what had been written, he or she would be aware of many of the ways that he or she created tension between them.
          Both Sarah and Larry were diligent in filling out the little slips of paper.  Then, after doing this for a month, the couple sat down after dinner one night to open their boxes and review all of the little slips.  As Larry flipped through the pieces of paper he read things like “leaving the jelly top off of the jar,” “wet towels on the bathroom floor,” “dirty socks not in the hamper,” and on and on.  Larry began to think seriously about how the little things to which he didn’t pay much attention were creating big problems in his wife’s heart.  Sarah then opened her box and began to read the little slips.  They all said the same thing.  On each slip of paper that Larry dropped in the box he wrote, simply, “I love you.”  Needless, perhaps, to say, but the crisis ended right there.
          What Larry demonstrated was the power of mercy.  You see, it wasn’t that he didn’t think that Sarah had any faults, nor was it that he was trying to get her to ignore his own faults, but rather it was that he decided to cover over those faults with mercy.  And isn’t this exactly what God does with us?  In the Book of Wisdom, today’s first reading, we read: “For you love all things that are and loathe nothing that you have made; for what you hated, you would not have fashioned… But you spare all things, because they are yours, O Lord and lover of souls, for your imperishable spirit is in all things!”  God loves everything that he has made, especially each one of us!  And so, even though he sees all of our faults, he strives to cover over them with mercy.
          Yet how often do we think that God looks at us like Sarah looked at Larry, like a bag of faults that need to be fixed?  He knows that we do!  But this is one of the many reasons why he sent his Son to take on our human nature: so that, by the way he treated us as he walked among us, we could know how he has always treated us, which is how he will always treat us.  And this great story of Jesus and Zacchaeus the tax collector that we heard in our Gospel reading is just one example.
          Zacchaeus was a grave sinner in the eyes of all because he was a tax collector, which meant that he was a collaborator with the Romans who were occupying their land.  Tax collectors didn’t get paid from the Romans, so they added fees to the taxes they collected in order to make money.  These were completely unregulated, so tax collectors often made themselves wealthy by taking advantage of their kinsman, thus making them despised all the more.  Zacchaeus, the Gospel says, was a chief tax collector, which meant that he was particularly despised by the people.  Perhaps this is why, when Jesus came to pass through Jericho, Zacchaeus, who was very curious about him and, thus, wanted to see him, wasn’t concerned about how funny it must have looked for him, a grown man, to climb up into a tree so that he could see him: he had given up his concern about public opinion long ago.
          Perhaps Jesus noticed him in the tree and asked about him; or perhaps his disciples noticed him and decided to tell Jesus about him.  Either way, Jesus came to know who he was and, perhaps, some of his story: especially how he had become wealthy as a tax collector.  Jesus had a decision to make, however.  Would he focus on Zacchaeus’ faults or would he cover over his faults with mercy?  I think that we see, of course, that Jesus did the latter: inviting himself to Zacchaeus’ house so that he could express God’s love for him and, thus, urge him to leave off any sinful dealings in his life.  Thus, having been treated with mercy, Zacchaeus converts his life and promises to make restitution for his unjust dealings.  In other words, the crisis of whether or not Zacchaeus might be lost to sin forever ended when Jesus covered over his faults with mercy.
          My brothers and sisters, in so many ways, this is exactly why Pope Frances called for Jubilee Year of Mercy: he wanted us to experience anew how God covers over our faults with mercy.  More than that, however, he wanted us to learn anew that our experience of God’s mercy is an experience that is meant to be shared.  In other words, the Pope hopes that, through our experience of the Father’s mercy, we will become “merciful like the Father”, as the motto for the Year of Mercy reads.
          Friends, this experience of mercy comes to us every time that we celebrate the Holy Eucharist.  As we approach this altar today, let us open our hearts to experience God’s mercy anew once again—the experience of God seeing our faults and covering them with love—so that we might go forth from here ready to share that experience with everyone until the day we all are one with our merciful Father in heaven.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 29th, 2016

Sunday, October 23, 2016

La santidad es un don para ser compartido con otros.

          Si alguno de ustedes estaban buscando una homilía la semana pasada, no me olvido de poner una! Yo estaba de vacaciones y por lo tanto tenía una semana libre de la predicación. Espero que estos siguen siendo provechoso a todos los que los leen!

------------------------------------------------
Homilía: 30º Domingo en el Tiempo Ordinario – Ciclo C
          El Evangelio de hoy nos ofrece una parábola que es muy familiar para nosotros; pero es uno que también nos debe ofender. Por todos los estándares medibles, el fariseo vive una vida recta, lo guarda del pecado y que va más allá del mínimo de la observancia religiosa. Sin embargo, él es condenado por Cristo, mientras que el publicano—un pecador público que colaboró con las autoridades romanas y lleva a cabo la extorsión de sus compañeros Judíos—él es elogiado. Ahora mi pregunta no es que el publicano no debe ser elogiado, porque, obviamente, demuestra su arrepentimiento ante Dios, sino más bien, ¿no deben ser elogiados los dos? Es decir, es casi como si Jesús está diciendo "Es mejor si usted es un pecador y se arrepiente, que si nunca has pecado y te mantienes recto delante de Dios." Ciertamente esto no nos parece bien, ¿verdad?
          Sabemos que Jesús hizo pasar mal a los fariseos porque con mucha frecuencia los encontró viviendo con hipocresía: es decir, que enseña una cosa y vivieron sus vidas de otra manera. Tal vez Jesús quería que nosotros aplicamos este estereotipo al fariseo en su parábola y, por lo tanto, ya se le juzgará mal. Si nos fijamos de nuevo en la línea que comienza nuestra lectura del Evangelio, creo que tenemos una pista de que esto es exactamente lo que él quería que hiciéramos. Se dice: "Jesús dijo esta parábola sobre algunos que se tenían por justos y despreciaban a los demás." Jesús, al parecer, no se condena a los fariseos por ser demasiado piadoso, sino que desprecio otros que no eran tan piadoso como él. El fariseo, agradeció a Dios por su justicia, pero con arrogancia. No pudo ver que esta justicia viene con una responsabilidad: la responsabilidad de ayudar (o, al menos, tener simpatía por) los que han fallado, en su fragilidad humana, para adquirir la justicia de Dios, también.
          En nuestro tiempo, ciertamente hay los que emulan las peores caricaturas de los fariseos: los que parecen piadosa en su observancia religiosa, pero que no viven esta piedad en su vida cotidiana. En otras palabras, ellos son hipócritas: no practicar lo que sus actos piadosos proclaman que lo hacen. No obstante, hay otros "fariseos" en nuestro tiempo que son como el que está en el Evangelio de hoy: que realmente viven vidas rectas y superan los requisitos mínimos de observancia religiosa y son rápidos para condenar los "publicanos" del mundo: los que persistir en la conducta pecaminosa y los que apoyan las estructuras sociales que le dan su aprobación para ellos.
          Una vez más, este es el pecado por el cual se condena el fariseo: era incapaz de simpatizar con el publicano y reconocer en él su propia debilidad y fragilidad. Por lo tanto no fue capaz de acompañar al publicano y alentar su conversión. ¿Con qué frecuencia nuestros modernos "fariseos" condenan a los que se dedican a prácticas pecaminosas; y en sus esfuerzos para condenar la práctica, terminan centrándose en el pecador? Se niegan a acercarse a ellos para acompañarlos y alentarlos hacia la conversión. En lugar de ello, comienzan a acusarles, diciendo cosas como: "Esa gente es condenable, porque apoyan las leyes que protegen aborto..." o "... promueven el uso de la anticoncepción artificial..." o "... apoyan redefinir la institución del matrimonio y la familia... "
          Pero esto es lo que Francisco ha intentado destacar a lo largo de su pontificado y especialmente en este año de misericordia. Al principio él fue criticado porque no hablaba más en contra del aborto, el uso de la anticoncepción artificial, el matrimonio del mismo sexo, las mujeres sacerdotes, etc., pero no se quiere quedar centrado en cuestiones. Más bien, él quería centrarse en las personas. "Vamos a pasar menos tiempo de condenar y más tiempo de acompañar a los sumidos en el pecado", parece decir. "De esta manera, mostraremos más auténticamente la misericordia de Dios a los demás."
          Y así, si estamos sumidos en el pecado o vivir una vida recta, el mensaje de la parábola de Jesús es esto: no presume su justicia. Luchar por ella, sí. Da gracias a Dios por cualquier obra justa que hayas hecho o actitud que posees, sí; pero no presume. Si usted es un gran pecador, entonces lo admite. No deje que su orgullo te ciegue a esto hasta que muere y termina en el infierno. Si usted está en el camino de la rectitud, dar gracias, pero nunca presume que ha conquistado toda debilidad humana. Por el contrario, continúe humillarse en la presencia del Señor. Si usted no tiene ningún pecado grave, luego confesar los pecados más pequeños con regularidad. Su humilde confesión será oída, y Dios los fortalecerá a medida que continúe hacia la rectitud.
          Tal vez podría ofrecer mi propia parábola para imitar la de Jesús y conectarlo a nuestra experiencia moderna. Dos personas llegaron a la confesión. Una confesó de esta manera: "Oh, yo realmente no hacer nada malo, Padre. Vengo a misa, doy en la ofrenda con regularidad, y rezo para la mayor parte del tiempo. Supongo que me enojé con mi esposo un par de veces, pero eso es todo." El otro confesó de esta manera: "Padre, he estado haciendo bien con la oración y he asistido en la misa todos los domingos (y durante la semana, si puedo hacerlo) y he estado haciendo un gran esfuerzo para no criticar a mi esposo, pero el otro día alguien saco el tema de algo que mi esposo hizo y me cayó en criticar a él, y estoy muy molestado por eso. "Se puede ver que los dos están viviendo lo que, en el exterior, parece ser vidas rectas; pero la primera presupone su justicia, mientras que el segundo sigue humillarse ante Dios, confiando en que sólo él puede hacer justo a él o ella. Es este último ejemplo, que tiene que ser un modelo para nuestro tiempo.
          Pero espera, Padre, ¿no dice San Pablo algo sobre su esperanza para "la corona merecida"? Bien sí, estoy alegre que usted me pedí. Mira, a pesar de que San Pablo parece suponer por su rectitud, sin embargo, reconoce que todo viene de Dios, para que la corona se adjudicará de Dios. Pablo reconoce que era el Señor, que intervino para él y le proporcionó toda gracia para que pudiera llegar con seguridad en su recompensa celestial. Sin embargo, Pablo no desprecia a los que no lo han seguido en el camino de la justicia, sino que ofrece una palabra de aliento: que todos aquellos que esperan con amor su glorioso advenimiento recibirán la misma corona merecida.
          Así que de nuevo no es que tenemos la falsa humildad y negar que hemos hecho ninguna cosa buena, sino que reconocemos que esas cosas vienen de Dios y que constantemente hay que recurrir y confiar en él si se quiere lograr la corona. Nuestro mundo en este momento está llena de políticos tratando de proclamar su propia justicia por lo que va a votar por ellos. Volvamos atrás de eso y cambiar la conversación (en nuestras propias comunidades, por lo menos). En nuestro esfuerzo por vivir vidas rectas (y tiene que empezar por ahí, por cierto), también nos esforzamos para alcanzar a los "publicanos", entre nosotros, de entrar en relación con ellos, y pues invitarlos a experimentar la misericordia de Dios: primero por nuestra compañía amorosa y en segundo lugar por el encuentro de la misericordia de Dios a través de la conversión a y reconciliación con Dios.
          Mis hermanos y hermanas, esto es lo que el año de misericordia demanda de nosotros. Esto es lo que Jesús, que viene a nosotros en esta eucaristía que nos acompañe, desea que hacemos en respuesta a esta gracia. Tomemos este buen trabajo, por lo tanto, para que también nosotros, como el publicano humilde en la parábola de Jesús, podemos ser justificados; y que, después de haber sido justificados, nosotros también podríamos ser glorificados por toda la eternidad en el cielo.
Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN
23 de octubre, 2016

Holiness is a gift to be shared with others.

          If any of you were looking for a homily last week, I didn't forget to post one!  I was on vacation and so had a week off from preaching.  I hope that these continue to be helpful to all of you who read them!
----------------------------------------------
Homily: 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C
          Today's gospel provides us with a parable that is very familiar to us; but it is one that should also offend us.  By all measurable standards, the Pharisee lives an upright life: he keeps from sin and he goes beyond the minimum of religious observance.  Yet he is condemned by Christ, while the tax collector—a public sinner who collaborated with the Roman authorities and performed extortion on his fellow Jews—is commended.  Now my question is not that the tax collector shouldn’t be commended, because he obviously demonstrates his repentance before God, but rather, shouldn't both be commended?  I mean, it's almost like Jesus is saying "It's better if you're a sinner and repent, than if you have never sinned and stay upright in God's sight."  And that certainly doesn’t seem right, does it?
          We know that Jesus gave a hard time to the Pharisees because very often he found them living hypocritically: meaning they taught one thing and lived their lives another way.  Perhaps Jesus wanted us to apply this stereotype to the Pharisee in his parable and, thus, already judge him poorly.  If we look again at the line that begins our Gospel reading, I think we get a clue that this is exactly what he wanted us to do.  It says, "Jesus addressed this parable to those who were convinced of their own righteousness and despised everyone else."  Jesus, it seems wasn't condemning the Pharisee for being overly pious, but rather that he derided others who weren't as pious as he was.  The Pharisee thanked God for his righteousness, but arrogantly.  He failed to see that this righteousness came with a responsibility: a responsibility to help (or, at least, to have sympathy for) those who have failed in their human frailty to acquire God's righteousness, too.
          In our own time, there certainly are those who emulate the worst caricatures of the Pharisees: those who seem pious in their religious observance, but then who do not live this piety in their everyday lives.  In other words, they are hypocritical: not practicing what their pious acts proclaim that they do.  Nonetheless, there are other "Pharisees" in our time who are like the one in today's Gospel: they truly live upright lives and exceed the minimum requirements of religious observance and they are quick to condemn the "tax collectors" of the world: those who persist in sinful behavior and those who support social structures that give approval for it.
          Again, this is the sin for which the Pharisee is condemned: he was unable to sympathize with the tax collector and to recognize in him his own weakness and frailty.  Thus he was unable to accompany the tax collector and encourage his conversion.  How often do our modern "Pharisees" condemn those who engage in sinful practices; and in their efforts to condemn the practice, they end up focusing on the sinner?  They refuse to draw close to them—to accompany them—and to encourage them towards conversion.  Instead, they begin to point fingers, saying things like: “Those people are condemnable, because they support laws that protect abortion…” or “…promote the use of artificial contraception…” or “…support redefining the institution of marriage and the family…”
          But this is what Pope Francis has tried to highlight throughout his pontificate and especially in this year of mercy.  At first he was criticized because he didn't speak out more against abortion, the use of artificial contraception, same-sex marriage, women priests, etc., but he didn't want to get focused on issues.  Rather, he wanted to focus on people.  “Let's spend less time condemning and more time accompanying those mired in sin,” he seems to say.  “In this way, we will more authentically show God's mercy to others.”
          And so, whether we are mired in sin or living an upright life, the message from Jesus' parable is this: don't presume your righteousness.  Struggle for it, yes.  Give thanks to God for any righteous deed you did or attitude you possess, yes; but don't presume.  If you are a grave sinner, then admit it.  Don't let your pride blind you to it until you die and end up in hell.  If you are on the path of righteousness, give thanks, but never presume that you've conquered every human weakness.  Rather, continue to humble yourself before the Lord.  If you don't have any grave sin, then confess the smaller sins regularly.  Your humble confession will be heard and God will strengthen you as you continue towards righteousness.
          Perhaps I could offer my own parable to mimic Jesus' and connect it to our modern experience.  Two people came to confession.  One confessed in this way: “Oh, I don't really do anything bad, Father.  I come to Mass, I give regularly, and I pray most of the time.  I guess that I got mad at my spouse a couple of times, but that’s about it.”  The other confessed in this way: "Father, I've been doing well with praying and making it to Mass every Sunday (and during the week, if I can make it) and I’ve been making a big effort to keep from criticizing my spouse, but the other day someone brought up something my spouse did and I fell right into it and I’m so upset about it."  You can see that both are living what, on the outside, seem to be upright lives; but the first presumes his/her righteousness, while the second continues to humble him/herself before God, trusting that only he can make him/her righteous.  It is this latter example that needs to be a model for our time.
          But wait, Father, didn't Saint Paul say something about "a crown of righteousness awaits me"?  Why yes, I'm glad you asked.  You see, even though Saint Paul seems to presume his righteousness, he nonetheless acknowledges that it all comes from God—that the crown will be awarded from God.  Paul acknowledges that it was the Lord that intervened for him and provided him every grace so that he could arrive safely in his heavenly reward.  Yet Paul does not despise those have not followed him on the path of righteousness, but rather offers a word of encouragement: that all those who have longed for God's appearance will receive the same crown of righteousness.
          So again it is not that we have false humility and deny that we have ever done any good thing, but rather that we acknowledge that those things come from God and that we constantly must turn to and rely on him if we wish to achieve that crown.  Our world right now is overflowing with politicians trying to proclaim their own righteousness so that you will vote for them.  Let's step back from that and change the conversation (in our own communities, at least).  In our effort to live upright lives (and it must start there, by the way), let us also strive to reach out to those "tax collectors" among us—to enter into relationship with them—and so invite them to experience God's mercy, first by our loving companionship and second by an encounter of God's mercy through conversion to and reconciliation with God.
          My brothers and sisters, this is what the year of mercy demands of us.  This is what Jesus, who comes to us in this Eucharist to accompany us, desires that we do in response to this grace.  Let us take up this good work, therefore, so that we too, like the humbled tax collector in Jesus' parable, might be justified; and that, having been justified, we too might be glorified for all eternity in heaven.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 23rd, 2016

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Conversion to a life of thankfulness

Homily: 28th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C
          There’s one of those “make you think” quotes that runs around on the internet and in social media and which lands in front of me every once in a while.  It asks a very important question that is intended to inspire you to change your attitude for the better.  It asks this: “What if you woke up tomorrow with only the things that you were thankful for today?”  (REPEAT)
          Anyone who has lost a loved one suddenly to an accident or a sudden illness can probably tell you of the regret they sometimes feel that they didn’t appreciate more the time that they had with that person.  When a fire destroys a family’s house and all their personal possessions, they too start to realize what a gift it was to have what they had, even though they weren’t always very thankful for it.  None of us, if we are paying attention to the news, can imagine what it must be like for the people of southwestern Haiti as entire villages and towns and hundreds of lives were swept away by Hurricane Matthew.  In their grief is an inherent acknowledgement that all that they had and have now lost was a gift; and they are thankful for the very fact that they are still alive.
          The question, therefore, is inviting us to realize the truth that anyone who has experienced any of these things can tell us is true: that it is better to appreciate the things that you have, while you have them, because tomorrow they could all be taken away from you.
          Our scriptures today speak of the type of conversion to thankfulness that this internet question seeks to inspire.  Naaman, a high-ranking Syrian official (and, thus, who wasn’t a member of the Israelite people) has been afflicted with a type of skin disease that people in the Ancient Near East simply referred to as “leprosy”.  This was devastating to him as this meant that he would be ostracized from public society for fear of infecting others.  At the prompting of a young Jewish servant, Naaman seeks out the prophet Elisha, hoping to find a cure.
          Elisha instructs Naaman to wash seven times in the Jordan River.  Naaman resists, at first, thinking that if all he had to do was wash seven times in a river, that he could have done that from home.  Encouraged by his companions, however, Naaman agrees to Elisha’s plan: accepting that there is something special about washing in the Jordon River, specifically.
          Today we heard that Naaman, after washing in the Jordon, which cleansed him of his leprosy, returned to offer Elisha a gift of thanksgiving.  Naaman was a high-ranking official in another nation and in the culture of that time was not required to return and offer the prophet anything.  Because he had seemingly lost everything, however, he was much keener to be thankful for having something that was very important to him restored to him.  And when Elisha declined his generous gift, Naaman asked if he could take two big piles of dirt back with him to Syria so that he could offer continual thanks to Yahweh, the God of Israel, on the very same ground on which he first encountered him.  Having been saved from losing nearly everything, Naaman converted his life to thankfulness.
          In the Gospel, ten men who had been afflicted with leprosy cry out to Jesus to ask for healing.  Similar to Elisha, Jesus instructs them to do something very simple: “go show yourselves to the priests”.  In faith, they respond and, as they go to show themselves to the priests, they find that they have been healed.  Certainly every one of them was appreciative of the fact that their health had been restored to them.  Only one, however, returned to give thanks.  This one, a Samaritan (who were despised by the Jews because they were “half-breeds” of both Jewish and non-Jewish ancestry), recognized the great gift that he had received and returned to give thanks to the giver of the gift.  Acknowledging that he had been saved through no effort of his own, he converted his life to thankfulness.
          When we recognize something that we have as being a gift—that is, as something that we didn’t earn and were incapable of earning—then we are much more apt to be thankful for it.  When we’ve worked for something and have achieved or acquired it, we tend to look at it as our just due.  Thus, although we certainly enjoy what we have earned, we are much less likely to be grateful for having it.  When we lose such a thing, we tend to be angry, as if a great injustice has been committed against us.  In other words, our reaction is not a residual thankfulness for having been able to enjoy whatever it was, but rather anger bred from a greediness that only desires to enjoy it more.  Now, while we should never be content with injustice, conversion to a life of thankfulness means that, even when we’ve lost something unjustly, we acknowledge the gift that it was to have had it and so give thanks.
          As your pastor I feel like it is my duty to remind you of the reason that we come here week after week.  Many Catholics, I fear, would limit their reasoning for coming to Mass to a sense of duty: to fulfill their “Sunday Obligation”.  This, although noble in itself, is limited and, frankly, unsatisfying.  My reminder to you is that we don’t come here to celebrate the “Holy Satisfaction of our Obligation”, but rather we come here to celebrate the “Holy Eucharist”—that is, the Holy Thanksgiving.  In other words, we come here not to try to satisfy a vengeful God so that he won’t strike us down, but rather to offer him the ultimate sacrifice of thanksgiving for all of the blessings of life (including the blessing of life) that we have enjoyed in the past week.  In it we receive many things, of course, but the core reason we come is to offer God worship and praise in thanksgiving of all of the abundant gifts that he bestows upon us.
          And so, the question comes to us again: “What if you woke up tomorrow with only the things that you were thankful for today?”  My brothers and sisters, if you are worried that right now you wouldn’t wake up with much, then today is the day to take action.  Starting today, if we aren’t already doing it, let us commit ourselves to taking time to give thanks for every good thing that we’ve received in the world.  Then, each week, as we return here to give thanks to God for all of these gifts, we’ll be ready to drop in the collection basket all of the blessings (and even the struggles) for which we are thankful so as to unite them to the sacrifice of thanksgiving that we offer on the altar: the perfect sacrifice of Jesus that won for us the greatest gift ever, our salvation and the gift of eternal life.  In doing so, we will not only find greater satisfaction and joy in our lives, but we will also prepare ourselves for the fullness of joy that awaits us in heaven.  May God’s grace strengthen us as we commend ourselves to this good work.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 8th & 9th, 2016

Monday, October 3, 2016

Faithfulness is what we owe to God.

Homily: 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C
          I don’t know about you, but the example that Jesus uses in the Gospel today has always been kind of unsettling for me.  The idea that “servitude” could be a permanent way of life for someone is actually rather repugnant to me.  Perhaps this is because here, in the United States, we recognized that slavery, as we practiced it, was unjust and so we’ve worked to create a society that recognizes that all persons are created equal, with equal opportunities, and, thus, that there aren’t different “classes” of people in our society.  To see an example of this, just look at voting.  When I vote, my vote counts equally to President Obama's vote.  And the fact that both of us vote for who we want our next leaders to be is further evidence of the equality that we share: because a stratified society would probably only count President Obama’s vote, since he is a member of the “ruling class”, and not my vote because I am of a “lower class”.
          Thus, the idea of a society of “servants and masters" has become pretty foreign to us.  I mean, we get the idea that, when trying to accomplish a job, one is a boss and one is a worker, but ultimately we still recognize that we're "equal".  And so, Jesus' example in the Gospel can unsettle us.
          In the Gospel, Jesus seems to say that the master has every right to press on his servant for more work, even after he's been out working rigorously all day.  And it's true, he does have that right!  This is because, in that system, the "master" was considered to be different than the "servant": the master had his role and place as ruler over household and lands and the servant had his role and place as one who served the master as steward of his household and land.  It was unequal, for sure, but nonetheless complementary in its arrangement.
          Obviously, when it comes to the human society, our set up, it seems, is the better way to go.  As human persons, we are equals; and so, even though there is still the "worker" and "boss" setup, we acknowledge that these aren't different classes of people, but rather people from the same class working in different roles.
          When it comes to our relationship with God, however, we have to acknowledge that it doesn’t work in the same way.  This is because we aren't equals with God.  And so, the "master" and "servant" model actually does apply.  God, our "master", provides for us and our needs, while we, his "servants", take care of his household and his land so that he can continue to provide for us.  If my master is benevolent, then I can serve him without questioning because I trust that he will always provide for my needs; and I can acknowledge that my service can help him to extend his benevolence even more broadly.
          In a real way this is what it means to be a steward.  It recognizes that all of the good things that I have in this world have come from my "master".  And it recognizes that he gives them to me with the understanding that I will put them to use in the care of his household and his land.  My task, therefore, is to work as long and as hard as my master demands because I trust that he will never fail to provide for me.  And so you see, I hope, how this is different than slavery.  In slavery, as we think of it, the servant is treated as an object for use.  Thus, he often serves involuntarily.  A steward, however, serves voluntarily and is treated as a person with inherent dignity; but who, nonetheless, is of a different “class” of persons who have a particular role to fulfill.
          Thus, as a steward, my faithfulness to serving is simply what I owe to my benevolent master for taking care of me.  To ask for recompense beyond what has been provided for me is, thus, to insult my master and to say that I do not believe that his generosity is sufficient for me.  And so, in the Gospel, when the disciples ask for more faith, Jesus responds "Don't worry about how much faith you have.  Just a little faith goes a long way!  Worry, rather, about your faithfulness—that is, about doing those things that you've been given to do day in and day out—because that's where you'll find your true greatness!"
          My brothers and sisters, when we recognize ourselves as stewards—that is, as servants of God, our master—then we can respond in service, because we trust that our good God will not leave us wanting, but rather will provide everything for us as long as we remain faithful to him.  The proof?  It’s right here in the Eucharist: the sacrifice of God's Son, Jesus, which was made for us so that we no longer have to be concerned about our future, because now it is guaranteed in Christ.  And so, as we approach this altar today, let us renew our commitment to be faithful stewards of God's many gifts, pledging our trust in the life of peace and rest that has already been won for us by Christ our Lord by going forth from here to serve God faithfully in all that we do.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 1st & 2nd, 2016