The terror of the cross

Homily: Friday of the Passion of the Lord

Homilía: Viernes de la Pasión del Señor

          Terrorism is something with which, sadly, we are all familiar and terrorists are those who seek to intimidate people into conformance with their group’s ideology.  For example, the playground bully uses taunts and physical violence to force the other kids to recognize him as “king of the playground”.  The other kids don’t like him, but they are so afraid of him that they conform so as to avoid his verbal and physical assaults.  On a larger scale, the videos published by ISIS are true “acts of terror” meant to instill fear into the hearts of whomever views or even hears about them so that no one will resist them for fear of suffering the same fate.

          In the ancient Roman Empire, the cross was meant to terrify people.  As a form of execution, it wasn’t meant solely to punish the criminal.  Rather, it was also a public display of cruelty meant to instill fear into the heart of every other person: a form of intimidation meant to eliminate any resistance to the Roman authorities.  Thus, the charge against the crucified person was posted above their head as a way of saying “Don’t even think about doing this, because this is how you’ll end up.”  So effective was this method of intimidation that people of that time wouldn’t speak about the cross in polite conversation: it was disturbing even to think about it because, for them, the cross was equated with a horrific death: a death that was humiliating, agonizingly painful, and, ultimately, dehumanizing.

          Today, however, it seems like we have sanitized the cross.  We have made it nothing more than an expression of our personal style or a pious thing about which to talk.  In other words, we’ve lost the “fear factor” that originally came with it.  As part of the Easter Triduum, Good Friday invites us once again to recognize that truly it is a fearful thing to hold up the cross as the symbol of our victory; because in doing so we proclaim not only that we are a follower of Jesus, but that we, too, would be gladly crucified with him and for him, because of our faith that one day he will raise us up again.

          My brothers and sisters, events happening around the world, and even those happening here in the United States, demonstrate that this type of witness is not far from being demanded of us.  Therefore, as we come forward to venerate the cross, let us keep this in mind: that Christ suffered for our sins—yours and mine—and so we must constantly plead for his mercy; and that the cross, symbol of our victory in Christ, should be fearfully embraced: for one day what it demanded of Christ may be demanded of us, too.  Nonetheless we have hope: because in Christ the cross no longer means certain and irrevocable death, but it means life: the eternal life that dawns on Easter Sunday.

          El terrorismo es algo con lo que, tristemente, todos somos familiares y los terroristas son aquellos que intentan intimidar a las personas para que se ajusten a la ideología de su grupo. Por ejemplo, el matón del patio de recreo utiliza burlas y violencia física para obligar a los otros niños a reconocerlo como "rey del patio de recreo". A los otros niños no les gusta, pero tienen tanto miedo de él que se conforman para evitar sus agresiones verbales y físicas. En una escala más grande, los videos publicados por ISIS son verdaderos "actos de terror" destinados a infundir miedo en los corazones de quienquiera que vean o incluso escuchar sobre ellos para que nadie se resista a ellos por temor a sufrir el mismo destino.

          En el antiguo Imperio Romano, la cruz estaba destinada a aterrorizar a la gente. Como una forma de ejecución, no fue solo para castigar al criminal. Más bien, era también una muestra pública de crueldad destinada a infundir temor en el corazón de todas las demás personas: una forma de intimidación destinada a eliminar cualquier resistencia a las autoridades romanas. Por lo tanto, la acusación contra la persona crucificada se publicó sobre su cabeza como una forma de decir "Ni siquiera pienses en hacer esto, porque así es como terminarás". Tan efectivo era este método de intimidación que la gente de ese tiempo no hablaría de la cruz en una conversación educada: era inquietante incluso pensar en ello porque, para ellos, la cruz se equiparaba con una muerte horrible: una muerte que era humillante, angustiosamente dolorosa y, en última instancia, deshumanizante.

          Hoy, sin embargo, parece que hemos desinfectado la cruz. La hemos hecho nada más que una expresión de nuestro estilo personal o algo piadoso de lo que hablar. En otras palabras, hemos perdido el "factor de miedo" que originalmente vino con la cruz. Como parte del Triduo Pascual, el Viernes Santo nos invita una vez más a reconocer que verdaderamente es algo espantoso sostener la cruz como el símbolo de nuestra victoria; porque al hacerlo, proclamamos no solo que somos seguidores de Jesús, sino que también nosotros, con gusto, seríamos crucificados con él y por él, debido a nuestra fe en que algún día nos resucitará.

          Mis hermanos y hermanas, los eventos que suceden en todo el mundo, e incluso los que suceden aquí en los Estados Unidos, demuestran que este tipo de testimonio no está lejos de exigirse a nosotros. Por lo tanto, cuando avancemos para venerar la cruz, tengamos esto en mente: que Cristo sufrió por nuestros pecados, el suyo y el mío, y así debemos constantemente rogar por su misericordia; y que la cruz, símbolo de nuestra victoria en Cristo, debe ser abrazada con miedo; porque un día también se nos exigirá lo que exigió a Cristo. Sin embargo, tenemos esperanza: porque en Cristo la cruz ya no significa una muerte cierto e irrevocable, sino la vida: la vida eterna que amanece el domingo de Pascua.

Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN – 30 de marzo, 2018

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 30^th, 2018

Abandon fear and celebrate Christ!

Homily: 4^th Sunday of Advent – Cycle B

          Because of the way that marriages were arranged in the Ancient Near East, it is generally believed that Mary was around fourteen or fifteen years old when the angel Gabriel appeared to her and told her that she was going to be pregnant.  Think back for a moment, whether you are male or female, to when you were fourteen or fifteen years old.  I’m guessing that almost all of you here, while perhaps thinking that you might someday get married, were not yet promised in marriage; and certainly were not facing the prospect of having a baby.

          No, you were probably living like ordinary teenagers: going to school, playing sports or being involved in clubs and activities, and maybe working a part-time job.  “Going steady” or dating someone might have been the closest you had gotten to the idea of marriage and having a baby.  Imagine, then what it would have felt like to have been promised in marriage and then to receive a message that you would have a baby.  I’m guessing that, for most of you this would have been quite a scary prospect.  Yet, that’s what Mary had to deal with when she was, at most, fifteen years old.

          But that wasn’t all, however, because the angel continued to say that the child that would be born from her would be conceived by the Holy Spirit and that he would be a great king that would rule over the Jewish people forever.  You have to remember that at that time the Romans occupied what we know today as the Holy Land.  And at the time the Romans did not look kindly on anyone who had aspirations of being a king.  The king, for them, was Caesar and anyone else claiming to be a king was a revolutionary.  About thirty-three years later, we would see what the Romans would do to a man who was accused of being a revolutionary when they crucified Jesus.  Mary knew this and so the prospect that this son—the one for whom she wasn’t ready, remember—would be hailed as a king in the line of David, the great Jewish king, would have frightened her even more.

          Still further, Mary was a virgin and, although young, she knew what happened to women who were caught being unfaithful to their husbands (even if they hadn’t begun to live together formally with their husbands): those women were killed!  Thus, the prospect of becoming pregnant by someone other than Joseph (her husband to whom she had been promised)—something that she wouldn’t be able to hide from him and which would make it appear that she had been unfaithful to him—not only ran the risk of ruining her relationship with him, but also put her life in jeopardy!

          And so, added to the prospect of being, at most, fifteen and pregnant, Mary had to face all of this… and what did she say?  She said, “I’m confused, but I have faith in God.  And so, if this message is truly from God, then let it be done to me according to your word.”  Mary did not let all of the bad things that could happen stop her from agreeing to follow God’s will for her life.  Rather, she chose to say “yes” because she believed that God was trustworthy.

          Today, of course, God is not calling any of you to conceive a child by the Holy Spirit who will be a controversial leader of nations; but he has called you.  He has called you to take responsibility to be a Christian in today’s world.  This calling, of course, has its own dangers.  The world is very hostile to the values that are essential to being a Christian: piety, temperance, chastity, modesty, purity, obedience, and faithfulness (just to name a few), and so it is a fearful thing to accept this calling.  Nevertheless, God has called each of you to take this responsibility (and it is a responsibility—that is, something that demands a response from you); and not just for yourself, but rather to be a witness to others, too.

          King David recognized that God had been very good to him, giving him victory over his enemies (before he was king) and over the enemies of his people.  As he settled to reign over the people of Judah, he wanted to do something good for God: something that would show God his appreciation for all that God had done for him.  Therefore, he proposed to build God a temple: a fitting house to honor God’s presence among them.  Through the prophet Nathan, however, God revealed that he would have nothing of it.  God was not to be “repaid”, if you will, by David, but rather determined to finish his work with him.

          God, therefore, revealed to David that not only would David not build a house for him, but that God would make David into a house: a kingdom that would last forever.  In doing so, God revealed something important: that he, who had been with David throughout all of his trials, would remain with him to continue to guide and strengthen him, until his final days and even beyond them, as he would guide and protect David’s descendants for generations to come.  In this we see God’s promise to those whom he has called: that if he calls us to a responsibility, then we can trust that he will be with us as we seek to follow his will.

          Of course, some of that support comes in the form of the people who surround us here today.  By being here, we are all promising to support each other as we make the choice to take responsibility for being a Christian in today’s world.  Our task is to help each other make the right choices in our lives and in our relationships and to pray for each other and with each other, so that each of us will have the best chance to fulfill this calling that God has given to us.  This, in a sense, is the work we are all trying to renew in our lives during this Advent season: that, as we prepare to celebrate the coming of our Lord, we do so by making sure that we are fulfilling this calling to Christian discipleship that we have all received.

          Sometimes, however, the hardest part is saying “yes” to God.  At fifteen years old, Mary was able to do so because she believed that God was trustworthy and because he proved that he was.  My brothers and sisters, no matter how old each of us is today, God is asking us to say “yes”, also.  Let us not be afraid to say “yes” to God, for he is a Father who loves us and who is very proud of us; and he will never leave us alone.  Let us not be afraid, because with the help of Mary and the saints, and with the help of our brothers and sisters here, each of us will fulfill God’s will for our lives: our happiness.  The happiness that, in some sense, we experience when we celebrate the great feast of Christ’s birth, and which is available to us when we receive him, even now, from this altar.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – December 23^rd & 24^th, 2017

The obedience that conquers fear

Homily: 4^th Sunday of Advent – Cycle A

          Fear is a powerful thing, and rightly so.  Fear is one of the essential tools that all animals use for survival.  When we find ourselves in a dangerous situation, fear of dying causes us either to fight what is in front of us or to run away from it in order to preserve our lives.  For example, if I’m walking through a neighborhood and am confronted by an unfriendly looking dog, I have a decision to make: either I’m going to stand my ground and try to fight him off if he attacks me, or I’m going to run away, hoping that he doesn’t catch me.  Without fear, however, I might be a “sitting duck” to the dog’s attack.  We fear things that threaten us.

          We also fear things that we don’t trust.  In other words, the possibility that what is in front of us might harm us makes us guarded and unwilling to engage with it for fear of what might happen to us.  For example, I might be asked to climb a ladder to hang a decoration or to clean out the gutters, but one look at the ladder might tell me that it might collapse under my weight and so fear of injury makes me say “no” to the request.  Perhaps even my fear of heights—which is not really a fear of heights, but rather a fear of falling from those heights—would cause me not to trust the ladder, even if it was the sturdiest ladder ever made.  This also applies to people, of course, as a lack of trust in an individual—the pilot on your airline flight, for example—could cause you to skip your flight.  Fear, indeed, is powerful: it has the power to decide what actions you take in life.

          For this reason, fear can be inimical to faith.  We need look no farther than today’s Scriptures to see an example of this.  Ahaz is the king of the southern kingdom of Judah.  His kingdom has been surrounded on all sides by his enemies and he is trying to figure out what to do: should he try to fight them (invoking the assistance of the Egyptians to the south), or should he run, or should he just give up?  The prophet Isaiah comes to speak the Lord’s message to him.  He tells him: “Surrender to your enemies.  Do not fear that this will be the end of the kingdom, because God has not forgotten his promise.  In fact, God wills to give you a sign that he will not abandon you.  You tell him what that sign shall be.”  Ahaz, however, didn’t trust God and so, in a sign of false piety, he refused to ask for a sign.  He allowed his fear to overcome his faith.

          Both Mary and Joseph had the opportunity to respond like Ahaz to the revelation of God.  At the revelation of the angel, however, Mary trusted God, even given the fearful uncertainty of what this would mean for her life; and so she conceived Jesus in her womb.  Joseph, too, fearful for being found unrighteous according to the Law, trusted the revelation of the angel and so gave Jesus a patrimony—Son of the House of David—so that the prophecy of Isaiah would be fulfilled.  Both were instructed by the angel, “Do not be afraid”, and both listened.  Thus, God’s great promises to his people were finally fulfilled when two poor Jews from Galilee conquered the power of their fears and put their faith in God: submitting themselves to his will.

          These are examples for us of the “obedience of faith” that Saint Paul spoke about in the beginning of his letter to the Romans.  Obedience of this type is not blind servitude that we think of when we think of slavery as it was often practiced in the early years of this country; rather, it is loving adherence to the will of one, who has authority over you, yes, but who also has responsibility for your well-being.  The obedience of faith, therefore, is the obedience that can say “yes” in spite of a fearful unknown, because the one who asks is trustworthy.  The obedience of faith can say “yes” even in the face of a certain danger, because the one who asks has promised to carry you through.  More than all these, however, the obedience of faith is a readiness to respond in love to the one who has already poured out his love on you, which is exactly what God did when he sent his Son to become one with us and to die for us.  In fact, because of this, the obedience of faith is something we owe God, which is why Saint Paul saw it as his apostolic responsibility “to bring about the obedience of faith.”

          My brothers and sisters, this obedience of faith is that to which we are being called to return during this Advent season.  Our remembrance that Our Lord came to us as a little child to then go forth to suffer and to die so that we might be saved from sin and death forever, and that he reigns now in heaven as King of the Universe until the appointed time when he will return to bring about the fullness of his kingdom, is meant to remind us of our need to examine our lives and to ensure that we are truly prepared to receive him when he comes.  This is the work that we should have been doing for the past three weeks.  And if we haven’t been doing it, then it is the work we are being called to take up in this last week of Advent (and thanks be to God that there is a whole week left!).

          Our Father in heaven knows us well, however.  And so he know that, if we have been struggling to trust him and to overcome our fear of the unknown—or of the certain danger—that might come from our obedience, there is nothing more fear-conquering than a little child who needs to be welcomed into a warm home.  This is why the Church ends this great season of expectation with the celebration of the birth of the Christ Child: it’s easier to make a place for him.  In this final week before Christmas, my brothers and sisters, may we each finish well this good work that we have begun to overcome our fears and to give God the obedience of faith that we owe him once again.  Thus will our hearts be prepared to receive him and to acknowledge him for who he is: Emmanuel, God with us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – December 17^th & 18^th, 2016

It is finished.

Homily: Good Friday of the Lord’s Passion – Cycle C

          It is finished.  Although it’s difficult for us to forget something that we already know, let’s imagine for a moment that we are hearing these words for the first time.  Let’s imagine that we don’t know, as Paul Harvey would say, “the rest of the story.”

          Imagine a mother and a friend, looking up on the one they love so dear now horribly disfigured—and how their own countenances have been disfigured by their sorrow.  Intense fear and agony overwhelm them, yet we can imagine that there was still hope: hope that in spite of all the mocking and jeering he may yet work a miracle that would save him from this death. /// “It is finished.” /// Even for these, the ones who were closest to Christ’s heart, as the resurrection was yet unknown to them, these words must have cast a shadow of doubt on their hope in the fulfillment of all that God had promised them throughout the ages.

          Imagine also a crowd of priests and soldiers, looking with anxiety to ensure the execution is completed.  As the intensity of their fervor diminishes—as the intensity of their mocking and jeering subsides—imagine that a certain uneasiness crept into their hearts. /// “It is finished.” /// Outwardly, they agree and are satisfied; yet inwardly their consciences continue to question.

          Imagine the disciples who didn’t follow their master to that hill, those who were afraid and hid away.  Imagine their questions to those who returned.  “What happened?”  “Did they kill him?”  “Did he say anything before he died?” /// “It is finished.” /// The intensity of their fear spikes as they hear these words.  Immediately they are flooded with confusion and doubt about their future, about what it will mean to be a follower of his way.  In the days following, fishermen will return to their nets, women will prepare the final burial spices, and pilgrims will walk the long road back to their homes questioning how this could have been the end.

          It is only the light of the resurrection, however, that can reveal that what is finished—that is, what has ended—is not our hope in one who can save, but rather our slavery to sin.  Christ proclaimed these words from the cross as a definitive statement to the evil one that his reign had ended and that death—Satan’s last power over man—had been forever destroyed.

          Today, we recall these words as a reminder to each of us that what Christ accomplished on the cross wasn’t just for a few people in a specific place and at a specific time, but rather that it was for all people of all places in all times… including right here and right now.  Therefore, my friends, let us listen closely to these words of Christ: for in them he says to each of us, “Your life of sin is over.  It is finished.”  May this end that we remember today lead us to begin our lives in Christ anew.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 25^th, 2016

Transitions are hard, God is harder.

          I'm looking forward to being down in Brown County, Indiana with my brother priests from the Diocese of Lafayette-in-Indiana this week.  It will be a time of rest and fraternity that we don't often get as priests, especially since our parishes are so spread out across rural Indiana.  Please pray for us this week.  We will certainly remember you all in prayer.  Thanks!

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Homily: The Most Holy Trinity – Cycle B

          Transitions are hard.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a big transition or a small one, if it’s something that we’ve anticipated or not, or even if it’s something that we’ve wanted versus something that we didn’t want, transitions are hard.  This is because every transition involves some kind of loss.  In other words, in order for us to move into the next thing there’s always something that we need to leave behind.  For example, say that I get that new job that I had wanted.  In order for me to move into that job, I have to leave my current job (which, perhaps, is something that I’m happy to do).  It also means, however, that I have to leave all of those people that I’ve been working with; and perhaps some of them have become good friends.  Thus, in order to make this transition, I have to leave behind some of these relationships.

          One of my professors in the seminary—the one who introduced us into counseling those who have suffered a loss—would often remind us that grief counseling has a place during marriage preparation.  “Regardless of whether or not the man or the woman recognizes it,” he would say, “each is getting ready to lose something when they marry.”  Their independence is the biggest thing, of course, but there are also smaller things, like that couch that he loves that she won’t allow in the house or the tiffany lamp collection that she’s been working on that he knows won’t survive the kids when they come along.  This professor had a great line that he would use with folks who would tell him that they just got married; he’d say: “Oh, I’m sorry for your loss,” because marriage is a transition and transitions are hard.

          Our scriptures even give us an example of this today.  In our first reading from the book of Deuteronomy, we hear Moses giving what appears to be a “pep talk” to the Israelite people.  They had been wandering in the desert for forty years after having been freed from slavery in Egypt, waiting to enter the land promised to them by God.  Now they were just across the Jordan River from that land and they would soon enter into it.  They were weary from being nomads for so many years, but kept wandering in the hope of reaching this land that they were now so close to entering.  And so, why did they need a pep talk?

          You see, for the people that Moses was speaking to, wandering in the desert is all that they had ever known.  Their parents were the generation that participated in the exodus from Egypt.  Not long after the miracle of the parting of the Red Sea did they arrive near the land that God had promised to them.  After a group of scouts reported that the land they were about to enter was populated by “veritable giants”, however, the people rebelled against God and refused to enter.  So, they were punished by being led out into the desert to wander until that generation died off.  Thus their children, whom Moses was speaking to in today’s reading, had known only wandering.  And while they all desired deeply to enter into the Promised Land, once they were face to face with making that transition they began to become anxious because they would have to leave off what they knew for something unknown.

          As I thought about it for a little bit, I began to realize that during this time of year many of us are experiencing transitions.  Some of them are things that we’ve anticipated and looked forward to: many colleges have already celebrated graduations and our high schools are celebrating them now; June is a month of weddings and we have a list of them happening here; and today/yesterday we celebrated the ordination of a priest and two men to the transitional diaconate.  Some, however, are transitions that have been forced upon us: like Fr. Mike’s reassignment to Rochester and my new role here; the closing of our parish school; and the transitions that happen surrounding deaths: the person who transitions from this life to the next and his or her loved ones who have to transition into a life without his or her physical presence.  And I’m sure there are many other transitions that are happening right now that you all could think of.

          This is why I find it very providential that we are celebrating the feast of the Most Holy Trinity this weekend: that is, in the midst of this “time of transitions”.  If we go back to our reading from Deuteronomy—that is, to Moses’ speech—we see that his “pep talk” is a bit of history lesson.  Moses is recounting for the Israelites the “signs and wonders” that God had worked for their parents in Egypt, which led to their exodus from slavery, as well as the signs and wonders that God had worked for them as he led them in their desert wanderings.  Moses is reminding them of these things so as to give them courage: in a sense, he’s saying to them, “Look at how incredibly God has treated us since before the exodus and up until this time.  He will not, therefore, abandon us as we enter into this land that he has promised us.  And so we must go forward with courage, holding fast to our faith in God, who is with us, and honoring him by keeping all of his commandments.”

          The doctrine of the Holy Trinity is, arguably, the most important doctrine of our faith, because it pertains to the very nature of God.  It states that there is only one God, but that this one God has revealed himself to us as eternally existing as three distinct, co-equal, co-eternal persons: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  This means so much for us.  Most important for us today, however, is that God eternally exists as this perfect communion of persons.

          Now, this doctrine is something that God has revealed to us: we didn’t make it up.  Therefore, it is unchanging: unchangeable, in fact.  Thus the same God who led the Israelites out of Egypt by great signs and wonders and led them into the Promised Land, the same God who took on human flesh so that he might die to redeem us from our sins and then rise again so that we might enjoy eternal life, the same God who descended on the Apostles at Pentecost, is the God who is with us today and into the future: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Therefore, we see that God is “solid”: a rock on which we can anchor our hope, even in the face of transition.

          My brothers and sisters, Saint Paul reminds us today that “Those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God” and that “[We] did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but [we] received a Spirit of adoption, through whom we cry ‘Abba, Father!’”  In this time of transitions, let us not fall into fear about what we must lose, but rather let us go forward, led by the Spirit of God, to face each transition bravely, trusting that God is with us: the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be in that world that will not end, amen.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – May 30^th & 31^st, 2015

I'm choosing joy

Homily: 6^th Sunday of Easter – Cycle B

          Sometimes I fear that I suffer from a critical lack of imagination.  Even though I’ve studied a lot about the Bible, I often find it difficult to imagine vividly the dramatic scenes presented in the Scriptures.  My guess is that I’ve watched too much TV in my lifetime instead of reading books, like I should have.  TV, though, has come to my rescue in the form of the NBC mini-series titled “A.D.”  This series was produced by the same people who produced “The Bible” mini-series and the movie “The Son of God” and it is just as good as these two previous productions.  What the “A.D” mini-series does for me is it “puts flesh” on the Scriptures and it helps me to put faces and personalities with the names and the words recorded for us in the Scriptures; help that my weakling imagination so desperately needs.

          Peter, obviously, is a very central character in the mini-series and I’ve become absolutely enamored with him.  He’s shown in all of his raw humanity: a mix of emotions and convictions that is both bold yet hesitant at the same time and it has really enlivened my reading of the Scriptures, including passages like we’ve read today.

          In it, Peter enters the house of the Roman Centurion named Cornelius and, prompted by a vision he had in a dream, he begins to describe how God does not distinguish one nation from another, but rather wills that all men in every nation would fear him and thus be made acceptable in his sight.  As he is doing so, the Holy Spirit descended upon Cornelius and all who were of his household and they began to speak in tongues—a scene that should remind us all of the first Pentecost—thus proving the truth of Peter’s words: that God, indeed, shows no partiality.

          The disciples who were there—Peter included—were astounded at what they saw and joyful because of it: so much so that Peter ordered them to be baptized immediately.  Given what I’ve seen of Peter’s portrayal in “A.D.” I can have a sense of just how emotionally charged this scene must have been as the disciples moved from apprehension over the acceptance of Gentiles to joy that the Gentiles, too, could receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.

          One of the things that is very true about human nature is that fear robs us of joy.  Just think for a moment of someone you know who is a “worry wart” and then ask yourself “how joyful is he or she?”  My guess is that not one of you imagined somebody who is both a worrier yet joyful at the same time, because these two characteristics seem to be mutually exclusive: the amount of joy a person has is usually directly proportional to the amount of fear—or worry—that they hold on to.  Those who are full of joy, on the contrary, can stand in what seems to be the most fearful situations without being fazed.

          Jesus has told us—and we heard it today—that “if we keep his commandments we will remain in his love” and that “his commandment is this: to love one another as he loves us”, which means “to lay down one’s life for one’s friends”; and that “he has told us this so that his joy may be in us and our joy may be complete.”  Elsewhere in the Scriptures we read that “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear.” (1 John 4:18)  Thus, if we keep Jesus’ commandment to love—that is, to lay down our lives by letting go of our attachments and preferences—we will remain in his love, which is perfect because “God is love” (1 John 4:8).  Therefore it will cast out from us every fear and make us open to being filled completely with joy.

          One of the fears that I commonly encounter here in this parish is a fear of change.  No doubt change can be a fearful thing and there are many changes facing our parish in the next couple of months.  If we give in to fear of what else we might lose, however, and begin to grasp more tightly the things that remain, then we risk closing ourselves off to the unknown joy that lies ahead.  If we let go of our securities and give in to being uncomfortable, however, we open ourselves to the movement of the Holy Spirit and risk being filled with an even greater joy than we could have imagined.  Just think: if Peter had refused to let go of his prejudice that Jesus was the Messiah for the Jews alone, none of us “gentiles” might be here.  But he opened himself to the movement of the Holy Spirit and thus was filled with an even greater joy than he could have imagined at first: that Jesus is the Messiah for both Jews and Gentiles alike—that is, the whole human race.

          My brothers and sisters, the question for us today is: “what are we afraid of?”  Jesus wants joy-filled followers.  Yet, Christians walking around afraid that the world is collapsing down over them are particular joy-less.  On the contrary, Christians who live detached from the things of this world, and from their personal preferences and prejudices, are typically the most joy-filled.  These focus on giving, instead of receiving; on laying down their lives for others, instead of preserving their lives at the expense of others; in short, they focus on love.

          My friends, this joy that Jesus promises is a joy that I want in my life and so I am going to let go of my apprehension and give in to being uncomfortable so as to see what this movement of the Holy Spirit has in store for me and for this parish; and I invite all of you to come along with me to follow Jesus’ command to love unreservedly: because it is by this that we will remain in his love and it is by this that our joy, made perfect by his, will be complete.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – May 10^th, 2015

To each according to his ability

          A great (and exhausting) weekend here at All Saints.  45 teens participated in the Antioch retreat, Start a Fire, and we really saw how our faithfulness in using our talents made a profit in the lives of these youth and contributed to the building of God's kingdom in preparation for our Master's return.

Closing of Antioch 2014 - Start a Fire

          Fear of failure is the enemy of faithfulness, because it makes us bury our talents instead of using them.  God doesn't condemn us for our failures, but for our lack of faithfulness.  Thus, there is nothing to fear and everything to gain, so go and make a difference in the world!

          Happy feast day of St. Elizabeth of Hungary!

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Homily: 33^rd Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          Ready or not, secular Christmas has descended upon us.  Much like this winter weather hi-jacked fall and arrived before its time, secular Christmas is already in full-swing.  This is not unexpected, though.  Retailers hoping to profit off of this “season of giving” risk starting earlier and earlier each year in hopes of catching an extra share of gift-givers’ money.  “Christmas only comes once a year”, they say, and so they know that they cannot waste any time.

          My older sister has long been possessed by this “spirit of Christmas”.  It begins on Thanksgiving Day where we not only ingest turkey and dressing, but also the sounds Christmas music already playing on the radio in order to “prime the pump” for what follows next.  For on the Friday after Thanksgiving, a coordinated onslaught by Christmas décor completely obliterates any sign of fall harvest motif.  It’s as if Christmas Day was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and so no man, woman, or child could be left to rest until this transformation is complete.

          What my sister and retailers both demonstrate is that when we know the day and the time that something important is going to happen we have no problem making preparations; even to the point of putting aside everything else so as to ensure that the preparations are complete.  As Christians, however, we often fall far short of these expectations.  We know that Jesus has come to save us and we believe that he desires a personal relationship with us, which is why we celebrate events like the day of his birth—Christmas—because they invite us to know him more deeply and so consider him like a dear friend or family member, but when it comes to preparing for his coming again in glory, we often miss the mark.  We go along with our lives like Jesus’ coming won’t be during our lifetimes and we put off the work of building his kingdom in preparation of his coming.

          This, however, is exactly what Jesus is warning us about in the parable of the talents.  In biblical terms, a talent was a unit of weight and it was not a small unit.  A talent of silver, according to some historians, was worth nearly 15 years of daily wages in Jesus’ time.  Therefore, the amount of money that the master is entrusting to each of the three servants—even in its smallest quantity—is incredibly large.  Even though our modern sensibilities cringe at the idea that one man seemed to do something very risky when he buried the money instead of investing it, his action would have been seen as an acceptable way of protecting the money he was entrusted with: because if you buried it and it was stolen, you wouldn’t be responsible; but if you invested it and lost it through bad investments, you would be responsible.

          As Jesus often does in these parables, however, he takes the expected outcome and he flips it.  In this parable, the servants who were risky with their master’s money were rewarded, but the one who avoided any risk was punished.  Perhaps it’s too easy, however, to conclude that it is because of the profit that the servants made that they were rewarded and that because the one servant didn’t make any profit that he was punished.  I think that there’s something more to this parable.

          If we look at the part where the money is distributed, we see that the master distributed the talents “to each according to his ability”.  In other words, the master knew the responsibility that he was giving to his servants, and he knew his servants well and so also knew how capable they were (or weren’t) to handle his money, and so he calculated how much to give to each servant so as to ensure that his money would be safe while he was away on his journey.  Two of his servants trusted their master’s assessment of them and went and traded with his money, each according to his abilities, and each made a profit.  The third servant, however, failed to trust his master—in fact, he was afraid of him—and so he washed his hands of the responsibility that his master had given him by burying the money until his master returned.

          It is for this failure of trust that the third servant is punished.  When the master returned and saw the profit from the work of the first two servants he said to each of them, “since you were faithful in small matters, I will give you great responsibilities.”  In other words, they were rewarded for their faithfulness, not for their profit.  When the third showed his complete lack of faith in his master, fueled by fear, he was punished: not because he didn’t make a profit (he did what was accepted to be the safest way to protect money), but rather because he failed to trust his master and his master’s assessment of his ability to make a profit.  Perhaps he wasn’t even a bad person (I want to believe that he was a nice guy), but he had no faith and so he was punished.

          This is why this parable is such a valuable lesson for us.  God has given to each of us faith according to our ability to make a profit from it for the building of his kingdom.  We, therefore, are called to trust in his assessment of our ability and to go out and trade with it.  Our trading is the building up of God’s kingdom of justice and peace in the world.  And when the master returns—that is, when Jesus comes again in glory—we will each be rewarded or punished on account of our faithfulness: that is, whether in faith we went out and worked for God’s kingdom, even at the risk of failure, or in fear we buried our talent in the earth, preserving what we had been given, but preventing it from growing and producing fruit.

          My brothers and sisters, as we approach the end of the liturgical year, our liturgy reminds us that Jesus’ coming is still close at hand and, therefore, that we must be vigilant in our work to prepare for his coming.  Just as each of us will prepare our homes to celebrate the remembrance of Christ’s birth, so too we must remain committed to preparing our world for his second coming as if the day were as close at hand as Christmas Day is to today.  And there is no reason to fear, because our Good God knows us and he knows our abilities.  Thus, he gives each of us faith to accomplish some work for the building of his kingdom according to our abilities.  Blessed John Henry Newman, a brilliant theologian from the 19^th century in England, summed it up perfectly when he said:

“God has created me to do some definite service.  God has committed some work to me which he has not committed to another.  I have my mission—I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.  I have not been created for naught.  I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it, if I do but keep the commandments.  Therefore, I will trust in God.  Whatever, wherever I am, I can never be thrown away.  If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve God; in perplexity, my perplexity may serve God; if I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve God.  God does nothing in vain, but knows what all is about.”

Let us, then, be about the work that God has committed to each of us, so that when Jesus, our master, returns, we may receive the reward that faith has won for us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – November 16^th, 2014

FoMo and a Three-Ring Circus

          Sorry it's the middle of the week before I am posting last weekend's homily, but it has been that kind of week already :)  Perhaps it will help get you through the "hump"!

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Homily: 16^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          This past Tuesday, I attended the Peru amateur circus for the first time.  As a matter of fact, it was my first circus of any kind, ever and so I was very excited to have the opportunity to experience a real, live circus.  Overall, I found it to be very entertaining and was so impressed by the talent and the courage of all of the young performers.  I have to say, though, that it was all a bit disorienting at first.  I mean, there was just SO MUCH going on at any given time that it was a bit overwhelming.  If you’ve never been then let me just say that it is not for nothing that we call a chaotic situation a “three-ring circus”.

          For most of the evening, all three rings of the circus had performers in them and many times, they weren’t all doing the same things.  I started to get overwhelmed as I was trying to shift my attention from the one act that was right in front of me to the other acts in the other two rings so that I didn’t miss anything (and, having a bit of a “parent streak” in me now, I wanted to be sure that I was giving applause to everyone so that none of them would feel unappreciated).  After three hours of doing all that I was exhausted!  As I reflected on the evening, what I realized was that I was experiencing something that I think a lot of people in our day and age suffer from, which is what I call “the fear of missing out”.

          This “fear of missing out” is a peculiarly modern condition that many of us suffer from in which we feel the need to fill our days with doing or experiencing every possible thing that we can because we are afraid that if we didn’t we’d be “missing out” on something.  All you have to do is watch a few commercials on TV and you will quickly find that advertisers are intently focused on engaging this fear in each and every one of us.  “Don’t miss out!  Sale ends Friday!  Only two days to save!  Get yours before they’re gone!”  This doesn’t apply only to the stuff we consume, though.  It can happen when we make decisions about our careers and our family lives, too.  A friend of my agonized over choosing to take the job that she knew was right for her because she was afraid of what she might miss out on by not taking the other job that was offered her.  And how often have we heard about people putting off marriage or parents putting off having children because they’re afraid that they won’t be able to take that “dream job” if it happens to get offered to them: they’re afraid of missing out on it.  These people are reacting to their “fear of missing out.”  The result of all of this reacting, of course, is that we become much too focused on what we are “doing” instead of being focused on how we are “being.”

          In our Gospel reading today, we are presented with a case study of these to modes of living in the persons of Martha and Mary.  Obviously, Martha is the one who becomes too focused on “doing” while Mary is the one who remains focused on “being”.  Now, it would be pretty easy for me to stand here and say that “Jesus commended Mary for ‘choosing the better part’, so start being more like Mary than Martha”, but I think that would belittle the point.  Notice that in the first reading Abraham and Sarah went wild with work to serve the three strangers that came upon them and that for all of their “doing” they were blessed with the announcement that within a year, Sarah (who was thought to be barren at that point) will give birth to a son.  Hospitality was an important value for the peoples of the Ancient Near East, and thus we see both Abraham and Martha responding as was expected of them when unexpected guests came to their homes.

          And so, why, then, did Jesus commend Mary, who wasn’t doing anything, over Martha, who was working so hard to be hospitable?  I believe it is because he recognized that Martha was so focused on “doing” all of the right things that she forgot to notice who she was doing it for.  It’s not that Jesus wouldn’t have delighted in whatever food and refreshments that Martha would have provided, but he came to see them and to “feed” on their company, rather than just to have a good meal.  Martha, it seems, was reacting to a fear of not doing something—that is, of leaving something left out—and so was chastised a little by Jesus, while Mary focused on what was more important—that is, enjoying the company of their guest and allowing the guest to enjoy their company—and so was commended for it.

          And this, of course, continues to be a temptation for us all.  I mean, how often during holidays or other special occasions do we get so caught up in the preparations and executions of our celebrations that we fail to enjoy what it was that we were doing it all for in the first place: to delight in the company of family and friends?  Or how about with our stewardship?  How often do we get so caught up in the “doing” of our service that we forget to connect with those whom we are serving?  The best part about the “Loaves and Fishes” lunches is not the number of people who have a good, hot meal that day, but rather the number of people who walked in as strangers and left feeling like they had been seen and cared for.  This is the balance that this case study shows us: our work, even our hospitality, is not an end in itself; it is always a means to the end of growing in communion with one another.

          You know, every week, through his Church, God prepares a banquet for us and a lot of people do a lot of work to make the banquet special.  If all of our work is only an attempt to “do something pretty (or entertaining… or whatever)” then we’ve missed the point of why God prepares it for us.  God prepares the banquet for us because he delights in our company and he wants us to delight in his.   Thus, the focus of the Liturgy is on “being” together—that is, Mary sitting at the feet of Jesus—more than it is on “doing” something for the Lord—that is, Martha obsessing over serving.

          My brothers and sisters, Jesus invites us to be with him today.  And so if you are feeling burdened with trying to do it all or trying take it all in, then just stop a while and enjoy this time that we have with him each and every week: this time at the feet of Jesus; because when you do that then you’ll see what’s truly important and you’ll never regret what you’ve “missed out” on because you’ll have already done the one thing that is truly valuable: you will have seen Jesus and you will have been seen and felt cared for by him.

          You know, our lives, often times, can feel like a three-ring circus (and perhaps even more so when we are trying to live our baptismal call to give loving service to God and our neighbor).  Jesus reminds us today, however, that he never desires us to be so preoccupied with our serving—that is, with “doing”—that we miss out on the opportunity to be with him: both here at Mass and in the encounters we have with him in our daily lives.  Let us, then, pray for the grace to abandon our fears for what we might “miss out” on in this world, so that we don’t fail to enjoy the one thing that truly matters: the love and fellowship of Jesus.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – July 21^st, 2013