Showing posts with label detachment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label detachment. Show all posts

Sunday, March 10, 2019

Remembering and Detachment


Homily: 1st Sunday of Lent – Cycle C
          Back almost sixteen years ago now, when I was in the throes of my “reversion” (or “adult awakening”) to the Catholic faith, I remember feeling very guilty.  For the first time in my life, I recognized that religion wasn’t just something that you ‘do’, but that it was about a relationship… that it was about the relationship between God and his creation: most especially, with us.  I felt guilty because I recognized that I had been ignoring that relationship.
          As a result, during those first months I threw myself into prayer, fervently asking God what it was that he wanted me to do with my life.  When those prayers eventually led to the consideration of a vocation to the priesthood, I found myself at an impasse.  I had never considered the priesthood and so I didn’t know what to think about it.  “But,” I thought, “this is so radically different from anything that I’ve considered before; so, if I did it, I’m sure that I would be doing what God wanted and not what I wanted.”  I clearly remember making this prayer: “God, I’ve been living my life my own way for twenty-five years, why shouldn’t I do this for you?”
          Soon, however, I learned that feeling like you owe God something is a poor reason to enter the seminary.  Thus, I put the discernment away for a while.  A few years later, when I was blindsided by the notion that I wasn’t yet doing what God wanted me to do with my life, I once again threw myself into prayer.  This time, however, I felt more fearful of damaging the relationship that I had built than guilty for having ignored it.  And so I turned to fasting in an attempt to disinterest myself from anything that could distract me from knowing God’s will.  Eventually, I heard again the call to the priesthood and this time I was sure that it was love, not guilt that motivated me, so I responded and entered the seminary.
          I continued many of my habits of fasting after entering the seminary.  What I found there, however, was that my fasting was becoming a barrier: first to my relationships with my fellow seminarians, and eventually to my relationship with God.  Right fasting is the kind that turns our focus away from ourselves and back towards God and others.  I had become focused on myself and my need to maintain these fasts; and so to turn my focus back towards God and others, I actually had to learn how to “fast from fasting.”  I needed to remember the relationship, and not just the relation.  In order to do so, I needed to detach myself from trying to control it through fasting.
          Remembrance and detachment are two themes that we find in our Scripture readings today.  In our first reading from the book of Deuteronomy, Moses is instructing the people about making the annual offering of the first fruits of the harvest to God.  What we hear is not the details about the offering itself (for example, how much is to be offered and when), but rather we hear what the Israelites are instructed to say after they’ve made their offering.  It is a statement meant to remind them of why they have brought their offering to the altar.
          First, it’s a remembrance of the place from which they came.  Jacob was a small tribe of only seventy-odd persons when they went down to Egypt.  Yet God made them grow and prosper during that time.  Second, it is a remembrance of how God heard their calls for help when Pharaoh oppressed them with slavery, delivering them from Egypt with mighty signs and wonders.  Third, it is a remembrance of how God led them through the desert and into the fruitful land in which they live, the first fruits from which they have come to offer him.  In other words, it’s a remembrance that it was God who was in control the whole time and that he took care of them, and so their offering is one of thanksgiving for his grace and mercy that continued to care for them up to that day.
          In the Gospel, Jesus’ forty days in the desert produces in him a deep sense of detachment.  In the greatest understatement of all time, the Gospel tells us that, after forty days of not eating, Jesus emerged from the desert and that “he was hungry.”  Duh!  Actually, what the author might have been emphasizing was that he was “weak with hunger.”  The devil seeing this probably thought to himself, “Now is my chance!” and so he tempts him.  Jesus, having detached himself not only from his desires for food and drink, but also from his instincts for survival, and having placed all his trust for survival in his Father, was not fazed by the devil’s temptations.  Jesus knew that his Father was in control, because he had just experienced it for forty days; thus, he could not be moved to betray him now, even though he was physically weak from lack of nourishment.  His fasting produced detachment and thus solidified his relationship with his Father, who cared for him. ///
          “Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  This, my brothers and sisters, is our task during Lent: to remember our right relationship with God and with others.  We do this primarily through the three Lenten disciplines of fasting, prayer, and almsgiving.  Fasting, I would argue, is primary: for when we fast, we remind ourselves of the punishment due to us because of our sins and thus acknowledge that God is God and we are not.  Fasting also has the effect of detaching ourselves from our disordered desires for the things of this world: desires that place a barrier between us and God, as well as those around us.  A natural result of this detachment is that we are more available for prayer and have more resources to share with others who are in need, thus facilitating our prayer and almsgiving.  Finally, fasting helps us to remember to place our trust in the fact that God is in control and that he cares for us and so will provide to us whatever it is that we truly need.
          And so, my brothers and sisters, on this first Sunday of Lent, let’s take a look at what we are doing this Lent in order to see where our disciplines are pointing us and let’s ask ourselves these questions: Are our disciplines motivated by guilt and the hope that God will pleased with them and so not ask too much of us?  Or are our disciplines about conversion: that is, about letting go of our control and turning back to God, remembering that his care alone is enough for us?
          If you find yourself (as I often do) more in the first group than in the second group, don’t worry.  We still have about 36 days left to work it all out (which is plenty of time!).  And what a good work that it is.  I promise you that if you do it well, on Easter Sunday you will have forgotten that you are hungry, because you will have remembered God’s love and mercy as you celebrate his resurrected glory.
Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – March 9th & 10th, 2019

Monday, April 9, 2018

Honoring the Divine Mercy



Homily: 2nd Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy Sunday) – Cycle B
          This weekend we celebrate the second Sunday of Easter, which is also the 8th day of Easter, otherwise known as the octave day.  “Octave” day, because for each day during the last week, we have been celebrating as if it is still Easter Sunday.  Hopefully, the joy you felt last Sunday has stayed with you throughout this week and into today, because this is what the Church truly wishes for us.
          This 8th day of Easter has, since the year 2000, been named “Divine Mercy Sunday”: primarily in response to the instruction given by Jesus in a series of visions to Divine Mercy Sister (now “Saint”) Faustina Kowalska, in which he asked that the 2nd Sunday of Easter be dedicated to honoring the Divine Mercy.  That begs the question, of course: “What does it mean when we say that we are ‘honoring the Divine Mercy’?” as well as “What does that look like for us?”  Both our celebration and our scriptures today open for us both of these answers and so let’s take a look.
          First, let’s be sure that we understand why we honor the Divine Mercy on the 2nd Sunday of Easter.  Last week, we celebrated the Resurrection of Jesus.  This event, in and of itself, is worthy of solemn celebration and honor: that Jesus, the 2nd Person of the Divine Trinity of persons, took on human flesh, lived among us, suffered the full force of evil-induced pain that the world can offer, and overcame the world by rising from the dead—in the same body, yes, but a body that had been transformed to be the glorious image of humanity restored to its original splendor.
          This Sunday we celebrate an equally beautiful thing: that God’s power, as demonstrated when Christ rose from the dead, was not just for himself—that is, to demonstrate to us his power and so oblige us to worship him alone (although he would be in the right to do that)—but that his power was for us, too.  In other words, we celebrate God’s mercy: that, through baptism, we have participation in the Resurrection: participation in the splendor of Christ’s glorified humanity.  The fact that this celebration comes on the octave day of Easter reminds us that these two celebrations—the Resurrection of Jesus and our participation in it—form one complete celebration of Easter.
          Therefore, when we celebrate today, we are truly honoring the Divine Mercy in that we honor Christ, who paid the price of God’s justice so that we could receive forgiveness of our sins.  Notice that, although throughout the Gospels we hear that Jesus gave his disciples a share in his power to heal the sick and drive out demons, Jesus doesn’t give them the power to forgive sins until after his death and resurrection: indicating that, in some sense, this power couldn’t be transferred until the full debt for sin had been paid.  And so, again, in honoring Christ for his saving work we are truly honoring the Divine Mercy which brought it about.
          Now that we’ve seen what it means to honor the Divine Mercy, we can answer the question “What does honoring the Divine Mercy look like for us?”: that is, “How do I honor the Divine Mercy in my everyday life?”  Here we can look to the early Christian community.
          In our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, we heard not about Jesus’ first disciples fearful and huddling in the upper room, but rather about the post-Pentecost community proclaiming Christ openly and growing day by day.  We heard how “The community of believers was of one heart and mind, and no one claimed that any of his possessions was his own, but they had everything in common.”  From a historical standpoint, this made sense: because the first Christians were convinced that Jesus was going to return in their lifetime and so began to dissociate themselves from the world so as to be ready for Christ when he came.  Now we today can look at this in one of two ways: we can say either “Look at how the first Christians lived!  That is how we should be living!” or we can say “That was how they were called to live at that time, but we aren’t called to live that way in this time.”  The problem with this is that neither of these two responses is completely right.  And so, I would like to propose a middle ground, one that demonstrates how we are to live today so as to honor the Divine Mercy.
          One of the things that I can see in that early Christian community is how aware they were of the Divine Mercy.  Astonished that this gift would be available to them, they quickly recognized that to have the Divine Mercy was more important than having anything in this world.  Thus, when the interpretation of Jesus’ prophecy was that he would return within their lifetime, they freely shared everything they had with the community because their possessions had become unimportant to them.  For them, what was most important was sharing this good news and living in immediate preparation for Christ’s return.
          We who have received this same astonishing gift must interpret the prophecy of Jesus’ return for our own times and respond accordingly.  First, however, we must recognize the Divine Mercy as the most valuable gift we could ever receive and, thus, prefer nothing in this world to it.  Then, like the first Christians, we must remain vigilant for Jesus’ return: for although he has not yet returned, nearly two thousand years after his resurrection and ascension into heaven, he may still choose our lifetime to return.  The way that we remain vigilant is by being detached from our worldly possessions: ready to share them with others when demanded of us; because, soon enough, we’ll take leave of them all anyway.
          Nonetheless, the Father’s plan may be for Jesus not to return for another two thousand (or more) years!  Therefore, like the first generations of Christians learned, we have to plan for our future so that, if necessary, we can continue to proclaim this good news until the day that Christ appears again in glory.  Finding the balance between the two is the work of our lives.
          To make this somewhat concrete for us, I’d like to use a very practical rule that saints throughout the centuries have used, and of which 20th century U.S. Catholic Activist Dorothy Day gave simple form.  She said “If you have two coats, one of them belongs to the poor.”
          Friends, if we acknowledge the great gift that we have in the Divine Mercy—that is, the forgiveness of sins because Jesus paid the price for us—then we must honor the Divine Mercy by living mercy in our lives.  We do this when we lived detached from this world: providing for our needs, yes, but then sharing freely so that others may receive what they need.  And so today, as we bask in this celebration of God’s mercy, may the discipline of our Lenten fast, now ended, bring about a more concrete experience of God’s mercy for all—and, thus, his kingdom: the kingdom we experience most fully in this world, here in this Eucharist.
Given at all Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – April 8th, 2018

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Remember... just let go

Happy First Sunday of Lent!  I hope that everybody's Lent has gotten off to a good start.  This last week felt weird to me, but probably because of all the chaos (in my mind) of getting ready for Ash Wednesday and the start of this holy season.

Saturday night, I was able to participate in the Destination Jesus retreat (our diocesan youth retreat) and finally was able to hear some of the incredible ways that God works on the hearts of these young people during this retreat as I heard confessions.  We need to pray for and support our youth!  What a great blessing to be a small part of that experience.

This coming week, I'm heading back "home" to Saint Meinrad for their 'baby-priest' workshop.  Basically, it's an opportunity to review how the first months of priesthood have gone and to get coaching for how to recognize problems now and head them off before they become problems for us in the future.  For me, it will be a welcome opportunity to return to the Hill and catch up with some of my classmates and other friends from the seminary.  I hope that it will also be a good opportunity to take some of these ideas that have been floating around in my head and plan for making them happen.  Stay tuned!

Enjoy the homily.  It's sunny out and I'm going for a walk outside :)

Peace.

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Homily: 1st Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

Back almost ten years ago now, when I was in the throes of my ‘reversion’ to the Catholic faith, I remember feeling very guilty.  For the first time in my life, I recognized that religion wasn’t just something that you ‘do’, but that it was about a relationship… that it was about the relationship between God and his creation: most especially, with us.  I felt guilty because I recognized that I had been ignoring that relationship.
As a result, during those first months I threw myself into prayer, fervently asking God what it was that he wanted me to do with my life.  When those prayers eventually led to the consideration of a vocation to the priesthood, I found myself at an impasse.  I had never considered the priesthood and so I didn’t know what to think about it.  “But,” I thought, “this is so radically different from anything that I’ve considered before; so, if I did it, I’m sure that I would be doing what God wanted and not what I wanted.”  I clearly remember making this prayer: “God, I’ve been living my life my own way for twenty-five years, why shouldn’t I do this for you?”
Soon, however, I learned that feeling like you owe God something is a poor reason to enter the seminary.  Thus, I put the discernment away for a while.  A few years later, when I was blindsided by the notion that I wasn’t yet doing what God wanted me to do with my life, I once again threw myself into prayer.  This time, however, I felt more fearful of damaging the relationship that I had built than guilty for having ignored it.  And so I turned to fasting in an attempt to disinterest myself from anything that could distract me from knowing God’s will.  Eventually, I heard again the call to the priesthood and this time I was sure that it was love, not guilt that motivated me, so I responded and entered the seminary.
I continued many of my habits of fasting after entering the seminary.  What I found there, however, was that my fasting was becoming a barrier: first to my relationships with my fellow seminarians, and eventually to my relationship with God.  Right fasting is the kind that turns our focus away from ourselves and back towards God and others.  I had become focused on myself and my need to maintain these fasts; and so to turn my focus back towards God and others, I actually had to learn how to “fast from fasting.”  I needed to remember the relationship, and not just the relation.  In order to do so, I needed to detach myself from trying to control it through fasting.
Remembrance and detachment are two themes that we find in our Scripture readings today.  In our first reading from the book of Deuteronomy, Moses is instructing the people about making the annual offering of the first fruits of the harvest to God.  What we hear is not the details about the offering itself (for example, how much is to be offered and when), but rather we hear what the Israelites are instructed to say after they’ve made their offering.  It is a statement meant to remind them of why they have brought their offering to the altar.
First, it’s a remembrance of where they came from.  Jacob was a small tribe of only seventy-odd persons when they went down to Egypt.  Yet God made them grow and prosper during that time.  Second, it is a remembrance of how God heard their calls for help when Pharaoh oppressed them with slavery, delivering them from Egypt with mighty signs and wonders.  Third, it is a remembrance of how God led them through the desert and into the fruitful land in which they live, the first fruits from which they have come to offer him.  In other words, it’s a remembrance that it was God who was in control the whole time and that he took care of them, and so their offering is one of thanksgiving for his grace and mercy that continues to care for them today.
In the Gospel, Jesus’ forty days in the desert produces in him a deep sense of detachment.  In the greatest understatement of all time, the Gospel tells us that, after forty days of not eating, Jesus emerged from the desert and that “he was hungry.”  Duh!  Actually, what the author might have been emphasizing was that he was “weak with hunger.”  The devil seeing this probably thought to himself, “Now is my chance!” and so he tempts him.  Jesus, having detached himself not only from his desires for food and drink, but also from his instincts for survival, and having placed all his trust for survival in his Father, was not fazed by the devil’s temptations.  Jesus knew that his Father was in control, because he had just experienced it for forty days; thus, he could not be moved to betray him now, even though he was physically weak from lack of nourishment.  His fasting produced detachment and thus solidified his relationship with his Father, who cared for him.
“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  This, my brothers and sisters, is our task during Lent: to remember our right relationship with God and with others.  We do this primarily through the three Lenten disciplines of fasting, prayer, and almsgiving.  Fasting, I would argue, is primary: for when we fast, we remind ourselves of the punishment due to us because of our sins and thus acknowledge that God is God and we are not.  Fasting also has the effect of detaching ourselves from our disordered desires for the things of this world: desires that place a barrier between us and God, as well as those around us.  A natural result of this detachment is that we are more available for prayer and have more resources to share with others who are in need, thus facilitating our prayer and almsgiving.  Finally, fasting helps us to remember to place our trust in the fact that God is in control and that he cares for us and so will provide to us whatever it is that we truly need.
And so, my brothers and sisters, on this first Sunday of Lent, let’s take a look at what we are doing this Lent in order to see where our disciplines are pointing us and let’s ask ourselves these questions: Are our disciplines motivated by guilt and the hope that God will pleased with them and so not ask too much of us?  Or are our disciplines about conversion: that is, about letting go of our control and turning back to God, remembering that his care alone is enough for us?
If you find yourself (as I often do) more in the first group than in the second group, don’t worry.  We still have about 36 days left to work it all out (which is plenty of time!).  And what a good work that it is.  I promise you that if you do it well, on Easter Sunday you will have forgotten that you are hungry, because you will have remembered God’s love and mercy as you celebrate his glory.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – February, 17th, 2013

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Las cosas que nunca se dicen católicos

Time to break out your translating skills!  I preached in English this morning, but I didn't have anything written down.  That wasn't going to fly so much for Spanish, so I wrote it out.  Thus, all you get is my homily in Spanish for el miercoles de las cenizas.  Disfruta!

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Homilía: Miércoles de las Cenizas – Ciclo C
¡Gracias a Dios que está Cuaresma! ¡Ahora tengo una excusa para no comer dulces!  (El Domingo de Pascua) ¡Ojalá que la Cuaresma podría ser de dos semanas más!  ¡Me gustaría que pudiéramos recibir las cenizas cada día para que la gente se fijara en mí más!  Estas son declaraciones que planeo en incluir en mi primero libro titulado "Las cosas que nunca se dicen católicos".
Aquí estamos de nuevo en el comienzo de otra temporada de Cuaresma. Si eres un buen católico, ya ha comprometido a renunciar a algo. Si eres un muy buen católico, te has comprometido a renunciar a algo que sea difícil para dejar. Pero, si tú ya has pensado a sí mismo "No puedo esperar hasta la Pascua para que pueda tener esa cosa de nuevo", ya has fracasado en lograr el objetivo de la Cuaresma.
Esto es porque la Cuaresma no se trata de torturar a nosotros mismos durante cuarenta días para ver si podemos aguantar a pesar de todo sólo para volver a ser lo mismo una vez que llega Pascua.  Ciertamente, esto podría hacer que nos sintamos bien con nosotros mismos, pero se pierde el punto.  En ese caso, todo lo que estamos tratando de hacer es para impresionar a Dios con nuestros sacrificios; y déjeme decirles que nuestros sacrificios no le impresionan mucho.  El único que alguna vez le impresionó fue el sacrificio de su Hijo en la cruz.  Esto es decir que el no necesita nuestros sacrificios; sino que somos nosotros los que necesitamos para hacerlos.
En la lectura del profeta Joel, Dios nos llama a "rasgar nuestros corazones y no las vestiduras". Lo que quiere decir que no debemos hacer un espectáculo de nuestra contrición. Y en el Evangelio, Jesús nos dice que "cuando ayunamos, no debe parecer que estás ayunando, sino como si estamos sanos y bien alimentados", y que "cuando damos limosna la mano derecha no debe saber lo que la mano izquierda está haciendo", y que "cuando oramos, debemos ir a un lugar privado", ya que sólo el Padre quien debe saber lo que estamos haciendo.  Lo que esto significa para nosotros es que la Cuaresma no se trata de quién puede hacer estas cosas (la oración, el ayuno y la limosna) mejor que nadie, o sobre lo que podemos demostrar a Dios por nuestras acciones extremas, pero es más bien acerca de la eliminación de obstáculos entre nosotros y Dios.
Ya ves, nuestros pecados nos han vinculado al mundo, poniendo una barrera entre nosotros y Dios. Cuaresma, por lo tanto, es un momento especial que nos llama a arrepentirnos de nuestros pecados y desvincularnos de las cosas de este mundo por medio del ayuno, oración y limosna.  Por lo tanto, comenzamos por renunciar a algo que ponemos demasiado valor en, algo que se interpone entre nosotros y Dios.  Entonces comenzamos a orar más profundamente, porque empezamos a ver a Dios con más claridad.  Por último, nos sentimos impulsados a compartir con los demás, porque hemos aprendido que no necesitamos todo lo que tenemos para ser felices: que nuestra comunión con Dios y con los demás es suficiente.
Por lo tanto, nuestro objetivo para la Cuaresma no es tanto la "perseverancia" en nuestras disciplinas de Cuaresma como es "desprendimiento" de las cosas que nos separan de Dios. Si lo hacemos bien, no vamos tanto “respirar un suspiro de alivio” el domingo de Pascua que nuestro tiempo de penitencia ha terminado como vamos a gritar de alegría en la celebración de lo que Cristo ha hecho por nosotros.
Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN
23º de febrero, 2013 – Miércoles de las Cenizas