"King of the Hill" through service

Homily: 29^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          In general, it seems that boys have a pretty competitive nature.  Couple that with a lively imagination and pretty much any situation in which two or more boys find themselves together and somewhat free from close supervision and you can be pretty sure that some sort of competition will emerge.  This is certainly not limited to boyhood, of course.  Rather, it seems to freely continue well into adulthood (men, am I right?).  One of these competitions in which boys always seem to find a way to engage is “king of the hill.”

          Whether it’s a jungle gym, a pile of dirt, or even a pile of trash, just the sight of something that can be climbed and conquered seems to awaken inside of a boy a “primal urge” to overcome it.  If more than one boy is around, the competition goes beyond just trying to conquer the hill and becomes a competition between boys for who can stay on top of the hill.  As soon as one reaches the summit, another seems to come to usurp his claim as king and to claim it as his own.  Mostly, of course, this is harmless competition that is good for boys (and, often, girls) to engage in, though I seem to remember that it often ends with scrapes and bruises (and probably a few tears): all in the name of being crowned “king” among your peers.

          The Apostles James and John have demonstrated for us today the truth that we really don’t grow out of that competitive spirit as we become adults.  While in the Gospels—and particularly the Gospel of Mark—we are often treated with gaffs from their headstrong leader Peter, today we see these two—the sons of Zebedee—sticking their feet into their mouths because they wanted to be crowned “king of the hill.”  In a bold move for the summit, they approach Jesus, ask to be given whatever they ask for, and then proceed to lay claim to what they think are the most prominent positions in Jesus’ kingdom: to be seated at his right and at his left.  In part, they make a beautiful act of faith, for by asking for the places of honor in Christ’s kingdom, they are affirming their belief that he is a king and that his kingdom will soon be realized.  What they revealed, however, is a lack of understanding of what God’s kingdom would look like.

          I imagine Jesus giving them one of those looks—you know, when you raise your eyebrow just a bit so as to say, “Are you really asking that?”—and he responds to them saying, “Do you really know what you are asking for?  Do you realize what it will demand of you?”  James and John, for their part, have already jumped off the cliff and so they realize that if they are going to crash they’re going to do so dramatically and so they respond, “Yes, Lord, we are ready to do it.”  Then Jesus hits them with the reality check and says, “Well, regardless you will face what I am getting ready to face, but those positions that you asked for, those aren’t mine to give, so sorry but I can’t promise them to you.”

          This exchange, of course, left the other ten Apostles upset at James and John (assumedly because they, too, wanted to be “kings of the hill”) and so Jesus seized this moment to take the opportunity to teach them a lesson about what his kingdom would truly look like.  He says that “Leaders of nations use their influence to dominate their people and make their people serve them.  But with you it must be different.  If you wish to have a prominent place among your peers, learn to serve them.  In fact, let the rivalry among you be about who can outdo the other in service.  Let my example be your guide: for I, your king, came to be a servant and to lay down my life for others.”

          We can imagine that these words hit home for the Apostles, especially James and John.  James, we know, became the leader of the Church in Jerusalem and the first among the Apostles to be martyred.  John, of course, we know as the “beloved disciple” of Jesus who took Mary into his home.  Both Apostles left us with inspired writings that demonstrate that what Jesus said that day truly took root in their hearts.

          My brothers and sisters, our task here today is to recognize that we are no different than James and John or any of the other Apostles.  We all harbor this sense of competition in our hearts and we all have fallen into the trap of wanting to be “king of the hill” so as to “lord it over” those around us.  Kids still ask their parents, “Which one of us is your favorite?”  Teenagers still strive to obtain and secure their place of prominence among the “cool kids.”  Adults still seek to connect themselves to people of influence, such as their boss or the mayor or a state or city representative.  And these are not necessarily bad things.  It actually seems to be quite natural to want to be connected to people we admire and who have influence in our lives.  The challenge for us, however, is in how we use those connections.

          My brothers and sisters, in Christ’s kingdom, greatness and power are not measured by the number of people that move according to your will.  In other words, you are not great when you stand on top of the hill and proclaim yourself “king.”  In Christ’s kingdom, rather, the great ones are those who help others reach the heights of that hill: those who help a kid learn math, or an immigrant learn English, or who give a job to a recovering alcoholic or drug addict, or reach out to a neighbor who just lost her husband after 50 years of marriage, or who invites a friend to Mass who hasn’t been for a really long time.  My brothers and sisters, these are the ones who will be greatest in God’s kingdom because they are the ones who have followed the way Christ laid out for us: to serve, not to be served, and to lay down one’s life for others.

          Here in late October, embroiled as we are in this “election season”, the battle to be “king of the hill” is dominating our lives.  Our task—as Christians and if we are able—is to elect those who seek to serve, not to be served, and then to live that example in our own lives.  My brothers and sisters, as we approach this “throne of grace”—on which Christ’s life, laid down for us, is presented to us—we are strengthened to go forth and to lay down our lives for our neighbors.  And so let us give thanks for this great gift; and then let us go forth in service to find our place on the hill of God’s kingdom.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – October 20^th & 21^st, 2018

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

God can bring us to our best end.

          This is my homily for my last weekend at All Saints in Logansport.  Next weekend (June 30-July 1) I begin my assignment as Pastor of the Cathedral of Saint Mary the Immaculate Conception in Lafayette.  Please pray for me, for Fr. Jeff Martin (the new Pastor of All Saints) and for both parishes during this time of transition.

Homily: The Nativity of John the Baptist – Cycle B

          Friends, we are very blessed today to celebrate this great feast of the Birth, or Nativity, of John the Baptist.  Every year, this feast falls on June 24^th, and the Church thinks it so important that we celebrate this feast, that its celebration is not suppressed when it falls on Sunday: which it does every six years or so.  Thus, after only a couple more weeks of “ordinary” Ordinary Time Sundays, we enjoy another special celebration.

          So, why does the Church consider this so important of a celebration?  Well, certainly because John was such a pivotal player in salvation history.  He was the herald (that is, the announcer or proclaimer) of the arrival of the Messiah (the one for whom the Jews were waiting, who would usher in the fullness of God’s kingdom); and so, his birth—and the circumstances surrounding his birth—mark the moment that this crucial “pivot” begins.  I could spend time unpacking for you how all of those circumstances are meaningful (and if you’re interested, you might seek out Bishop Robert Barron’s homily for today on the internet, as he explores this nicely); but I’d rather focus on two points that today’s celebration seems to make for us: 1) the amazing truth that God works through us, not around us; and 2) that it isn’t how one begins one’s life that makes a difference, but rather how one ends it.

          First: God works through us, not around us.  One of the things that gets overlooked in our celebration of saints is that God didn’t need them.  In the book of Genesis, we read that God created everything ex nihilo, that is, out of nothing.  And so the question arises: If God doesn’t need us to accomplish his work, then why does he rely on us?  In answering this question, we come to better understand God’s plan.  God created us, not to be his slaves, or to be some plaything for his entertainment, but so that he could share with us, his creatures, the eternal bliss of his divine life.  By inviting us to cooperate in his work, he is inviting us to be united to him and to help others to be united to him, too.  Still further, our cooperation in his work makes us feel loved and wanted by God; and his interaction in our world demonstrates his love and care for us.  In the end: God works through us not because he needs us to make up for something he lacks, but rather to unite us to him and so fulfill his plan for creation.

          The evidence of this is right there in the Scriptures: in spite of the numerous times in which God’s plan to bring salvation was thwarted by the lack of cooperation from the men and women he called, God continued to call them.  And, by many numerous persons who did cooperate, he moved his plan forward.  Thus, we come to John: the one, in a sense, predestined to be the herald of the Messiah (though nobody really understood that at his birth): one who cooperated with God’s plan and thus helped make the fullness of God’s plan a reality when he announced Jesus as the Messiah.

          This, in a way, brings us to our second point: that it’s not so much how we begin our lives, but how we end them that matters.  You see, while John may have been predestined from birth for this work that God had given to him, he was not predetermined.  In other words, John could have chosen to resist God’s call or even to abandon God altogether.  Yet, he didn’t.  Rather, he cooperated with God’s plan and announced a baptism of repentance—a cleansing—in order to prepare for the coming of the desperately anticipated Messiah.  When the Messiah appeared, he continued to call for repentance: so much so that he was eventually killed by those in power whom he was condemning so as to silence his voice.  It is because of the way that John ended his life—remaining a faithful cooperator in God’s work—that we honor John and, therefore, his birth.  Therefore, like Isaiah, whose voice we heard in the first reading and who faithfully cooperated in God’s work until the end of his life, John has been honored far above his Jewish people and has become a light to all nations.

          Friends, these same things are true for us.  You see, God wants to work through us.  And for God, how he accomplishes his works is just as important as what he accomplishes.  The what is growing his kingdom by uniting more men and women to him.  The how is through our cooperation.  For most of us, this means sanctifying our world and others through day to day actions: such as, living virtuous lives according to the Ten Commandments, loving God in our prayer and worship and through our love for our neighbor, serving both their physical and spiritual needs and supporting their efforts to grow in holiness.  For some, this also means preaching and teaching and leading others.  For all, however, it is to discern how God has called us to cooperate with his work—continuously, in every stage of our lives—and then continuously to give ourselves to it.

          By continuously giving ourselves to the work of cooperating in God’s work in the world, we will then be prepared to end our lives well.  Friends, even if we've lived many years and have never given ourselves to doing God's work, we can still respond.  Many saints lived dissolute lives only to be turned, finally, to God and to cooperate with his work.  Some for only a small percentage of their life span; but it was the most important part, the end: and it is the end of our lives to which most people look to gauge what it was that we valued most.  Therefore, if we turn, even now, to seek God and the work that he has given to us, he will bless our efforts and we will not be disappointed.

          And so, what is the best way to end our lives?  I don’t think we can look for a better example than John the Baptist: who ended his life by pointing towards Jesus.  Again, no matter how we've lived our lives up to this point, if we end our lives having repented and cooperated with God's plan, and pointed away from ourselves and towards Jesus, we will have finished well.  (Which, of course, is what I hope you have seen me do in my time here: to seek repentance and to help others do the same and to point not to myself, but to Christ.)

          You know, not many of us had auspicious beginnings, like John the Baptist did.  All of us, however, can have an ending like his that leads to glory.  And so I encourage you: pray and listen for what God asks of you; then be courageous to step out and do it, even if it means you'll be rejected; and trust that God, working through you, will manifest his kingdom among us.  Friends, this begins here, in this (and in every) Eucharist, when we worship him with our hearts and are nourished by his Word and by his Body and Blood.

          John the Baptist once said, "I must decrease, he must increase."  As I “decrease” from your sight, may Christ and his kingdom continue to increase among you.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 23^rd & 24^th, 2018

God's plan for the kingdom

Homily: 11^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          One of the most prevalent ideologies of our day—one, in fact, that covers many other ideologies—is that we make can make ourselves.  This is the idea that there is no set plan for our lives and so our job is simply to decide what we want to make of it and then to go and do it.  Our scriptures today remind us, however, that there is a plan, much bigger than us, that God is working around us and with which he wants us to cooperate so as to bring about his kingdom; and that our fulfillment comes not when we make ourselves, but when we participate in God’s plan.  Let’s take a look at what I mean.

          Like all good ideologies, the ideology that we can make ourselves is founded in truth.  Having been created in the image and likeness of God, we have freedom to determine our lives.  This is important: because, without this freedom, we would be less than human.  But where the ideology goes wrong is when it assumes that our freedom begins with a blank slate.  In other words, the ideology that states that we can make ourselves assumes that we can be anything we desire—that is, that, if we are free, we are free from all restrictions—and so we must determine for ourselves what we are going to be and then go out and do it ourselves.

          This type of freedom can certainly take us far; and thinking beyond all restrictions has helped us to achieve amazing things (space exploration being one of the most amazing ones, in my opinion).  It has the potential to lead us to great satisfaction in our lives—like when we set out to achieve a dream and then achieve it—but it also can lead us to the depths of despair—like when we realize that the goals upon which we had set all our hopes become unachievable (or, even worse, when we achieve the goals and find the achievement disappointing).  In either case, however, much is lost because this idea of freedom doesn’t take into account the bigger picture: that there is a plan, much bigger than us, that God is working around us and with which he wants us to cooperate.  This is the message in our scriptures today.

          In the first reading and the reading from the Gospel, we hear about how God’s plans are working mysteriously around us in order to build his kingdom.  In the beautifully poetic passage from the prophet Ezekiel, we heard an allegory for how God will build his kingdom.  From the many branches of the cedar tree, which represent the many nations of the world, some big and strong, others less so, God will choose a tender, young branch from the top of the tree, that is, a nation that doesn’t seem significant, and he will remove it from the tree and plant it in a choice place where not only will it grow, but it will grow and stand tall above all of the other nations.  It will be fruitful, meaning prosperous, and the birds of the air, meaning the peoples of all nations, will flock towards it to nest among its branches.

          Notice in this allegory that the tender branch doesn’t choose on its own to be removed from the tree and planted on the place where it can grow to be greater than the tree from which it was taken.  Rather, it is God who chooses the branch and the place where it would be planted so that it can flourish and become the place to which all the birds of the air will flock.  In other words, the “tender branch” couldn’t make itself into God’s kingdom, nor did it prove itself worthy, but rather cooperated with God and his plan working through it in order to achieve the full flourishing for which God had made it.

          This is the message for us.  Certainly, we can make a lot of ourselves in this world by our own doing.  We will never achieve the greatness that God wants for us by working on our own, however.  Rather, we must recognize that, if we exist, we do not exist for ourselves alone, but for a greater purpose: which is to be part of a plan that is working around us, orchestrated by God, to bring about his kingdom: the kingdom in which everyone will discover the full flourishing of happiness (which is the image of the birds of the air that nest in the tree’s branches).  We become part of the plan when we use our freedom to choose to cooperate with it.

          As the Gospel reading shows us, this cooperation doesn’t need to be very complicated.  In it, Jesus gives us two parables about the Kingdom of God.  “What is the Kingdom of God like?”, he asks.  Well, it’s like seeds sown in a field.  The farmer sows them and they become part of the earth.  Then, through the mystery of nature, they begin to grow and eventually produce fruit.  The farmer, having watched all of this, then comes to reap the harvest. 

          For us, this simple image still applies.  Our baptismal call is a simple one of spreading the seeds of the Gospel in the hearts of those around us.  We do this when we speak about our faith, telling others how the love of Christ has made a positive difference in our lives, and by our good works, showing that the love we receive is an unconditional love that begs to spill out to others.  Then, after spreading these seeds of faith, and by watering them by our constant witness to it, we wait as God then works mysteriously in the hearts where these seeds have been sown.  Soon, we begin to see the fruits of our labors in the form of conversions to the faith or in the fulfillment of vocations to Holy Marriage, the priesthood and the religious life: all of which are the harvested fruits of the Kingdom of God.

          In the second parable, Jesus again describes the Kingdom in simple terms.  He says that the Kingdom of God is like a mustard seed and notes that, though one of the smallest seeds, it nonetheless produces a large bush in which birds can make their nest.  What he is emphasizing is that something small and seemingly insignificant can—through God’s mysterious work—grow into something significant that can benefit many.  In doing so, he reminds us that even our smallest good works—a simple gesture, or a smile, or a kind word in a tense situation—things that don’t seem worth saying or doing—can and are used by God to produce great fruits in the lives of others.

          This is a great example for our fathers here today.  Though rarely easy, the task of being a father is simple.  There is no magic formula except to love your children and your spouse, to pray for and with your family, to teach your family the faith and to give example of living it in your own life, and to courageously stand up for the truth—both in your home and in the public square.  These are the seeds of faith that you as fathers are called to sow.  These are the seeds that God will use to produce a great harvest for his Kingdom.

          Friends, we are free to make of ourselves nearly anything that we desire.  But if an all-powerful, all-knowing, and infinitely loving God already has a plan for our eternal happiness, why would we want to follow our own plans?  Why not, instead, give ourselves over to cooperating with his plan, in which we are promised to find great fulfillment and peace?  Let us give ourselves, then, to this good work of planting the seeds of God’s kingdom: for when we do, we’ll find that the happiness that we were pursuing, has actually been pursuing us; and God’s kingdom, the tender shoot that has been planted here among us, will flourish so as to draw all of God’s children back to himself.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – June 17^th, 2018

Sometimes forgotten sins of omission

Homily: 26^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          One of the blessed parts of the ministry with which I have been entrusted here is to hear confessions.  Blessed because I get to be God’s instrument of healing for your souls when, because of sin, they have been hurt.  It’s not always the most pleasant experience, however.  In fact, sometimes it can be downright frustrating!  One of the frustrating things that happens more than it should is when a person comes in and forgets whose sins it is that he or she is supposed to be confessing.  If you’re one of those people, please let me make it clear for you now: when you come to confession, you are to confess only YOUR sins, not somebody else’s!  Generally speaking, however, folks do focus on their own sins: those things that they have done which they acknowledge have offended God and hurt their neighbor in some way.

          Nonetheless, in recent months, I've begun to notice that there seems to be something missing in the majority of confessions that I hear.  You see, most of the sins that people confess to me are for things that they have done: that is, for offenses that they have committed.  What I’ve noticed, however, is that I rarely hear people confess the sin of not doing something that they should have done.  In other words, not a lot of people are confessing sins of omission.

          Sins of omission are good things that we fail to do when it was in our power to do them.  If we take a look at our world, we quickly realize that, yes, there are a lot of people committing grave sins every day.  Certainly, however, we can also acknowledge that there are a lot of people failing to do the good that they are capable of doing.  This, I would argue, creates a vacuum—an empty space—in which more sinful acts can be committed.  Thus, the fact that I rarely hear people confessing sins of omission means that there isn't a strong awareness among people that these are, in fact, sins (or offenses against God) and , thus, that these are "confessional material".

          Our scriptures today remind us, however, that it isn't enough simply to avoid evil, but rather that we also must actively pursue the good.  In the first reading from the prophet Amos, we hear him declare “woe to the complacent in Zion”, meaning that very dreadful things were about to take place for the people of the southern kingdom of Judah because of the extravagance with which they dine at their banquets, even while their kinsmen (the people of the northern kingdom of Israel) are suffering from the disintegration of their society.  He tells them that, because they have ignored their kinsmen in need, even though they had the resources to do something, they, in fact, will be the first to suffer when the king of Babylon comes to force them into exile.

          Then in the Gospel Jesus tells a parable that describes a similar situation, only in more concrete detail.  A rich man dresses extravagantly and dines sumptuously every day, while a poor man, Lazarus, suffers at his gate, hoping that the rich man will have enough kindness to give him some of the leftovers from his meal.  After both of their deaths their roles will be reversed and the rich man will be the one who suffers.  Nevertheless, this man’s ignorance is further on display when he asks Abraham to send Lazarus to help relieve his suffering.  Can you imagine?  He ignored Lazarus in his need and now he expects Lazarus to help him in his suffering?  How conceited!

          Notice, however, that neither Amos nor Jesus condemn the sin of overindulgence in food and drink (i.e. gluttony)—even though they certainly could have condemned them for it.  Rather, both condemn overindulgence at the expense of the poor one in their midst—the sin of omission in which they failed to act for the good of the suffering ones among them, even though (and especially though) it was in their power to do so.

          Because she was recently canonized, Saint Teresa of Calcutta has gotten a lot of press lately.  Because of this I have been able to learn a little more about this saint and her work.  One of the new insights that I have gained about her life is that she was as much a prophet as she was a charity worker.  Of course we all know her for her dedication to the “poorest of the poor” in the streets of Calcutta, India.  These works of charity that she and the religious order that she started performed brought plenty of attention to her.  She never desired that kind of attention, however.  Nonetheless, she accepted it, because of the opportunity that it gave her to bring the plight of the poor to the attention of those who had the resources do something about it.  In other words, when the spotlight came to her, she used it to help people who were rich to see the poor and, thus, to invite the rich to help them.  In this way, she was much more than a charity worker: she was a prophet.  A prophet who called out the rich and powerful in the world for their sins of omission against the poor.  A prophet whose words are still very relevant today.

          The famous Irish statesman, Edmund Burke, once said that “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”  My brothers and sisters, our inaction in the face of poverty and need is a sin of omission of the same order that our scriptures speak of today.  And so, what do we do?  First, we need to pray.  We need to learn how to examine our consciousness and our consciences so as to see the poor in our midst and to acknowledge when we have failed to respond to them.  Then, we need to act.  Once we see where we have failed to act, we must begin to fill the void that was created by our inaction with the acts that we have failed to do.  In other words, we need to be good men who do something so that evil will not triumph in the world; and (perhaps, more importantly) so that we won’t suffer the same fate as the rich man in Jesus’ parable.  Finally, we need to repeat the first two steps constantly.  Elsewhere in the Gospel, Jesus said that the poor will always be with us.  Therefore, once we've acted to fill one void, then we must begin again and pray to discern the next void that God is calling us to fill and then act to fill it.

          Saint Mother Teresa never thought that she could eliminate poverty by herself.  She was simply trying to do her part by loving Jesus whom she encountered most profoundly in the poor.  If each of us would do the same, that is, if each of us would acknowledge the concrete way that God is calling us to act and then commit ourselves to acting out of love for Jesus, then our world would definitely begin to change for the better.  My brothers and sisters, as we approach this altar to give thanks to God for all of the good that he has given to us, especially for the strength that we receive when we receive the very life of God in Holy Communion, let us commit ourselves to this good work so that God’s kingdom may truly be realized in our midst.

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

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

Be a Dying Seed

          Okay, so I didn't get around to writing a blog about the Cursillo weekend.  It's not because it wasn't a good weekend... the week definitely got away from me!  My reflections will have to come at a later date, though, because this week is already running away from me.  We're definitely praying for the women's Cursillo weekend coming up next weekend.  May God bless the team and candidates with His Spirit!

          One thing that was clear to me over the weekend is that I am continually being called to die to myself so that my life might bear abundant fruit for God's kingdom.  May all of us agree to be "dying seeds" for God's kingdom so that we all might know the joy of Christ's Easter glory!

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Homily: 5^th Sunday of Lent – Cycle B

          Saint John de Brebeuf was a French Jesuit and martyr from the 17^th century.  He was raised in France and it was there that he entered the Jesuit order.  He was a good student and he had an ear for languages.  His work as a student (and later as a teacher) was often hindered, however, because of health problems that he endured.  John would find new life, however, when his superior would send him to work in their mission in North America.  He spent a couple of years with the Algonquin tribe in Quebec, but then felt a call to go out into the yet untapped mission of the Huron nation.

          This was a difficult and dangerous mission.  Difficult because there had not yet been any significant contact between the Huron and the European settlers and so John and his companions had to begin by first learning their culture and language.  Dangerous because the Huron were always under threat of attack from the Iroquois, a rival nation.  John and his companions persevered, however, and eventually over seven thousand persons would convert to Christianity through their efforts.

          All the while, the Huron nation was weakening in its defenses and the Iroquois were strengthening.  In 1649 the Iroquois launched a fierce attack on the Huron nation.  At this point, John and his companions were well beloved by the Huron and so they urged them to flee their village before the Iroquois arrived.  John and his companions refused, however, and eventually were captured, horrifically tortured, and killed.

          This moment of the attack was a liminal moment for John and his companions.  It was a moment of decision; a decision which would have a profound impact on the rest of their lives and the legacy that they would leave behind.  They could have responded to the urging of the Huron and fled until they could return safely; but instead they stayed with their beloved Huron to the end.

          In our Gospel reading today, Jesus has also encountered a liminal moment.  In it, some Greeks come forward seeking to see Jesus.  When Jesus hears of this, he says something strange.  He says, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.”  We might expect him to say either “Great! Show them in.” or “Tell the Greeks that I came for the Jews, so I will not see them.”  The answer that John records for us in the Gospel, however, is not expected; that is, not unless you understand what had been prophesied about the coming of God’s kingdom.

          You see, in the Old Testament prophecies, it was foretold that, when the kingdom of God was made manifest, all nations (the Jews and the Gentiles) would “stream towards Jerusalem” and worship God at his temple.  And so, when these Greeks (that is, Gentiles) came looking for Jesus, he knew that the time to fulfill his purpose had arrived.  In other words, this seemingly harmless request was a sign to Jesus that his ministry of preaching and healing was coming to an end and that he must now go to be killed in order to redeem mankind.  Therefore, the entire speech that follows those words—“The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified”—is an expression of Jesus’ realization of what now must happen.

          Jesus reveals something of the drama of this moment when he says “I am troubled now.”  Perhaps he wasn’t expecting this moment to come so soon and so anxiety over what he will have to suffer grips him.  It’s a liminal moment for him: a moment of decision.  He knew, however, that to suffer and to die for the salvation of the human race was the purpose for which he was sent and so, in spite of his anxiety, he refuses to walk away—or even to plead to be relieved of this burden—and he prays, rather, that the Father would glorify his name.  In other words, instead of trying to protect himself, he followed his Father’s will until the end.

          Each and every one of us has experienced a liminal moment in one form or another: a moment in which the positive outcome depends on whether or not we choose to flee from a dangerous or uncomfortable situation or to endure it until the end.  Perhaps, however, unlike Jesus or saints like John de Brebeuf and his companions, we’ve failed to choose the difficult path—the path of self-sacrifice and discomfort—instead choosing self-protection or comfort.  If so, then Lent provides us with the opportunity to ask forgiveness for these failures as well as the opportunity to choose again to follow Christ—that is, to “hate” our lives so as to preserve them for eternal life—to be the grain that dies, so as to produce much fruit.

          Some years after the death of Saint John de Brebeuf and his companions a girl was born of Iroquois descent who, in spite of resistance from her family and others in her village, would convert to Christianity.  This girl is the woman we know today as Saint Kateri Tekakwitha: the first Native American saint.  She is the first of the jewels in the crowns of martyrdom that Saint John and his companions received; demonstrating indeed that a grain of wheat must fall to the ground and die for it to produce much fruit.

          Of course, it is only God who knows what fruit will be produced when we give our lives completely over to him.  Ours, in fact, is not to know the fruit.  Rather, ours is to be the seed that agrees to fall to the ground and die so that an abundant harvest might be produced.  My brothers and sisters, Lent is the time to once again offer ourselves to be those seeds for God and this Sunday marks a liminal moment in this holy season: for next Sunday we begin Holy Week.  Therefore, let us make the decision today to be dying seeds for God and so to follow Christ, all the way to the Cross; so that we, too, might come to be glorified with him in his Easter glory: the glory that we glimpse—even if only obscurely—here in this Holy Eucharist.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 22^nd, 2015

Are you feeling restless?

          Deep-down, the restlessness that we feel in our souls can only be satisfied by union with God.  Too often, however, we let ourselves seek that satisfaction in worldly things.  Let us not resign ourselves to be of the world; rather let us embrace the kingdom of God, remaining restless until our hearts find true rest in Him!

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Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle B

          As most of you know I used to work as an engineer before I entered the seminary to become a priest.  The first major product that I worked on was a “rear-seat entertainment” system that incorporated a DVD player.  This was one of the first “mass-produced” in-car units and so it had its fair share of problems early on; which also meant that I was getting plenty of attention from my supervisors and from my customers.  I had to work a lot of extra hours trying to resolve these problems and I remember that I often said to myself: “What am I doing all of this for?  So some kid riding in a minivan can watch a movie?  This doesn’t seem to add a lot of value to the world.”  (A close friend would always remind me not to underestimate the value of the few minutes of quiet that the video provides a busy parent.)  Through this I recognized a certain restlessness in me.  My life had to be about something more.  It was this restlessness that eventually led me to begin to seek another path for my life: a seeking that would eventually lead me to here.

          “You have made us for yourself, Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”  Saint Augustine of Hippo wrote those words in the first chapter of his autobiography.  He had converted to the faith as a young adult after he spent many years leading a morally desolate life and so he could acknowledge right up front this truth that he learned through a life of experience: that the comfort of this world is fleeting and that we will never find perfect rest in it; but that we will only find rest when we are perfectly united to the Lord.  Therefore, he could conclude, hearts that acknowledge their true end (“You have made us for yourself, Lord…”) will always be restless.  Thus, restlessness with the affairs of this world becomes a sign of a believer; a sign that leads them to live radically different lives.

          In our reading from the Gospel of Mark we heard the first words of Jesus’ public ministry: “This is the time of fulfillment.  The Kingdom of God is at hand.”  Jesus is proclaiming that something radically new is at hand: the time when all of God’s promises will come to fruition and the reign of God will be restored forever.  Jesus’ next words show us what our reaction to such news ought to be: “Repent, and believe in the Gospel.”  In other words, radically reorient your life and put your faith fully in God once again.  This, of course, reminds us of Jonah’s proclamation to the Ninevites in the first reading in which he proclaimed that the Lord’s wrath was coming upon them and to which they responded by radically reorienting their lives and placing their faith in the Lord.

          Then, Jesus calls his first disciples.  “Come,” he says, “and I will make you fishers of men.  He didn’t mean “hey, I need someone with the skills of a fisherman to help me spread this good news”, but rather he was calling them to a radically new life.  Truly the Lord only knows what made them respond immediately, but I suspect that there was a felt sense of restlessness in their hearts that sensed a place of rest in Jesus.  And so we see that in his prophetic proclamation and in his calling of his first disciples Jesus ushers in a radically new life.

          And so, what does this radically new life look like?  It begins with repenting and believing in the Gospel, sure, but what does it look like in practice?  Saint Paul gives us a glimpse in our second reading.  Corinth was a large, cosmopolitan city and the Corinthians were known for being very “worldly” people.  And so, when Saint Paul describes this radically new life, he describes it in terms of restlessness: “let those having wives act as not having them, those weeping as not weeping, those rejoicing as not rejoicing, those buying as not owning, and those using the world as not using it fully.”  In other words, it’s about remaining restless in the world, instead of resigning one’s self to the world.

          You know, when I look around I see a lot of resignation: people who are trapped in their sinful behaviors (or, perhaps, in their tired old habits) and who are miserable, but who, nonetheless, live as if that’s the best that they can ever have.  In other words, they’ve resigned themselves to be of the world.  A person who remains restless, however, accepts that he or she must live in the world, but refuses to resign to be of it.  Remember the words of Saint Augustine: “You have made us for yourself, Lord…” that is, not for this world.

          And so, how do we know if we are restless or resigned?  First, we must examine our lives.  Am I content in my daily struggles or do I complain, as if my life would somehow be completely at peace if I could live without them?  If I have a job, am I content in it or do I complain about the work and the coworkers that I must endure every day?  If I have a spouse and/or children, do I live with them in peace, overlooking their faults, or do I complain about them and treat them poorly?  If I have a house, a car, or other material things that are adequate for my needs, do I give thanks for these blessings, or do I constantly dream about getting something bigger and/or better?  If I seek contentment (that is, a sense of peace) through worldly comfort, then I am of the world.  If I am content in reasonable discomfort, however, then I am living in the world, but am not of it.  Therefore, I sense the restlessness that only perfect union with God can calm.

          “Oh, Father, I think I’m more of the world than not!  Now what?”  Repent, and believe in the gospel.  Radically reorient your life.  Turn away from seeking worldly comfort and believe that this radically new life—known as the reign of God—is now at hand.  Embrace this new life.  Learn to accept disappointment in this world as a way to embrace the restlessness that awaits its fulfillment in Christ Jesus.  In a phrase: Come after Jesus; for life in Christ is the way.  Do not be afraid to leave everything behind; for it is all of this world, while Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

          My brothers and sisters, I exhort you to be apostles of restlessness so that the joy that radiates from gospel may shine forth from us and thus lead others to turn and to seek their rest in Him.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – January 25^th, 2014