Let's make the Catholic Church Evangelical again

Sports Stadium or Evangelical Megachurch?  You decide!

Homily: 4th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

As you all know, I spent the middle two weeks of January in Central America (El Salvador and Guatemala, to be exact).  I was on a pilgrimage with other priests, deacons, and religious to learn about the Central American martyrs.  If you heard my homily last week, you’ll know that it was a much more sober experience than I expected from the outset, as I learned about the horrible violence that plagued those countries in the ‘70s and ‘80s.  I also learned more about how the Catholic Church has been a fixture in these places throughout those rough times.  One of my most consoling moments was concelebrating Mass in the parish church in Santiago, Atitlan, in Guatemala, which is the oldest parish still operating in Central America.  It dates to 1547!  And it is the place where Blessed Stanley Rother, an Oklahoma priest who worked in Guatemala, stood with the poor who were being oppressed: a stand which, ultimately, cost him his life.

There was a moment of disturbing contrast, however.  On one of the days, when we were traveling by mini-bus from El Salvador to Guatemala, we drove by what we, at first, thought was a sports arena.  Then, we read the sign by the road: “Casa de Dios”... “House of God”... an Evangelical Christian mega-church.  At first, we didn’t believe that we read the right sign, but we had to double back down the same road and, when we did, it was confirmed: this huge building—which looked like it could host Super Bowl 54—was an Evangelical mega-church.

It was no surprise to me that Evangelicals have been in traditionally Catholic Central America.  They’ve been there for some time.  The fact that they are such a large presence as to build such an incredibly large building was a bit of a surprise, however.  That building was a statement that Evangelical Christianity has taken a foothold in Guatemala.  Knowing what I know about religious attitudes of Guatemalans, I safely assumed that the Evangelicals are not winning-over the unaffiliated; rather, they’re winning over Catholics.  After talking with a couple of people, it seems as if it is the same situation that is happening all over Central America: that Evangelicals are going throughout these countries specifically targeting Catholics and seeking to lure them away from the practice of the Roman Catholic religion.  The fact that they are finding success is, to me, a big problem.

But this is just a microcosm of what has been happening around the world and even here in our own community.  How many of us here have watched as our children, grandchildren, godchildren, brothers and sisters have slipped away from the Catholic Church: either to stop practicing the Catholic faith altogether or who have been lured to an “Evangelical” community?  A good number of us, I’m sure.  Oh, and I do mean “lured,” by the way.  In many parts of the world, Evangelicals are on a mission to “convert” Catholics because they believe that what we preach is a false religion.  Let us not be deceived, however, into thinking that this is okay, because they’re still “Christians”.  When Jesus was accused of casting out demons by the power of Satan, he said to them, “A house divided against itself cannot stand.”  My brothers and sisters, some Protestants and Evangelicals are striving to do just that: to divide God’s house; and, in many ways, we are letting it happen.

I think that, as the Catholic Church, we’ve allowed ourselves to become complacent.  We’ve allowed ourselves to think, “The world’s been evangelized, so I can sit back, relax and just hang out here in the Church until Christ comes back and everything should be fine.”  We’ve forgotten that the very nature of the Church is to be evangelical.  Thus, one of the things that is luring people away from the Catholic Church is that these other communities are doing what the Catholic Church has been failing to do: they are evangelizing!  So, where are our evangelists?  I’m looking at them!  Yes, I’m looking at all of you (and, if I had a mirror, at myself).  I hope that this does not come as a shock to any of you, but each of us here, because of our baptism, are called to be evangelists.

Our first reading today from the prophet Jeremiah reminds us that we are all called to proclaim God’s words to his people.  Sure, the words we heard were God’s words to the prophet Jeremiah at a specific place and time.  Nonetheless, they have been preserved up to this day because they are inspired by God and helpful in instructing us in following our own calls today.  And so, what does God say?  “Try to be holy and just show up to Mass and you’ll be fine”?  No!  He says, “Gird up your loins; stand up and tell them what I command you”!

What God is saying to us, then, is that it is not enough for us to give a minimal effort at holiness and to fulfill the basic requirements, like showing up on Sundays.  What God is saying to us, rather, is that we must also speak his words to others, especially those closest to us, challenging them in positive ways to seek God more deeply and then to support them as they do.

Perhaps, however, we are worried that we’ll push our loved ones away or that they will turn against us.  To that, the readings for today also have an answer.  God promised Jeremiah (and, therefore, he promised us) that he “would not leave us crushed before them,” but rather that he “would make us a fortified city….”

Jesus himself did not fear the reproaches of his family or his neighbors in Nazareth.  As we heard today in the Gospel reading, Jesus preached the truth to them and they boiled over with rage against him.  God did not leave him to their rage, however.  Rather, when he was about to be thrown over the edge of the cliff, Jesus “passed through the midst of them and went away.”

Thus, we need not fear the reproaches of our families or neighbors.  If our words inspire them to rage, then so be it.  God will not leave us to be “crushed before them.”  Hopefully, however, and if we speak the truth to them with love (as Saint Paul admonishes us to do today), our words will inspire in them a fervor to seek Christ where he may most fully be found: here in this church and in the Eucharist.

If we still have fear, however, then it probably means that we ourselves need to be ignited with fervor for the faith.  If so, don’t worry, because that’s where we come in: part of our duty as parish leadership is to provide you with what you need to be ignited with fervor for the faith.  I hope that you will pay close attention to the bulletin and announcements and respond to the opportunities that we are preparing for you.  With that fervor ignited (or stoked, if it was already ignited), our tasks then are the following: fervent celebration of the Eucharist every Sunday, consistent daily prayer and reading of the Scriptures, adoration of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament as often as possible, faith sharing in small groups, and frequent confession.  Close attention to these tasks will stoke our fervor for the faith into a burning fire.  Witness (telling others about this fire burning in us), invitation (inviting them to experience the same), and service (fervor expressed in the works of mercy), then, become the acts that will ignite that same fervor in others.

My brothers and sisters, we’ve procrastinated long enough.  Today is the day to act.  Let us respond to the Holy Father’s call and reclaim for our Church the name which has always been ours: Evangelical.  And let us be that shining light for Christ that leads our brothers and sisters—our families and our neighbors—to that communion with God that their hearts so deeply desire: the communion that we share here at this table.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – February 3rd, 2019

The least are all the more necessary

Homily: 3^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

These past two weeks, I was in Central America—El Salvador and Guatemala, to be precise—for a pilgrimage with other priests, deacons, and religious from around the country visiting the sites of the Central American martyrs.  These are persons like Saint Oscar Romero, a bishop in El Salvador, and the newly beatified Blessed Stanley Rother, who was a priest from Oklahoma who went to serve in Guatemala. My anticipation when making this trip was that I’d be inspired be these holy priests and others who gave their lives for their people.  From that standpoint (in case you wanted to ask), the trip was great.

In between those visits, our group was inundated (literally, flooded!) with information about the civil violence in El Salvador and Guatemala in the 70’s and 80’s, in which individual witnesses to the violence perpetrated against innocent persons (in some cases, whole villages!) was recounted.  From this standpoint, the trip was horrible (and I mean by that, horrifying). I hope to be able to recount something of what I heard to you all in the next weeks, but now I’ll just say that that the stories of government sponsored atrocities against innocent people were sickening, saddening, and depressing.

Consoling through all of these stories was meeting some of the men and women who lived through these terrible times (which, by the way, haven’t completely ended) and who nonetheless have found a reason for hope in their Catholic faith.  I encountered in the Maryknoll missionaries who worked with these people during these terrible times what it really means when the Church says that she has a “preferential option for the poor”, as they risked their lives to serve the needs and defend the rights of people who had very little resources to defend themselves.  Finally, I discovered in myself an experience not unlike that which the people experienced in our first reading in today’s Mass.

There, the priest Ezra presents the newly recovered scroll of the Law of Moses, which had been lost to whole generations of Israelites as they were in exile in Babylon.  Now, back in Jerusalem and tasked with rebuilding the city and, specifically, the Temple, the Israelites need some inspiration. Thus, Ezra calls the people together to read to them from the Torah (probably the book of Deuteronomy).  As he does, the people weep.  Scholars say that they wept both for joy and sorrow. Joy, because this word of God is filled with wisdom: wisdom that they had never heard in their lives and which they are now happy to receive (wisdom being such an sought after gift to the peoples of those times).  Sorrow, because they remembered the sins of their ancestors that caused them to be taken into exile and because they recognized the sins under which they, themselves, had been living.

As I went through this pilgrimage, I, too, experienced joy and sorrow.  Joy, as the truth of the Gospel that “brings glad tidings to the poor” pierced my heart: wounding me with its beauty.  Sorrow, as I recognized the sins of generations past that have assaulted that beauty (and continue to do so today) as well as my own sins of ignorance, indifference, and inaction.  As we heard story after story of injustices perpetrated against the poor my sadness grew.  Then, I had a realization: I realized that there would be no happy ending to this pilgrimage.  In other words, there would be no end to this story in which all of these negative scenes would be wrapped up into some positive conclusion, and this increased my sorrow.

Early this past week, however, I found words of consolation: words that helped me to see that there can be a “happy ending”.  In the Office of Readings for the feast of Saint Vincent, Deacon and Martyr, these words of Saint Augustine were provided for reflection: “Against Christ’s army the world arrays a twofold battleline.  It offers temptation to lead us astray; it strikes terror into us to break our spirit.  Hence if our personal pleasures do not hold us captive, and if we are not frightened by brutality, then the world is overcome.”  I think that Saint Augustine nailed it right on the head: What holds me back from acting on behalf of the poor except my fear of becoming poor myself or of what others might do to me if I do?  Thus, if I can overcome my captivity to personal pleasures (and, thus, risk becoming poor) and if I can overcome my fear of reprisals (verbal and/or physical), then I can act with full freedom and release the full power of the Gospel and, thus, do something to bring about the “happy ending” for which I am looking.

Looking at today’s Gospel reading, we see that this is precisely the example that our Lord Jesus has given to us.  There, he comes into the synagogue at Nazareth and solemnly declares that he is the one to fulfill the prophesies of Isaiah of the one who would come to liberate God’s people and inaugurate the kingdom of God.  In doing so, he turned his back on personal pleasures and turned his life towards that of being a poor, itinerant preacher; and he overcame every fear of reprisal: reprisals that, ultimately, would lead to his death.

His death (an unjust death, by the way, driven by the fear of the religious elite) led to his resurrection and the chance for every person to find reconciliation with God and eternal life with him.  Our work, as Christians—that is, followers of Christ—is to continue Christ’s work of proclaiming this Good News by helping people break free from their captivity to their personal pleasures and to overcome their fear of the brutality that the world can inflict upon them; and, thus, work to bring forth God’s kingdom: a kingdom in which the poor hear glad tidings, liberty is proclaimed to captives, sight is restored to the blind, and the oppressed are set free.  Friends, if this is not our aim in life, then we are shirking the responsibilities given to us.

Saint Paul, in our second reading, makes this point even more clear.  There he says that, as members of Christ’s Body, we are all one; and that no member of the body, regardless of how important it may seem, is any more important than any other.  In fact, he says, those members of the body that seem to be least important are “all the more necessary” and are “surrounded with greater honor”.  Thus, the question comes to us: Do the poor have an honored place among us?  Or do we keep them at “arm’s length" so as not to make us too uncomfortable?  Do we allow them to show us what a just kingdom might look like?  Or do we condescend and try to instruct them, instead?

Friends, there are members of Christ’s Body, the Church, all over the world, right here in Lafayette, and, probably, right here in our church, who are suffering right now.  Are we suffering with them?  Some of us, yes.  Many of us, however, no.  Probably most of us, not enough.  And so, if these words cut to your heart, good.  Be sober about this reality and examine your conscience.  Ask God to show you the ways that you might better work to bring forth God’s kingdom of justice and to grow in solidarity with the poor and marginalized in our society.  Then risk becoming poor yourself and the reprisals of those who benefit from keeping the poor in their poverty by working to realize the ideals of justice and solidarity with which God has inspired you.  In this way you will truly suffer with the members who are suffering and be honored with those members who are honored.

Yes, friends, be sober about this reality, but try not to be sad: because the victory over sin and injustice has already been won in Jesus.  Rejoice, therefore, for in Christ we have overcome the world; and justice for every person—from conception to natural death, each created in the supreme dignity of the image of God—can be realized when we allow God’s Spirit to work in and through us.  Yes, rejoice and give thanks today for Christ’s victory; and then choose to make the fruits of Christ’s victory—that is, the fullness of God’s kingdom—present among us.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – January 26^th & 27^th, 2019

Frustration works for our good

Homily: 23rd Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

A number of years ago, while I was still in the seminary, I spent time in Guatemala in order to study Spanish and immerse myself in Hispanic culture.  I remember that one of the things that struck me about life in Guatemala was how frustrating it seemed be for the Guatemalan people.  All of the infrastructure things that make our lives here relatively comfortable—things like, good roads, new cars, convenience stores, etc.—are relatively underdeveloped there (if they’re even developed at all).  I imagined that this meant that their daily lives are probably filled with frustrations as they try to accomplish even what I might consider to be the simplest tasks; because, for example, maybe the electricity shut off, or the gas station was out of fuel, or the road washed out in the heavy rain last night.  They, I supposed, are a people very familiar with frustration.

On some level, however, all of us are familiar with frustration in one form or another.  When your pen runs out of ink, or your coupon is expired, or you leave your leftovers on the table at the restaurant… these are all examples of how we experience frustrations even in the smallest things of our daily lives. Now, while this may seem weird, I want to propose to you that all of those frustrations have a purpose.  Yes, a purpose.  Believe it or not, frustrations are meant to be a signal to us that something isn’t right.  In other words, much in the same way that the pain that we feel in our hand when we touch a hot stove has as its purpose to warn us that we are doing something to harm ourselves, so too frustrations have as their purpose to remind us that the world is “out of order”. 

Why do we need to be reminded that the world is “out of order”?  Well, because our souls long for things to be “in order”.  Let’s think about this for a second: if being “out of order” was the way things were supposed to be, then we wouldn’t get frustrated because everything would seem to be just as it ought.  For example, in a world where “out of order” is the way things are supposed to be, if I were to blow out a tire on my car during a trip I wouldn’t get frustrated because I would be able to say to myself “Well, I expected this to happen because that’s how the world works.”  But “out of order” is not the “order” of things, and so we become frustrated when “out of order” things happen.  We instinctively know that “out of order” isn’t right and so we experience discomfort when we encounter it as a sign to remind us that it isn’t right.

And this is so important for us, and here’s why.  You see, when I think about it, I find that there are two basic ways that we deal with frustration: either 1) we confront it and try to overcome it (that is, we try to put back “in order” what is “out of order”) or 2) we resign ourselves to being frustrated and thus give up on trying to overcome it altogether (in other words, we accept that being frustrated with “out of order” is the only way that it can be).  Because there are so many things that are outside of our control in this world, we more often than not deal with frustration in the second way that I described.  The danger of this is that, if we are constantly facing frustrations, we might quickly lose hope that anything really ever could be “in order” again.  This can lead us into apathy, which numbs our sense of frustration, thus causing us to forget that there is an ideal “order” for which we should be striving, and “out of order” becomes the “way things are supposed to be”.

In the first reading, we heard an encouraging proclamation from Isaiah.  In his proclamation he is talking about how God is coming to vindicate his people from their enemies and he is using terms of restoration: that is, of restoring things that are “out of order” so as to put them back “in order”.  In other words, Isaiah is saying that, when God’s vindication comes, things that had been out of order—like eyes that are blind, ears that cannot hear, legs that cannot be used for jumping, and tongues that cannot speak—will be restored to order—for the blind will see, the deaf will hear, the lame will leap, and the mute will speak.  He proclaimed this to them so that they wouldn’t become resigned to accept what they couldn’t change and thus become apathetic to how “out of order” everything was.  In God’s eyes, it was better for the people to have a healthy sense of frustration, for that would keep them longing for the order that he planned to restore for them; and so, would strengthen their faith.

As Christians we know that God sent his Son Jesus to vindicate us from our enemies and thus to restore order to the world; and the stories recorded for us in the Gospels are meant to support this claim.  Today we heard of how Jesus opened the ears of a man who was deaf and of how he freed the tongue of that same man who also had a speech impediment.  This was a sign that Jesus had come to vindicate God’s people as he put back “in order” that which was “out of order” in this man.  When he suffered and died on the cross Jesus made atonement for our sins; and when he rose from the dead he put back “in order” that which was most “out of order” in us: as he restored mankind’s ability to be in communion with God, which is the very reason for which man was created.

Friends, none of you would be surprised if I told you that we are walking around in a world that is still gravely “out of order”; and none of you would be surprised if I told you that the Church has, in many ways, become “out of order”, too: this, in spite of the fact that Jesus left us the Church precisely to be the place in which we might experience the world put back “in order”.  I believe that God is permitting these scandals to come to light so that we might become highly frustrated once again and, therefore, by cooperating with his grace, put things back “in order” in his Church.

If we are going to do so, we have to pay attention to one extremely important thing.  Brothers and sisters, we cannot put the Church back in order if we are walking around deaf to God’s word.  In other words, God’s Church will never be restored to be the sign of a world put back “in order” as long as her members continue to ignore God’s Word—the Logos, the eternal Truth by which “order” is possible.  The “Ten Commandments” are known in the ancient Greek as the Decalogue—literally, the “Ten Words” of God: commands given to us to show us what the world looks like when it is “in order”.  Given the fact that 75% of Americans who identify as Catholic don’t attend Mass on a weekly basis and that a significant percentage of American Catholics have divorced and remarried without an annulment or have married outside of the Church, it should be pretty clear that a great majority of us are walking around deaf to these Ten Words of God.

Thus, the challenge for us is this: Ask Jesus to open your ears to hear these Words and then ask yourselves, “Am I truly (and I mean truly, without excuses) following them?”  If not, we must repent, confess our sins to a priest and receive absolution, and then strive with all our might to order our lives according to these Words once again.  Brothers and sisters, without your striving—without my striving, without Bishop Doherty’s striving, without Pope Francis’ striving—the Church—God's sign of a world “out of order” put back “in order—will continue to be an ineffective one that people ignore.  By our living witnesses, however, (imperfect though they may be) Christ’s power to open ears to hear his word and loosen tongues to proclaim his praise will flow through us; and the world, with all of its frustrations, will begin to look more and more like the kingdom of God: a place of order, harmony, and peace.

Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let us not be afraid to allow the Holy Spirit to illumine for us all that is “out of order” in us and then to bring those things to Jesus, who will forgive us and restore them to order for us.  And let us hold on to hope: the hope that we have in the fact that Jesus has vindicated us; and that the world of perfect order that our hearts long for—the kingdom of God—will come to us when Jesus himself comes again to make all things new.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – September 9th, 2018

Dios con nosotros en nuestra sed.

Homilía: 3º Domingo en la Cuaresma – Ciclo A

          En el verano de 2009 estuve en Guatemala estudiando español y me sumergiendo en la cultura hispana. Había estudiantes de muchos sectores de la vida que estudiaban español junto a mí en la escuela. Un par de estudiantes eran, literalmente, una pareja: un par de marido y mujer llamado Kris y DiDi. Kris trabajó para la Universidad Lipscomb en Tennessee como profesor de Tecnología de Ingeniería y cada año organizaba un viaje para sus estudiantes a Centroamérica para que pudieran aplicar sus estudios a un problema práctico: en este caso, capturar agua dulce de manantiales de montaña y transportarla a las aldeas para que la gente tuviera agua limpia con la que beber y cocinar.

          Kris y DiDi no estaban en uno de estos viajes ese verano, pero estaban estudiando español para hacer más fácil los viajes de Kris en el futuro. No obstante, Kris aprovechaba la oportunidad para explorar posibles sitios de proyectos en este país. Me expresó un interés en visitar uno de estos sitios con ellos y fueron bien amable para invitarme a viajar con ellos en uno de sus viajes. Este viaje en particular fue a la parte norte-central de Guatemala, cerca de la ciudad de Cobán.

          Mientras estaba allí, nuestro guía local, Gabriel, explicó algunos de los retos en la seguridad de los sitios del proyecto. Dijo que había un par de fuentes potenciales que estaban en una propiedad que no pudimos acceder. Tendríamos que pasar por ciertas partes de la propiedad y los propietarios no nos dan permiso para hacerlo. Dijo que a menudo había peleas entre los propietarios y los vecinos que lo rodeaban, ya que el propietario a menudo cortaba el acceso a la carretera por bloquear con una puerta y contrataba un guardia armado para mantener a la gente fuera. Recuerdo claramente cómo Gabriel observó que, frente a tal adversidad, el lado más feo de la gente tendía a mostrarse.

          Pero es cierto, ¿no? Que cuando estamos más estresados (y que es más estresante que preocuparse de si va a tener comida, refugio o agua limpia para beber?) tenemos tendencia a ponernos muy a la defensiva y empezamos a tratar a los que nos rodean más como a nuestros enemigos que a nuestros vecinos. Toda nuestra buena crianza a veces puede salir por la ventana, al parecer, cuando la adversidad se establece y nuestras necesidades básicas se ven amenazadas.

          Este hecho fue expuesto en la primera lectura de hoy. A pesar de todo lo que Dios había hecho por los israelitas—a pesar de todas las señales poderosas que había trabajado mientras eran esclavos en Egipto y cuando los sacó de Egipto—tan pronto como se agotaron de cierta necesidad en su camino a la tierra en la cual Dios prometió asentarlos, comienzan a protestar contra Dios. No, los milagros poderosos que Dios trabajó no solidificaron en ellos una confianza inquebrantable en Dios. Más bien, ante la adversidad, en lugar de confiar en el cuidado de Dios y hacer actos de fe que Dios les proveería en su necesidad, se dieron miedo y comenzaron a atacar verbalmente a Moisés, acusándolo de llevarlos al desierto para morir.

          Moisés, por su parte, cede también al miedo. En vez de asegurar a la gente que Dios proveería y luego dar vuelta y pedirle a Dios un signo, Moisés inmediatamente se vuelve y grita a Dios para que se salve de sus violentas amenazas contra él. Dios, por supuesto, proporcionó un flujo milagroso de agua para satisfacer su sed mundana, pero el daño había sido hecho. Tanto es así que nombraron el lugar, no para el flujo milagroso de agua, sino para la duda y la prueba de Dios que tuvo lugar allí. Las Escrituras incluso registran la pregunta que estaba en sus labios en este tiempo de adversidad: "¿Está o no está el Señor en medio de nosotros?" La adversidad, al parecer, les hizo olvidar incluso las obras más poderosas de Dios y en su temor, ellos se volvieron contra él.

          Unos milenios más tarde, podemos mirar hacia atrás y preguntar: "Después de todo lo que Dios había hecho por ellos, ¿cómo podrían caer en el miedo de esa manera?" La realidad es, sin embargo, que a menudo hacemos lo mismo. A pesar de que disfrutamos de tantas ventajas en nuestras vidas—ventajas para las cuales, tal vez, regularmente tomamos tiempo para dar gracias a Dios—cuando la adversidad golpea, de repente olvidamos cómo Dios nos ha provisto y asumimos, más bien, que él nos ha abandonado. Tal vez perdemos nuestro trabajo (o tal vez nuestra casa... o tal vez ambos), o una relación se desintegra, o una tragedia toma la vida de uno de nuestros seres queridos, o tal vez incluso una combinación de estas cosas... Todas estas cosas amenazan nuestras necesidades más básicas y por lo tanto nos hacen experimentar una gran ansiedad y estrés. Y en lugar de dirigirnos a Dios y hacer actos de fe que el que siempre nos ha provisto continuará proveyéndonos, más bien nos volvemos contra Dios: tal vez incluso preguntándonos "¿Está o no está el Señor en medio de nosotros?" Adversidad, al parecer, nos hace olvidar incluso las obras más poderosas de Dios.

          En nuestra lectura del Evangelio, sin embargo, Dios nos da una respuesta definitiva a nuestra pregunta en la adversidad. La mujer samaritana viene al pozo. ¿Por qué? Porque tiene sed, por supuesto. Allí, en un tiempo oscuro del día en que no pensaba que encontrara a nadie, ella encuentra a nuestro Señor y él hace una simple petición: "Dame de beber". A lo largo de los siglos muchos eruditos y muchos predicadores ha tomado estas palabras del Señor y las ha interpretado para significar que nuestro Señor estaba realmente expresando su sed de su salvación; Y esta es una hermosa interpretación que no me atrevería a negar a ser verdad. Pero hoy quiero que oigamos estas palabras en el contexto del acompañamiento—como una respuesta, es decir, a nuestra pregunta en la adversidad: "¿Está o no está el Señor en medio de nosotros?" En este intercambio con la mujer samaritana, nuestro Señor se revela como el Cristo; pero primero se revela a ella como alguien que tiene sed con ella. De esta manera, cuando se revela a sí mismo como el Cristo, también se revela a sí mismo como Immanuel—es decir, Dios con nosotros: así, respondiendo definitivamente a la pregunta "¿Está o no está el Señor en medio de nosotros?" con "Sí. Aquí estoy." Como oímos, a partir de esta revelación, la mujer ya no buscó llenar su cántaro, sino que lo dejó para decirle a todos sus compañeros de pueblo esta noticia increíblemente buena.

          En nuestras propias vidas, ¿con qué frecuencia pasamos por alto a nuestro Señor en medio de nosotros, porque, en lugar de buscarlo en nuestra adversidad con nosotros, estamos tratando de encontrarlo fuera de ella? Nos hemos tropezado y caído en un pozo profundo y todo el tiempo que estamos mirando hacia arriba y gritando "Señor, ¿por qué no estás aquí para ayudarme?", Cuando a menudo todo lo que tenemos que hacer es mirar a nuestra derecha o nuestra izquierda para ver que él está allí mismo en el fondo del pozo con nosotros. Creemos que, porque caímos en el pozo que él no estaba con nosotros y nos olvidamos de que él siempre se ha revelado a sí mismo para ser Immanuel—Dios con nosotros. Pensamos: "Él no podría estar aquí en este lío conmigo", olvidando completamente que esto es exactamente lo que decidió hacer cuando se convirtió en uno de nosotros, tomando nuestro carne.

          Mis hermanos y hermanas, Dios no se aleja de nosotros mientras sufrimos la adversidad. No, él está con nosotros en nuestra adversidad y, quizá, para nuestro disgusto, ¡no está siempre con nosotros para quitar la adversidad! Más bien, él está con nosotros para recordarnos que ninguno de nosotros ha sido abandonado por él, incluso cuando, por todas las apariencias y de acuerdo con las normas mundanas, parece ser así. Esto se debe a que la fe nunca fue un campo de fuerza para protegernos de la adversidad, sino una fuerza interior para confiar en que Dios—el Dios todopoderoso que, en una palabra, podría borrar todo el universo de la existencia—ha llegado a nosotros, está en medio de nosotros, y permanece con nosotros, y que, por lo tanto, no tenemos nada que temer: ni siquiera la completa pérdida de nuestras necesidades más básicas.

          En 2009, entre las muchas cosas que me impactaron sobre la adversidad con la que vivían las personas de esos pequeños pueblos, recuerdo que en cada casa en la que entré había un pequeño altar a Dios: un recordatorio de que, en su adversidad, el Señor estaba en medio de ellos. Por nuestra presencia y, espero, por el trabajo que Kris eventualmente lograría en sus aldeas, ruego que también supieran que el amor misericordioso de Dios los estaba guiando a través de ella.

          Mis hermanos y hermanas, mientras continuamos este viaje de cuaresma hacia la Pascua, recordemos que, de muchas maneras, nuestro Señor Jesús está verdaderamente en medio de nosotros—no sólo sediento con nosotros, sino también anhelando de saciar nuestra sed con las aguas vivas que fluye de su corazón—para que, al alejarnos del pecado, podamos ser renovados y dispuestos a regocijarnos con todo el corazón cuando llegue la Pascua: una alegría que ahora probamos aquí en esta Santa Eucaristía.

Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN

19 de marzo, 2017

God with us in our thirst

Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Lent – Cycle A

          In the summer of 2009 I was in Guatemala studying Spanish and immersing myself in Hispanic culture.  There were students from many walks of life studying Spanish alongside me at the school.  A couple of students were, literally, a couple: a husband and wife pair named Kris and DiDi.  Kris worked for Lipscomb University in Tennessee as a teacher in Engineering Technology and every year, he would arrange a trip for his students to Central America so that they could apply their studies to a practical problem: in this case, capturing fresh water from mountain springs and transporting it to villages so that the people would have clean water with which to drink and cook.

          Kris and DiDi were not on one of these trips that summer, but were studying Spanish to make it easier for Kris to make these trips in the future.  Nonetheless, Kris was taking the opportunity to explore potential project sites for the future.  I expressed an interest in visiting one of these sites with them and they were gracious enough to invite me along on one of their trips.  This particular trip was to the northcentral part of Guatemala, near the city of Coban.

          While there, our local guide, Gabriel, explained some of the challenges in securing project sites.  He said that there were a couple of potential springs that were on a property that we weren’t able to access.  We would have to pass through certain pieces of property and the owners wouldn’t give us permission to do so.  He said that there were often fights between the owners and the surrounding villagers as the owner would often cut-off access to the road by locking a gate and would hire an armed guard to keep people out.  I remember clearly how Gabriel remarked that, when faced with such adversity, people’s ugliest side tended to show.

          But it’s true, isn’t it?  That when we are most stressed (and what is more stressful than worrying about whether you will have food, shelter, or clean water to drink?) we tend to get very defensive and we begin to treat those around us more like our enemies than our neighbors.  All of our good upbringing can sometimes go out the window, it seems, when adversity sets in and our basic needs are threatened.

          This fact was on display in today’s first reading.  In spite of all that God had done for the Israelites—in spite of all of the powerful signs he had worked while they were slaves in Egypt and when he led them out of Egypt—as soon as they run out of a certain necessity on their way to the land in which God promised to settle them, they begin to grumble against God.  No, the powerful miracles that God worked did not solidify in them an unbreakable trust in God.  Rather, when faced with adversity, instead of trusting in God’s care and making acts of faith that God would provide for them in their need, they gave into their fear and began to verbally attack Moses, accusing him of leading them out into the desert to die.
          Moses, on his part, gives in to fear, as well.  Instead of assuring the people that God would provide and then turning and asking God for a sign, Moses immediately turns and cries out to God to be saved from their violent threats against him.  God, of course, provided a miraculous flow of water to satisfy their worldly thirst, but the damage had been done.  So much so that they named the place, not for the miraculous flow of water, but for the doubting and testing of God that took place there.  The Scriptures even record the question that was on their lips in this time of adversity: “Is the Lord in our midst or not?”  Adversity, it seems, caused them to forget even the most powerful works of God and in their fear, they turned against him.

          A few millennia later, we can look back and ask, “After all that God had done for them, how could they fall into fear like that?”  The reality is, however, that we often do the same.  Even though we enjoy so many advantages in our lives—advantages for which, perhaps, we regularly take time to give thanks to God—when adversity hits, we suddenly forget how God has provided for us and we assume, rather, that he has abandoned us.  Perhaps we lose our job (or maybe our house… or maybe both), or a relationship disintegrates, or a tragedy takes the life of one of our loved ones, or maybe even a combination of these things… All of these things threaten our most basic necessities and so cause us to experience great anxiety and stress.  And instead of turning to God and making acts of faith that the one who has always provided for us will continue to provide for us, we rather turn against God: perhaps even asking ourselves “Is the Lord in our midst or not?”  Adversity, it seems, causes us, too, to forget even the most powerful works of God.

          In our Gospel reading, however, God gives us a definitive answer to our question in adversity.  The Samaritan woman comes to the well.  Why?  Because she’s thirsty of course.  There, at an obscure time of the day when she didn’t think that she’d encounter anyone, she meets our Lord and he makes a simple request: “Give me a drink.”  Over the centuries many a scholar and many a preacher has taken these words of the Lord and interpreted them to mean that our Lord was really expressing his thirst for her salvation; and this is a beautiful interpretation that I wouldn’t dare deny to be true.  But today I want us to hear these words in the context of accompaniment—as an answer, that is, to our question in adversity: “Is the Lord in our midst or not?”  In this exchange with the Samaritan woman, our Lord reveals himself as the Christ; but he first reveals himself to her as one who thirsts with her.  In this way, when he reveals himself as the Christ, he then also reveals himself as Emmanuel—that is, God with us: thus, definitively answering the question “Is the Lord in our midst or not?” with “Yes.  Here I am.”  As we heard, from this revelation, the woman no longer sought to fill her jar, but rather left it to go tell all of her fellow townspeople this incredibly good news.

          In our own lives, how often do we overlook our Lord in our midst because, instead of looking for him in our adversity with us, we are trying to find him outside of it?  We’ve stumbled and fallen into a deep well and the whole time we are looking up and crying out “Lord, why aren’t you here to help me?”, when often all we need to do is look to our right or our left to see that he is right there at the bottom of the well with us.  We think that, because we fell in the well that he was not with us and we forget that he has always revealed himself to be Emmanuel—God with us.  We think, “He couldn’t possibly be here in this mess with me”, completely forgetting that this is exactly what he decided to do when he became one of us, in the flesh.

          My brothers and sisters, God does not stand far off from us while we are suffering adversity.  No, he is with us in our adversity and, perhaps, much to our chagrin, he is not always with us to take the adversity away!  Rather, he is with us to remind us that none of us have been abandoned by him, even when, by all appearances and according to worldly standards, it appears to be so.  This is because faith was never meant to be a force field to shield us from adversity, but rather an inner strength to trust that God—the all-powerful God who, in one word, could wipe the whole universe from existence—has come to us, is in our midst, and remains with us, and that, therefore, we have nothing to fear: not even the complete loss of our most basic necessities.

          Back in 2009, among the many things that struck me about the adversity with which the people in those small villages lived, I remember noticing that in every house into which I walked, there was a little altar to God: a reminder that, in their adversity, the Lord was in their midst.  By our presence and, I expect, by the work that Kris would eventually accomplish in their villages, I pray that they also knew that God’s merciful love was leading them through it.

          My brothers and sisters, as we continue this Lenten journey towards Easter, let us remember that, in so many ways, our Lord Jesus is truly in our midst—not only thirsting with us, but also longing to slake our thirst with the living waters that flow from his heart—so that, turning away from sin, we may be renewed and ready to rejoice whole-heartedly when Easter comes: a joy that we taste even now here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 19^th, 2017

Sentirse incómodo

Homilía: 32º Domingo en el Tiempo Ordinario – Ciclo B

          Una de las experiencias más conmovedoras que he tenido durante mi tiempo estudiando español en Guatemala ocurrió cuando yo fui en un viaje con otros dos estudiantes y un intérprete para visitar un par de pequeños pueblos al norte de la ciudad Guatemalteca de Cobán. Estos pueblos no tenían una fuente de agua potable y uno de los estudiantes con los que he viajado, Christopher, era un ingeniero que trabajó para diseñar sistemas simples para llevar agua potable de una fuente más alto de la montaña hasta el pueblo para su uso. Viajamos allí para que Christopher podría inspeccionar las fuentes potenciales de agua y hablar con los líderes de las aldeas sobre cómo cooperar en traer agua potable a su aldea.

          Después de comprobar de una fuente potencial de agua por la mañana temprano, hicimos nuestro camino hasta el pueblo para reunirse con la gente y hablar con sus líderes. Llegamos a la hora del almuerzo y ellos habían preparado una comida para nosotros. Todo el mundo se reunió en la sala de la comunidad y nos sentamos en la mesa principal. Luego nos sirvieron una sopa sencilla con la carne. Mientras tanto, todo el mundo miraba a comer. Era bastante incómodo para mí y yo no tenía ganas de comer, pero nuestro intérprete se inclinó y me hizo saber que la carne era algo que la gente de la aldea rara vez comían porque era muy caro y que no podían han brindado suficiente para alimentar a todo el mundo. Así que, me comí cortésmente mientras los demás miraban.

          Yo estaba muy conmovido por el gesto de hospitalidad y cuando pienso en la pobre viuda de Sarepta no puedo evitar recordar la hospitalidad que recibí de esas personas pobres en Guatemala. Y yo ni siquiera era el importante! Estas personas, sin embargo, me honraron como su invitado como la viuda de Sarepta honró a Elías, a pesar de lo que eso significaría para ella y para su hijo. La viuda consideraba su deber de hospitalidad primeramente y así lo hizo esta gente en Guatemala.

          Lo que me conmovió más, creo, era lo incómodo que me hizo. Claro, nunca he gustado ser el centro de atención, pero esto era diferente. Mi malestar estaba en el hecho de que me había convertido muy consciente de lo mucho que tenía y lo poco que tenían. Me había conducido a su pueblo en un camión alquilado. Estas personas probablemente no tienen un camión para compartir entre ellos y probablemente no tenía los medios para poner combustible en el mismo para que siga funcionando, incluso si lo hicieran. Yo tenía una ducha de agua caliente en la mañana, pero se bañan en el agua de lluvia que recogen de sus techos. Sin embargo, que me sirvió sopa con carne y luego me miraban comerlo porque no podían darse el lujo de hacer lo suficiente para todo el mundo! Y yo ni siquiera podía ofrecerles la promesa de lluvia para mantener su suministro de agua! Recuerdo que me sentí como los escribas que Jesús acusa de hacerse importante y de "echarse sobre los bienes de las viudas".

          Y no era sólo ese día, tampoco. De hecho, este pasaje del Evangelio siempre me hace sentir incómodo. Esto es porque yo sé que lo que doy para apoyar nuestra parroquia, la Iglesia en general, y de los pobres proviene de lo que sobra. Me esfuerzo por ser generoso, por supuesto, pero aun así es lo que sobra. Por lo tanto, mi conciencia me reta cuando reflexiono sobre pasajes del Evangelio como éste que leemos hoy. "No se está dando hasta el punto de sacrificar" mi conciencia me dice. "Pero puede ser un montón de dinero", razono con mi conciencia: "¿Qué Dios realmente quiere que yo lo doy todo?" Y no puedo dejar de pensar que esta parte, al menos—parte de decidir cuánto que debería estar dando—sería mucho más fácil si yo no tenía tanto.

          Algunos de nosotros, yo sé, están dando como la viuda. Usted está haciendo sacrificios para seguir dando a la Iglesia ya los pobres y usted debe sentirse elogiado por hacerlo. Sólo puedo imaginar lo difícil que debe ser para tratar de mantener un nivel constante de dar si usted está en un ingreso fijo, si usted está subempleada, o si usted está pagando las facturas de educación. Si este sacrificio intencional proviene de su sentido del deber hacia Dios y la Iglesia, entonces usted está ciertamente almacenando tesoros en el cielo.

          La mayoría de nosotros, sin embargo, dar de lo que sobra. Algunos de nosotros son minimalistas: tememos nuestra seguridad financiera o le damos en egoísta avaricia (o un poco de ambos) y así le damos tan poco como sea necesario con el fin de sentir como que hemos hecho nuestro deber. Este tipo de sentido minimalista de "deber" es piedad falsa, sin embargo, porque revela una falta de confianza en Dios. Muchos de nosotros, sin embargo, dar generosamente. Y debemos ser elogiado si esa entrega generosa realmente proviene de un sentido del deber hacia Dios y la Iglesia. Sin embargo, no estamos, quizás, en el punto de tener que sacrificar algo para que podamos dar.

          Mira, no estoy diciendo que debemos dar hasta el punto del sacrificio sólo para que podamos decir que lo hagamos y así sentirse justificado ante Dios. Lo que estoy diciendo, más bien, es que, al dar al punto de sacrificio, nos acercamos a una más confianza absoluta en Dios. En otras palabras, dando hasta el punto de sacrificio no es sólo un deber, pero tiene beneficios espirituales. Y este tipo de donaciones basado en la confianza es mucho más agradable a los ojos de Dios. La viuda de Sarepta de la viuda en el templo son dos grandes ejemplos de esto. Ambos abandonaron su última porción de la seguridad a Dios—y, por lo tanto, se dieron completamente dependiente de él para satisfacer sus necesidades—y ambos fueron recompensados por su fe.

          Mis hermanos y hermanas, si todavía no hemos dado al punto de sacrificio, entonces tal vez el Evangelio de hoy hará que nos sintamos un poco incómodo. Debido a resolver este malestar, tendremos que dejarnos ser desafiado: que hacernos preguntas difíciles como "¿Cuánto confío en Dios?" y "¿Estoy dispuesto a darle todo si le pide por ello?" Desafortunadamente, no hay respuestas simples a estas preguntas, solamente un ejemplo a seguir: Jesús en la cruz. La fe total de Jesús en el Padre fue lo que hizo posible que él de soportar el sufrimiento de la cruz. Por lo tanto, cuando nos acercamos a este altar hoy para recibir el fruto de este sacrificio, oremos para que Dios nos dé esa misma fe, para que nosotros, también, podría darnos por completo a él y así compartimos la recompensa ganada para nosotros por Jesús : la vida eterna.

Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN

8 de noviembre, 2015

Feeling uncomfortable

Homily: 32^nd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          One of the most moving experiences that I had during my time studying Spanish in Guatemala happened when I tagged along on a trip with two other students and an interpreter to visit a couple of small villages north of the Guatemalan city of Coban.  These villages didn’t have a source of fresh water and one of the students with whom I travelled, Christopher, was an engineer who worked to design simple systems to bring fresh water from a source higher in the mountain down to the village for them to use.  We travelled there so that Christopher could inspect potential sources of water and talk to the leaders in the villages about how to cooperate in bringing fresh water to their village.

          After checking out a potential water source early in the morning, we made our way down to the village to meet with the people and talk with their leaders.  We arrived around lunch time and they had prepared a meal for us.  Everyone gathered in the community hall and we were seated at the head table.  We were then served a simple soup with meat.  Meanwhile, everyone else watched us eat.  It was rather awkward for me and I didn’t really want to eat, but our interpreter leaned over and let me know that meat was something that the people of the village rarely ate because it was so expensive and that they couldn’t have afforded enough to feed everybody.  So, I politely ate while the others watched.

          I was really moved by that gesture of hospitality and when I think of the poor widow of Zarephath I can’t help but be reminded of the hospitality that I received from those poor folks in Guatemala.  And I wasn’t even the important one!  I had just tagged along!  These folks, nonetheless, honored me as their guest like the widow of Zarephath honored Elijah, in spite of what that would mean for herself and for her son.  The widow considered her duty to hospitality first and so did these folks in Guatemala.

          What moved me most, I think, was just how uncomfortable it made me.  Sure, I’ve never liked being the center of attention, but this was different.  My discomfort was in the fact that I had become acutely aware of just how much I had and just how little they had.  I had driven to their village in a rented truck.  These people probably didn’t have a truck to share between them and probably didn’t have the means to put fuel in it to keep it running, even if they did.  I had a hot shower in the morning, but they bathe in rainwater that they collect off of their roofs.  Yet they served me soup with meat in it and then watched me eat it because they couldn’t afford to make enough for everybody!  And I couldn’t even offer them the promise of rain to maintain their water supply!  I remember feeling like the scribes whom Jesus accuses of making themselves important and of “devouring the houses of widows”.

          And it wasn’t just that day, either.  In fact, this Gospel passage always makes me feel uncomfortable.  This is because I know that what I give to support our parish, the greater Church, and the poor comes from my surplus.  I strive to be generous, of course, but it’s still my surplus.  Thus, my conscience challenges me whenever I reflect on passages in the Gospel like this one that we read today.  “You’re not giving to the point of sacrifice” my conscience tells me.  “But it can be a lot of money”, I reason with my conscience: “Does God really want me to give it all?”  And I can’t help but think that this part, at least—the part of deciding how much I should be giving—would be a lot easier if I didn’t have so much.

          Some of us, I know, are giving like the widow.  You are making sacrifices to continue giving to the Church and the poor and you should feel commended for doing so.  I can only imagine how difficult it must be to try and maintain a steady level of giving if you are on a fixed income, if you’re underemployed, or if you’re paying education bills.  If this willful sacrifice comes from your sense of duty to God and to the Church, then you are certainly storing up treasure in heaven.

          Most of us, however, give from our surplus.  Some of us are minimalists: we fear our financial security or we give into self-serving greed (or a little of both) and so we give as little as is necessary so as to feel like we’ve done our duty.  This kind of minimalist sense of “duty” is false piety, however, because it betrays a lack of trust in God.  Many of us, however, give very generously!  And we should be commended if that generous giving truly comes from a sense of duty to God and to the Church.  Yet we’re not, perhaps, at the point of having to sacrifice something so that we can give.

          Now, I’m not saying that we should give to the point of sacrifice just so that we can say that we do and thus feel justified before God.  What I am saying, rather, is that, in giving to the point of sacrifice, we approach a more absolute trust in God.  This kind of trust-based giving is much more pleasing in the eyes of God.  The widow from Zarephath and the widow in the Temple are both great examples of this.  Both gave up their last bit of security to God—and, thus, made themselves completely reliant on him to provide for their needs—and both were rewarded for their faith.

          My brothers and sisters, if we have not yet given to the point of sacrifice, then perhaps today’s Gospel will cause us to feel a little unsettled.  Because to resolve this discomfort, we will have to allow ourselves to be challenged: to ask ourselves hard questions like “How much do I trust in God” and “Am I ready to give him everything if he asks for it?”  Unfortunately, there are no simple answers to these questions, only an example to follow: Jesus on the cross.  Jesus’ total faith in the Father was what made it possible for him to bear the suffering of the cross.  Therefore, as we approach this altar today to receive the fruit of this sacrifice, let us pray that God would give us that same faith so that we, too, might give ourselves completely to him and thus share in the reward won for us by Jesus: eternal life.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – November 8^th, 2015

Frustrado? Bien. Presta atención.

Homilía: el 23º Domingo en el Tiempo Ordinario – Ciclo B

          Hace un par de años, cuando regresé a Guatemala para trabajar en mis habilidades en español, me fui de nuevo al mismo lugar donde yo había estudiado inicialmente mientras yo estaba en el seminario. Recuerdo que una de las cosas que me llamó la atención acerca de mi nueva visita era lo frustrante que la vida parecía ser para el pueblo guatemalteco. Todas las cosas de infraestructura que hacen nuestras vidas aquí relativamente cómodas—cosas como, buenas carreteras, nuevos carros, tiendas de conveniencia, y cosas así—son relativamente poco desarrollado allá (si están aún desarrollados en absoluto). Me imaginaba que esto significaba que sus vidas cotidianas son probablemente llenos de frustraciones en su intento de lograr lo que yo consideraría las tareas más simples; porque, por ejemplo, tal vez la electricidad se apaga, o la gasolinera era sin combustible, o la carretera se ha estropeado por la inundación anoche. Ellos, que supone, son una gente muy familiarizados con la frustración.

          En algún nivel, sin embargo, todos nosotros estamos familiarizados con la frustración de una forma u otra. Cuando el lápiz se queda sin tinta, o su cupón ha caducado, o dejar las sobras de la mesa en el restaurante... todos estos son ejemplos de cómo experimentamos frustraciones, incluso en las cosas más pequeñas de nuestra vida cotidiana. Ahora, tan extraño como esto pueda parecer, quiero proponer a ustedes que todas esas frustraciones tienen un propósito. "¿Un propósito? Padre, frustraciones son las cosas que se interponen en el camino de lograr otras cosas. En otras palabras, frustraciones se interponen en el camino de cumplir un propósito, así que ¿cómo podrían ellos mismos tener un propósito?" Aunque no lo crean, las frustraciones son destinadas a ser una señal para nosotros que algo no está bien. En otras palabras, de la misma manera que el dolor que sentimos en nuestra mano cuando nos toca una estufa caliente tiene como propósito que nos advierten que estamos haciendo algo para dañar a nosotros mismos, así también frustraciones tienen como propósito recordarnos que el mundo está "fuera de orden".

          ¿Por qué tenemos que recordar que el mundo está "fuera de orden"? Pues porque nuestras almas anhelan siempre que las cosas sean "en orden". Pensemos en esto por un ratito: si estar "fuera de orden" fue la manera que las cosas tenían que ser, entonces no se sienten frustrados, porque todo parece ser del mismo modo que se supone que ser. Por ejemplo, en un mundo donde "fuera de orden" es la manera que las cosas se supone que ser, si yo fuera a sufrir un pinchazo durante un viaje que no conseguiría frustrado porque yo sería capaz de decirme a mí mismo: "Bueno, yo esperaba que esto suceda porque así es como funciona el mundo. Pero “fuera de orden” no es el "orden" de las cosas, y por eso se sienten frustrados cuando "fuera de orden" cosas sucedan. Instintivamente sabemos que "fuera de orden" no está bien y lo que experimentamos malestar cuando nos encontramos con esto como una señal para recordarnos que no es bueno.

          Y esto es tan importante para nosotros, y aquí es por qué. Cuando pienso en ello, me parece que hay dos formas básicas que nos encargarnos con la frustración: 1) nos enfrentamos y tratamos de superarla (es decir, tratamos de poner de nuevo "en orden" lo que es "fuera de orden ") o 2) nos resignamos a la frustración y así damos por vencidos en tratar de superarlo por completo (en otras palabras, aceptamos que estar frustrado con "fuera de orden" es la única manera en que podemos ser). Debido a que hay tantas cosas que están fuera de nuestro control en este mundo, es más frecuente que nos encargamos con la frustración en el segundo manera que he descrito. El peligro de esto es que, si nos enfrentamos constantemente frustraciones, podríamos perder rápidamente la esperanza de que algo, realmente, nunca podría ser "en orden" de nuevo. Esto nos puede llevar a la apatía, que adormece nuestro sentido de frustración, haciéndonos así a olvidar que existe un "orden" ideal para el que debemos esforzarnos, y "fuera de orden" se convierte en las "cosas como se supone que ser".

          En la primera lectura, escuchamos una proclamación alentadora de Isaías. En su proclama, él está hablando de cómo Dios está llegando a vindicar su pueblo de sus enemigos, y él está utilizando términos de restauración: es decir, de la restauración de las cosas que están "fuera de orden" con el fin de ponerlos de nuevo "en orden". En otras palabras, Isaías está diciendo que, cuando llegue la vindicación de Dios, las cosas que habían estado fuera de orden—como los ojos que no vean, los oídos que no oyen, las piernas que no se pueden utilizan para saltar y lenguas que no pueden hablar—se restaurarán a la orden—para los ciegos verán, los sordos oirán, el cojo saltará, y el mudo hablará. Proclamó esto a ellos para que no se volverían resignado a aceptar lo que no podían cambiar y convertirse así en apáticos a como "fuera de orden" estaba todo. Debido a que, a los ojos de Dios, era mejor para las personas a tener un sentido saludable de frustración, porque eso sería mantenerlos anhelo por el orden que planeaba restaurar para ellos; y así fortalecería su fe.

          Como cristianos sabemos que Dios envió a su Hijo Jesús para vindicarnos a nuestros enemigos y así restablecer el orden en el mundo; y las historias grabadas para nosotros en los Evangelios son para apoyar esta afirmación. Hoy nos enteramos de cómo Jesús abrió los oídos de un hombre que era sordo y de cómo él liberó la lengua de ese mismo hombre que también era tartamudo. Esta fue una señal de que Jesús había venido a vindicar al pueblo de Dios como él vuelve a poner "en orden" lo que fue "fuera de orden" en este hombre. En este también vemos que, cuando Jesús trae la restauración, hace que sea personal. Lo que quiero decir es esto: en vez de sanar a este hombre delante de toda la multitud para que todos pudieran ver, toma al hombre a un lado, lejos de la multitud, antes de que lo cura. El interés de Jesús fue en la restauración a este hombre lo que, tal vez, nunca tuvo—la capacidad de escuchar y de hablar—y no en hacer una escena delante de la multitud. De esta manera nos muestra que él quiere conocer a cada uno de nosotros, en lo personal, a fin de poner de nuevo "en orden" lo que es "fuera de orden" en nuestras vidas: y así liberarnos de lo que nos oprime y nos restituye a la plenitud de vida.

          Por lo tanto, mis hermanos y hermanas, no tengamos miedo de traer los mayores frustraciones de nuestras vidas a Jesús, porque estas son las cosas que son la más "fuera de orden", ya sea en nuestras vidas o en el mundo, y Jesús quiere restaurarlos a la orden para nosotros. Y vamos a aferramos a la esperanza: la esperanza que tenemos en el hecho de que Jesús nos ha vindicado; y que el mundo de orden perfecto que nuestros corazones anhelan—el reino de Dios—vendrán a nosotros cuando Jesús venga de nuevo para hacer nuevas todas las cosas.

Dado en la parroquia Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN

el 6º de septiembre, 2015

Frustrated? Good. Pay attention.

Homily: 23^rd Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          When I returned to Guatemala to work on my Spanish skills a couple of years ago, I went back to the same place where I had studied initially while I was in the seminary.  I remember that one of the things that struck me about my return visit was how frustrating life seemed be for the Guatemalan people.  All of the infrastructure things that make our lives here relatively comfortable—things like, good roads, new cars, convenience stores, etc.—are relatively underdeveloped there (if they’re even developed at all).  I imagined that this meant that their daily lives are probably filled with frustrations as they try to accomplish even what I might consider to be the simplest tasks; because, for example, maybe the electricity shut off, or the gas station was out of fuel, or the road washed out in the heavy rain last night.  They, I supposed, are a people very familiar with frustration.

          On some level, however, all of us are familiar with frustration in one form or another.  When your pen runs out of ink, or your coupon is expired, or you leave your leftovers on the table at the restaurant… these are all examples of how we experience frustrations even in the smallest things of our daily lives. Now, as weird as this may seem, I want to propose to you that all of those frustrations have a purpose.  “A purpose?  Father, frustrations are things that get in the way of accomplishing other things.  In other words, they get in the way of fulfilling a purpose, so how could they themselves have a purpose?”  Believe it or not, frustrations are meant to be a signal to us that something isn’t right.  In other words, much in the same way that the pain that we feel in our hand when we touch a hot stove has as its purpose to warn us that we are doing something to harm ourselves, so too frustrations have as their purpose to remind us that the world is “out of order”. 

          Why do we need to be reminded that the world is “out of order”?  Well, because our souls long for things to be “in order”.  Let’s think about this for a second: if being “out of order” was the way things were supposed to be, then we wouldn’t get frustrated because everything would seem to be just as it was supposed to be.  For example, in a world where “out of order” is the way things are supposed to be, if I were to blowout a tire on my car during a trip I wouldn’t get frustrated because I would be able to say to myself “Well, I expected this to happen because that’s how the world works.”  But “out of order” is not the “order” of things, and so we become frustrated when “out of order” things happen.  We instinctively know that “out of order” isn’t right and so we experience discomfort when we encounter it as a sign to remind us that it isn’t right.

          And this is so important for us, and here’s why.  You see, when I think about it, I find that there are two basic ways that we deal with frustration: 1) we confront it and try to overcome it (that is, we try to put back “in order” what is “out of order”) or 2) we resign ourselves to being frustrated and thus give up on trying to overcome it altogether (in other words, we accept that being frustrated with “out of order” is the only way it can be).  Because there are so many things that are outside of our control in this world, we more often than not deal with frustration in the second way that I described.  The danger of this is that, if we are constantly facing frustrations, we might quickly lose hope that anything really ever could be “in order” again.  This can lead us into apathy, which numbs our sense of frustration, thus causing us to forget that there is an ideal “order” for which we should be striving, and “out of order” becomes the “way things are supposed to be”.

          In the first reading, we heard an encouraging proclamation from Isaiah.  In his proclamation he is talking about how God is coming to vindicate his people from their enemies and he is using terms of restoration: that is, of restoring things that are “out of order” so as to put them back “in order”.  In other words, Isaiah is saying that when God’s vindication comes things that had been out of order—like eyes that are blind, ears that cannot hear, legs that cannot be used for jumping, and tongues that cannot speak—will be restored to order—for the blind will see, the deaf will hear, the lame will leap, and the mute will speak.  He proclaimed this to them so that they wouldn’t become resigned to accept what they couldn’t change and thus become apathetic to how “out of order” everything was.  In God’s eyes, it was better for the people to have a healthy sense of frustration, for that would keep them longing for the order that he planned to restore for them; and so would strengthen their faith.

          As Christians we know that God sent his Son Jesus to vindicate us from our enemies and thus to restore order to the world; and the stories recorded for us in the Gospels are meant to support this claim.  Today we heard of how Jesus opened the ears of a man who was deaf and of how he freed the tongue of that same man who also had a speech impediment.  This was a sign that Jesus had come to vindicate God’s people as he put back “in order” that which was “out of order” in this man.  In this we also see that, when Jesus brings restoration, he makes it personal.  What I mean is this: instead of healing this man in front of the whole crowd so that everyone could see, he takes the man aside, away from the crowd, before he heals him.  Jesus’ interest was in restoring to this man what he, perhaps, never had—the ability to hear and to speak—and not in making a scene in front of the crowd.  In this way he shows us that he wants to meet each of us, personally, so as to put back “in order” what is “out of order” in our lives: thus freeing us from what oppresses us and restoring us to fullness of life.

          Therefore, my brothers and sisters, let us not be afraid to bring our life’s biggest frustrations to Jesus, because these are the things most “out of order” either in our lives or in the world and Jesus wants to restore them to order for us.  And let us hold on to hope: the hope we have in the fact that Jesus has vindicated us; and that the world of perfect order that our hearts long for—the kingdom of God—will come to us when Jesus comes again to make all things new.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – September 6^th, 2015