Agonize to enter the narrow gate

Homily: 21^st Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          For those of you paying attention, in the world of Indiana professional sports, a bombshell was dropped last night as Andrew Luck, the franchise quarterback of the Indianapolis Colts, announced his immediate retirement from playing football.  For those of you who follow football, even casually, you’ll know what a shocking announcement this is.  For those of you who don’t, however, I’ll try to summarize what happened and why this is such a big deal.

          Andrew Luck is only 29 years old and has been in the NFL for only a handful of years.  He was and continued to be one of the more talented quarterbacks in the NFL.  In spite of injuries that have sidelined him over the past couple of years, Mr. Luck was still considered to be at the top of the list of quarterbacks who could lead his team to a championship.  His announcement, however sudden, was not random.  This year, it is reported, he was facing more injuries that would keep him sidelined which caused him to worry both about whether he’d ever be able to return to top form and what all of this would mean for his quality of life after football.  Thus, he made what he described to be an intensely difficult decision: one that has shocked the sports world.

          What Mr. Luck’s announcement reveals to us is this: that to remain at the top level of any sport, one must have a desire to fight through every obstacle and the discipline to endure the day to day hard work that overcoming those obstacles requires.  Mr. Luck describes having lost that desire (he called it losing the “joy” of playing football), which meant that he no longer had the will to maintain the discipline.

          The word “discipline”, for most of us, probably connotes something negative: that is, being punished for something that you did wrong.  Discipline, therefore, is a corrective: suffering imposed on someone in order to correct an improper behavior.  For example, you discipline a child for coloring on the living room walls.  In other words, you make them feel bad in order to teach them that it is bad to color on the walls.

          Now, I’ve just touched on something that, I hope, will help us see that “discipline” is something more than just punishment.  You see, “discipline” shares the same root word as the word “disciple”; and what is a “disciple” but someone who learns from a master and tries to follow the master’s ways.  In other words, a “disciple” is one who learns and then applies that learning to his or her life.  “Discipline”, therefore, looked at in this way, is more than “punishment”; rather it is “teaching”.  And so “discipline” for professional athletes is not just a punishment that must be endured, but a way of teaching themselves how to achieve the level of skill that they will need, and to overcome obstacles that inevitably appear, in order to compete at the highest echelon of their sport.  Thus, almost every one of them will say that “you need a lot of discipline to compete at this level”; and we all hear that and say, “You’re right” (which is probably followed by a thought “and I don’t have it!”).

          In the Gospel reading today, Jesus is passing through towns and villages on his way to Jerusalem and somewhere along the way a man approaches him and asks this very sincere question: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?”  Jesus, being who he is, is able to hear the “question behind the question” that the man is asking and his response reveals what that question might have been: “Lord, is it possible that I can be saved?”  And how does Jesus answer this question?  He says, “Strive to enter through the narrow gate.”  Now we don’t need to know what “narrow gate” Jesus is talking about: rather, it is enough to imagine a narrow gate that is difficult to get through and, thus, what it would take to squeeze through it.

          The word “strive”, itself, is heavy with meaning, because the Greek word that Luke, the Gospel writer, used is the same word from which we get the verb “to agonize”.  So, in a sense, Jesus is telling this man “to agonize to enter through the narrow gate”.  “Agony” is another word that has negative connotations.  “To agonize over” something is to suffer something unpleasant: for example, indecision at not knowing the correct choice to make in order to achieve something important.  Nevertheless, that “agonizing” often leads to a decision; and thus the suffering produced by the agony turns into a “discipline” that helps one achieve his or her goal.  Thus, to strive—to agonize—to enter through the narrow gate is also to discipline yourself to enter through the narrow gate.  Thus, we see that Jesus was not talking only about exerting raw energy in your effort, but that he was also talking about disciplining yourself—allowing yourself to be taught how to enter the gate—so that you can enter through it: “for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter,” Jesus said, “but will not be strong enough.” /// “Lord, will only a few be saved?” the man asks…  “That depends,” Jesus seems to say, “on how many people truly strive for it.”

          Thus, we can see that making it to the heights of professional sports and making it to heaven are not dissimilar things: both require discipline and effort.  There is one extremely important difference, however—a difference that makes the one nearly impossible for any of us to achieve and the other very possible for all of us to achieve—and that is this: in professional sports you’re judged by your performance, whereas in salvation, you’re judged by your effort.  None of us would question that each athlete in professional sports is putting forth his or her maximum effort towards “entering the narrow gate” and winning a championship.  Yet, only one athlete or team wins a championship: and this because the individual/team performance was better than all of the others.  Salvation, however, does not depend on the perfection of our performance; rather, it depends on whether or not we’ve given our maximum effort.

          Thus, Jesus says “strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter but will not be strong enough.”  “Strive”—discipline yourself—make yourself strong so that you can give the maximum effort, because that is what it will take to enter through the narrow gate.  This, my brothers and sisters, is what we do when we pray daily, when we study the Scriptures and the teachings of the Church (and strive to be obedient to those teachings!), when we live the sacramental life (meaning primarily: regular confession and weekly participation in the Eucharist), and when we serve others through the works of mercy.  These disciplines are what prepare us to enter through the narrow gate.

          Those who are not strong enough are those who give up on one or more of these disciplines, believing that because they “know Jesus” that they will still be saved.  Jesus, however, disagrees.  Those who have given up on these disciplines, even though they know Jesus, will be like those locked out of the master’s house after he has locked the door and who cry out to the master who then replies “I do not know where you are from”.  We must know the master, yes, but we must also strive to enter; because once the door is locked it won’t be reopened.

          My brothers and sisters, it is a beautiful mercy of God that he does not expect perfection of us so that we can be saved.  Although his justice requires perfection, his mercy takes into account the effort that we put forth towards achieving it and, thus, he welcomes us, in spite of our flawed performances.  Therefore, taking the achievements of professional athletes as our inspiration, let us rededicate ourselves to those disciplines of prayer, study, obedience to Church teaching, celebrating the sacraments, and doing the works of mercy so that the glory we achieve will be the kind that never fades, the glory of entering through the narrow gate to be seated at our master’s eternal wedding feast: the foretaste of which we enjoy even now, here in this Eucharist.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – August 25^th, 2019

Remembering and Detachment

Homily: 1^st 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 9^th & 10^th, 2019

God is always on our side

Homily: 4^th Sunday in Lent – Cycle B

          We are now a little more than halfway through Lent and we come to this Sunday, named Laetare, which calls us to “rejoice”.  Perhaps you are having your best Lent ever so far and so this invitation to “rejoice” is quite a welcome one.  If so, good for you!  Keep up that awesome work!  If you are anything like me, however, your Lent has been a mixed-bag so far: either some steps forward mixed with some steps back or even a struggle to get it off the ground all together.  If so, then it might be a little annoying that the Church tells us to “rejoice” at this point.

          No, if you’re anything like me, you’ve experienced a situation like I have sometime during your Lent.  My story goes something like this: I commit to giving up that favorite sin of mine (you know, the sin that I am not happy about committing, but for which make excuses whenever I do it… that’s right, the one that I am annoyed that I have to confess almost every time I go to confession), but then Satan throws me an unexpected curveball and, before I know it, I’m right back into that sin.  Frustrated, I wonder if I will ever overcome it.

          Recently, this story played out again.  When it did, I was really upset with myself.  I had trouble sleeping the whole night because I felt so bothered by my failure to respond to grace and my prideful inclinations that made me think that I could “play” with Satan’s temptations and get away without falling into sin (don’t play with Satan’s temptations, people!).  The next day I woke up earlier than normal, still bothered by my failure.  Then this phrase from Saint Paul’s First Letter to the Corinthians came to my mind: “What I do is discipline my body.”  It was a cold winter morning with a biting wind and I knew it.  But I was convinced that I needed to discipline my body so I decided to get up and go for a run outside.  I’ve done this before, but that day it was particularly miserable.  About halfway through the run, however, as I was thinking about how miserable it was, another insight came into my mind: God put that thought there this morning because he wants me to discipline my body, not to punish me, but so that I can win the battle today.  He’s not happy with my failure yesterday, but he’s still on my side and he wants me to win today.  Now, while that didn’t change how physically miserable the run was, I did begin to feel a sense of hope that pulled me out from the wallowing in my guilt that I had been doing.

          Friends, I think that this is the story of the Scriptures this weekend: that God allows us to suffer for our sins, but always with his eye towards the restoration that he wants to make in our lives.  Just look at the reading from the book of Chronicles.  It describes the great infidelities that the Israelite people had committed against God; and how time and again God had sent his prophets to call them to repentance and warn them of the suffering that would come to them if they continued in their ways.  It describes how the Israelites ignored the prophets, even mocking and mistreating them, until there was nothing further God could do; and so he took back his hand of protection from them and allowed their enemies from the north, the Babylonian empire, to come and destroy Jerusalem, along with the Temple within it, who then took the Israelites into exile.  He did this to “discipline their bodies”, so to speak, so that, when the fullness of their discipline had been fulfilled, he could raise up Cyrus, king of Persia, over the Babylonian empire, who would show benevolence to the Israelites and allow them to return to Judah and rebuild the Temple so that they could worship God once again.  God allowed the Israelites to suffer for their sins, but remained “on their side”: knowing that, through their suffering, they were being made stronger so as to win the next battle with the forces of the evil one.

          The ultimate rendition of this story comes in the Gospel reading, of course.  While Chronicles documents how God worked for this particular people, whom he had chosen to be his light to the nations, the Gospel reading reveals the fullness of that plan.  In one of the most famous passages in the Gospels, we read that “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”  As beautiful and powerful as that verse is, the one that follows it adds emphasis that applies to our reflection here today: “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.”  In other words, although God may have allowed us to suffer on account of our sins, he remained on our side, waiting until our “bodies” had been “disciplined” fully so that he could send his Son: not to “finish us off”, so to speak, but rather to save us and restore us to his friendship.

          Friends, when we look at our failures this way—and when we look at the suffering that has come along with them in this way (even if that suffering has only been a bit of mental anguish over failing to live up to our values)—then we truly do have reason to “rejoice”: because God, who never fails to acknowledge our sins (and the punishments due to us because of them) is, nonetheless, “rich in mercy” and desires not to condemn us, but rather that we would be restored so as to win the next battle against Satan and his wiles.

          And so, if you are feeling a bit down about your failure to live up to your ideals this Lent (regardless of how specific or vague they might have been), do not despair!  God has not given up on you!  Rather, he wants you to repent, to confess your sins and to receive his forgiveness in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and to allow your body to be disciplined by him so as to make you stronger against the attacks of the evil one so that you can win the next battle.  Christ has already won the war.  In him, with bodies made pure through discipline, we can win each battle.  This Eucharist that we celebrate is both our reminder of God’s care and our strength for the fight; and so let us rejoice in it.  May our rejoicing carry us through the remaining discipline of Lent; so that, with minds and hearts made pure, we may truly celebrate the victory of Christ’s Resurrection.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 10^th & 11^th, 2018

Discipline to win at the highest level

Homily: 21^st Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          You know, Fr. Clayton and I talked about making a bet about who would preach about the Olympics first.  We didn’t actually make a bet, but I feel pretty good that we both made it to the last day of the Olympics without preaching about it!  That, of course, is all going to end right now…

          I will admit that I am little more than a casual watcher of the Olympics.  I don’t have any particular Olympic sport that I follow, nor am I really rabid about seeing the USA win as many events as possible.  I enjoy what I watch; but, in general, I don’t feel a great need to watch.

          One of the reasons why I watch, however, is to marvel at the level of athleticism that these Olympic athletes have achieved.  Some of them (like many of the female gymnasts) are barely freshmen in high school, yet here they are performing incredible athletic feats, seemingly with ease!  Just thinking about what it would be like to do even 1% of what they do makes me realize just how much hard work must go into performing at the level that is necessary to compete at the Olympic Games.

          Because of the live coverage and because there are often long breaks in between events, the networks will pre-record segments documenting the backstory for some of the more popular athletes (or, perhaps, the athletes who have a unique story to tell).  These are great because you see just how many sacrifices both the athletes and their families and communities make so that this one person can compete on the world stage.  One of the things that I find most interesting is that the word that the athletes will most often use when describing their training and preparation is “discipline”.

          The word “discipline”, for most of us, probably connotes something negative: that is, being punished for something that you did wrong.  Discipline, therefore, is a corrective: suffering imposed on someone in order to correct an improper behavior.  For example, you discipline a child for coloring on the living room walls.  In other words, you make them feel bad in order to teach them that it is bad to color on the walls.

          Now, I’ve just touched on something that, I hope, will help us see that “discipline” is something more than just punishment.  You see, “discipline” shares the same root word as the word “disciple”; and what is a “disciple” but someone who learns from a master and tries to follow the master’s ways.  In other words, a “disciple” is one who learns and then applies that learning to his or her life.  “Discipline”, therefore, looked at in this way, is more than “punishment”; rather it is “teaching”.  And so “discipline” for Olympic athletes is not just a punishment that must be endured, but a way of teaching themselves how to achieve the level of skill that they will need in order to compete at the level of the Olympics.  Thus, almost every one of them will say that “you need a lot of discipline to compete at this level”; and we all hear that and say, “You’re right” (which is probably followed by a thought “and I don’t have it!”).

          In the Gospel reading today, Jesus is passing through towns and villages on his way to Jerusalem and somewhere along the way a man approaches him and asks this very sincere question: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?”  Jesus, being who he is, is able to hear the “question behind the question” that the man is asking and his response reveals what that question might have been: “Lord, is it possible that I can be saved?”  And how does Jesus answer this question?  He says, “Strive to enter through the narrow gate.”  Now we don’t need to know what “narrow gate” Jesus is talking about: rather, it is enough to imagine a narrow gate that is difficult to get through and, thus, what it would take to squeeze through it.

          The word “strive”, itself, is heavy with meaning, because the Greek word that Luke, the Gospel writer, used is the same word from which we get the verb “to agonize”.  So, in a sense, Jesus is telling this man “to agonize to enter through the narrow gate”.  “Agony” is another word that has negative connotations.  “To agonize over” something is to suffer something unpleasant: for example, indecision at not knowing the correct choice to make in order to achieve something important.  Nevertheless, that “agonizing” often leads to a decision; and thus the suffering produced by the agony turns into a “discipline” that helps one achieve his or her goal.  Thus to strive—to agonize—to enter through the narrow gate is also to discipline yourself to enter through the narrow gate; thus, we see that Jesus was not talking only about exerting raw energy in your effort, but that he was also talking about disciplining yourself so that you can enter through the narrow gate: “for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter” Jesus said “but will not be strong enough.” /// “Lord, will only a few be saved?” the man asks…  “That depends” Jesus seems to say “on how many people truly strive for it.”

          Thus, we can see that making it to the Olympics and making it to heaven are not dissimilar things: both require discipline and effort.  There is one extremely important difference, however—a difference that makes the one nearly impossible for any of us to achieve and the other very possible for all of us to achieve—and that is this: in the Olympics you’re judged by your performance, whereas in salvation, you’re judged by your effort.  None of us would question that each athlete in the Olympics is putting forth his or her maximum effort towards “entering the narrow gate” and winning a gold medal.  Yet, only one athlete wins a gold medal, because his or her performance was better than all of the others.  Salvation does not depend on the perfection of our performance, however; rather it depends on whether or not we’ve given our maximum effort.

          Thus Jesus says “strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter but will not be strong enough.”  “Strive”—discipline yourself—make yourself strong so that you can give the maximum effort, because that is what it will take to enter through the narrow gate.  This, my brothers and sisters, is what we do when we pray daily, when we study the Scriptures and the teachings of the Church, when we live the sacramental life (meaning primarily: regular confession and weekly participation in the Eucharist), and when we serve others through the works of mercy.  These disciplines are what prepare us to enter through the narrow gate.

          Those who are not strong enough are those who give up on one or more of these disciplines, believing that because they “know Jesus” that they will still be saved.  Jesus, however, disagrees.  Those who have given up on these disciplines, even though they know Jesus, will be like those locked out of the master’s house after he has locked the door and who cry out to the master who then replies “I do not know where you are from”.  We must know the master, yes, but we must also strive to enter; because once the door is locked it won’t be reopened.

          My brothers and sisters, it is a beautiful mercy of God that he does not expect perfection of us so that we can be saved.  Although his justice requires perfection, his mercy takes into account the effort that we put forth towards achieving it and, thus, he welcomes us, in spite of our flawed performances.  Therefore, taking the achievements of our Olympic athletes as our inspiration, let us rededicate ourselves to those disciplines of prayer, study, celebrating the sacraments, and doing the works of mercy so that the glory we achieve will be the kind that never fades, the glory of entering through the narrow gate to be seated at our master’s eternal wedding feast: the foretaste of which we enjoy even now, here in this Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – August 21^st, 2016