Agonize to enter the narrow gate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The effects and consequences of being God's prophet

Homily: 20^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          Friends, this week our scriptures give us a glimpse of both the effects and the consequences of being God’s prophet.  In the first reading from the book of the prophet Jeremiah, we enter the scene after Jeremiah has been making his prophecy.  The Babylonians had laid siege to Jerusalem (meaning, they had surrounded the city and had cut off all supplies from outside, like food, from coming in).  Jeremiah had been called by God to proclaim that the Babylonians had been sent by God as a punishment against them for having grossly sinned against his commandments.  This message had demoralized the soldiers and so none of them wanted to go and fight the Babylonians.  Then, to top it off, God prompted Jeremiah to declare to the king that it was his will that they surrender to the Babylonians without a fight: saying that, while the city would be lost, the people would be mostly saved.

          Well, neither of these things sat well with the king and his closest advisors.  The Babylonians were absolutely despised by everyone and so the thought of surrendering to them was unconscionable.  Further, they were convinced that God was still with them and so could defeat the Babylonians if they engaged them in battle.  They knew that Jeremiah was a true prophet of God.  Thus, his prophecies unnerved them, leading them to seek to silence his voice.  And so, we see that the effects of his prophecy were to disturb his hearers, creating division among them, and the consequences were that he suffered severe punishment at their hands (being thrown in a cistern and left for dead).

          In the gospel reading, we hear Jesus declare both the effects and the consequences that his own prophecies will have.  He declares that his teaching will both disturb and cause division, and that this division will not be into broad, loosely connected groups, but rather that it will cut to the very core of every family (a father against his son and a son against his father...).  And the consequences of his teaching will be that he will be baptized in a “baptism with which he must be baptized”, which we know to be an allusion to the Crucifixion.  As we know well, his teaching did disturb and cause division, leading the prominent persons of the day to seek to silence his voice.  Thus, the consequence of his teaching was the severe punishment of the cross.

          So, why is it important for us to hear these readings and, thus, to understand the effects and consequences of being a prophet?  Well, simply stated, it’s because the world is in desperate need of prophets: that is, men and women who will listen to the word of God, observe the world around them, and then be bold enough to speak God’s truth into the world, calling out those who are living contrary to God’s commandments, announcing to them the consequences if they continue, and then calling them to repentance, that is, to turn back to God so that the announced consequences might not be realized.  They are desperately needed because so many people today are turning away from God because they think that the pursuit of him will lead to a dreary and sullen life and so turn to a life of pursuing personal satisfaction, often to destructive ends.  In hearing this message today, each of us is being reminded of our call to be prophets to those around us.

          This “glimpse” of the effects and consequences of being a prophet can be used as an examination of conscience of sorts as to how well we are fulfilling our role of being prophets in the world.  Believe it or not, the first question of this examination has nothing to do with whether I’ve disturbed and caused division, but rather with whether I’ve spent time listening to the word of God.  Are we spending time praying with and studying the scriptures and the teachings of the Church (which are derived from the scriptures and the Tradition of the Apostles), or are we spending more time watching Fox News or CNN (or, worse yet, endless mindless shows on television or Netflix)?  If we are not spending time every day listening to God’s word in this way, then how can we know the message that God is calling us to announce to others?  The answer, of course, is that we can’t; and so, when we (inevitably) observe the world around us (because we’re watching too much Fox News or CNN, remember?), although we may recognize that things are off-kilter, we do not know how to respond.  At first, we may feel frustrated since we sense that we should do something.  After some time, however, that sense of frustration without action hardens our hearts until we no longer feel even the frustration.  Friends, let me tell you: This is a bad place to be.

          The hearts of those to whom God is calling us to share his prophetic message have hardened themselves against him (like King Zedekiah and his advisors and the Pharisees in Jesus’ day).  When we fail to listen to the word of God in our daily lives, we, too, allow our hearts to harden against him, thus rendering us useless as prophets of God and, quite frankly, putting us in danger of losing heaven for having failed to love him.  Letting your heart become hard is the easier way to go, however, since we all know (at least instinctually) that the effects of being a prophet are to disturb and cause division (which nobody likes) and that the consequences of being a prophet are to suffer severe punishment.  Having a hardened heart may lead to a more dispassionate and unfulfilling life, but at least it’s a quieter one.

          Friends, I’ve struggled a lot with heart hardness over these last few years.  I’ve allowed the busyness of the world to over-occupy my mind and my heart and I’ve allowed my fear of the effects and consequences of being a prophet to lead me, at times, to stop listening to God’s word.  Thus, I realize that, if I’ve been a lousy prophet for God, it’s because I’ve stopped loving him; because if I really loved him, nothing would ever stop me from speaking his truth into the world.  The prophet Jeremiah never stopped listening to God’s word and so never stopped loving him, in spite of all that he suffered because of it.  Thus, in a lament after much suffering, he could write: “I say to myself, ‘I will not mention him, I will speak in his name no more.’ But then it becomes like fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my bones; I grow weary holding it in, I cannot endure it” (Jer. 20:9).  One who has a hard heart, who has stopped loving God, does not have this experience.

          Brothers and sisters, the question that faces us today is this: am I willing to open myself to being God’s prophet in this world that so desperately needs it?  Am I willing to open myself to speaking God’s truth to the people closest to me, knowing that it will disrupt them and cause division as well as cause great suffering for me (itself the purifying fire that Jesus came to set ablaze!)?  If your answer is not “yes”, then it’s time to check your heart; perhaps you’ve allowed it to become hardened and, thus, your love for God to grow cold.  If so, don’t worry.  God’s love for you is still a burning fire and the evidence of this is soon to be made present to us on this altar: the Body and Blood of Jesus, his Son, whom he sacrificed for us.  As you approach this altar, ask him to take from you your hardened heart and to give you a heart of flesh that will burn with love for him again: the love that has the power to overcome every trial and suffering on earth and so prepare us for the eternal life of peace which Christ, himself, has won for us.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – August 18^th, 2019

Fear of the Lord > Revenge

Homily: 7^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          Friends, in our first reading today, we’ve been given this tiny little snippet of a much greater story contained in the book of 1 Samuel.  The snippet conveys the message that the Church wants us to receive, but the it doesn’t convey the drama of the moment.  It’s a shame, because it’s a great dramatic moment and I think that we’d benefit from a more detailed telling of the story.  Without going back and reading the whole thing to you, let me try to put some “meat” on the “bones” of the story that we heard today.

          Saul was the first king of the Israelites.  The great judge and prophet, Samuel, was in his final days and his sons were men of very poor character: none of them really worthy to take up Samuel’s mantel.  So the people asked for a king, in spite of the warnings from God about the suffering a worldly king would create.  Samuel gave them their first king when he anointed Saul.  Saul was the king they expected at first: winning military victories and giving the Israelites a prominent name among the kingdoms of the Ancient Near East.  Saul disobeyed the Lord, however, by taking loot from a kingdom that he conquered and thus was doomed to suffer a slow series of defeats before being killed in battle, himself.

          It was during one of these defeats that David came into prominence.  The Philistines (the Israelites’ arch-enemy) were camped against the Israelites, prepared for battle.  They had an “ace”, however, in Goliath and so sent him out to battle the best soldier from the Israelite camp: one-on-one, winner takes all.  No Israelite soldier would step up, except David.  And we know this story: with one rock and a slingshot, David took down Goliath.  From then, David would be a head officer in Saul’s army, winning his own prominence that began to supersede Saul’s.

          Saul, became furiously jealous of David: eventually deciding that he had to kill him.  David went on the run and Saul (with his elite officers) pursued him doggedly.  David, with a small cohort of men who were loyal to him, managed to keep ahead of Saul and his army.  Enter today’s story.

          Here, David and his right-hand-man Abishai discover Saul’s camp one night.  David and Abishai sneak into the camp and somehow get all the way to Saul (the reading tells us that God was working for them, as he had put all of the army and king Saul into a “deep slumber” so that they wouldn’t wake up).  There, David has the opportunity to kill Saul outright... with Saul’s own spear, even!  Abishai, too, recognizes the import of the moment: “God has delivered your enemy into your grasp this day!”, he says.  So excited is Abishai that he offers to do the deed himself.  David, however, thinks twice.

          You see, David was a man whom the Scriptures described as being “after God’s own heart”.  His first loyalty was to the Lord, the God of Israel.  David knew that Samuel, the great prophet of God, had anointed Saul king because God had chosen Saul.  Therefore, David knew that, without a clear message from God ordering him to do so, to kill king Saul would be a grave offense against God.  It’s almost as if David thought, “If God has chosen him, then God must decide his fate”.  And so, instead of taking the opportunity to kill king Saul, he simply stole Saul’s spear and water jug so as to prove that he had the opportunity to kill him and, thus, hopefully, to inspire Saul to end his pursuit of him.  We can acknowledge this as a very noble decision on David’s part, of course, but perhaps we should pause for just one moment to recognize what a truly difficult decision it was that David made.

          Imagine for a moment that you had to abandon your house and your livelihood because someone in power over you has decided that you should die.  You have a small band of friends around you, but day-in and day-out you are in hiding: constantly in fear of being discovered; and, having been discovered, of being killed.  Now imagine that, as you are running, you one day discover that you are in a position of advantage over this person who is pursuing you and you are handed a perfect opportunity to attack and completely neutralize this enemy: could you really resist attacking?  Imagine how angry you’ve been at your pursuer.  Imagine praying to God that this pursuit would end: perhaps even that he would give you a means to bring this pursuit to the end.  Now, there you are!  A perfect opportunity to end this pursuit and even exact revenge on this person who has ruined your life: with his own weapon, nonetheless!  Is it really going to be easy to do the “noble” thing and walk away with only the proof that you could have revenged that wrong?  Are you sure?

          Let me ask it this way: when you are slighted (offended) by a friend, family member, coworker, neighbor, your own spouse, even... by anyone, really... how easy is it to resist cutting that person down when you are “venting” to someone else?  Or do you not almost immediately begin to think about the opportunity you’ll have to destroy that person when talking to others later (or, worse yet, on social media)?  If you’re anything like me, it’s incredibly hard to do the noble thing and to keep my mouth shut, when all I want to do is lash out.  Often, that’s exactly what I do: I enact revenge on the one who hurt me as soon as the opportunity presents itself.

          David, as I said, was a “man after God’s own heart”.  He knew that God’s justice would serve him much better than any “vigilante justice” that he could enact.  He remembered, as our Psalm response reminds us today, that “the Lord is kind and merciful” and so he showed Saul mercy.  He also knew, as Jesus taught his disciples in today’s Gospel reading, that the “measure with which he measured would be measured out to him”; and so he showed Saul mercy, because he believed that one day he may need mercy shown to him.  (Sure enough, he would, one day, need God’s mercy and he would receive it.)

          Friends, our Scriptures are reminding us today to be cautious in our judgments... and especially cautious in our desire to revenge even the slightest wrongs that we suffer.  While we should work to build a just society wherein no one person or group of persons can act to oppress any others, we must also temper our desire for retribution: lest we ourselves one day suffer the same retribution for our sins.  If we have faith that God is the God of justice, and that no offense goes unnoticed by him, then we, too, must leave the ultimate judgement... and the ultimate punishment... up to God.

          Friends, open your bibles this week to the first book of Samuel, chapter 26, and read through this story of David and Saul once again.  Then reflect on where in your life that you could still put more trust in God’s judgment than your own.  Then pray the Lord’s prayer, especially focusing on the phrase, “forgive us today our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us”.  In doing so, you will make yourself more open to living out the grace that we celebrate and receive in this Eucharist: God’s mercy given to us.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – February 24^th, 2019

The terror of the cross

Homily: Friday of the Passion of the Lord

Homilía: Viernes de la Pasión del Señor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christ crucified is essential

Homily: 5^th Sunday in Lent – Cycle B

          In the Gospel today, we encounter Christ in a liminal moment—that is, a transition… the proverbial “fork in the road”.  We know that he came for all people, but as he proclaimed multiple times throughout his public ministry, he came first for the Jews—the descendants of the ancient Israelites.  Nonetheless, his job was to fulfill the task that God had given to his chosen people from the beginning, which was to be a “light to all nations” so that all peoples would be drawn back to God.  Thus, in this reading, when the Greeks (that is, members of "the nations") come looking for Jesus, Jesus realizes that his "hour" had come (that is, the time for him to fulfill that for which he came).

          As he enters this moment he says a number of interesting things.  First, he reveals the utter fullness of his humanity and says, "unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit."  Jesus sees that, while all that he had done so far has been good, he still must hand himself over to suffer and to die if he is to produce the fruit for which he came.  It's the kind of sober thing that you say when you realize that your “fate has been sealed”, so to speak.  Then he says "I am troubled now."  What human wouldn't be troubled knowing that immense suffering was coming their way?  He follows it with "But what else would I do?  This is why I came!"  In this we hear echoes of the letter to the Hebrews: "He learned obedience from what he suffered."  Then Jesus sets his sights clearly on the end: the cross.  "When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself."

          While this last comment refers to the cross, it also refers to an image that any good first century Jew would have recognized; and it is something to which Jesus more specifically referenced earlier in the Gospel of John (we actually heard it read last week).  There, Jesus was speaking to Nicodemus, a member of the Jewish religious court, who had come to Jesus trying to figure out who he was.  Jesus said to him: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”  He is referring to the incident that occurred as the Israelites wandered through the desert on their exodus from Egypt, in which they complained one too many times against God for taking them from Egypt.  As a punishment, God sent poisonous serpents into their camp.  Many people were being bit by the serpents and were dying.  And so, they began to beg Moses to plead for relief from God, who instructed him to make a serpent out of bronze and mount it onto a pole so that it could be raised up and people could see it.  Anyone who had been bitten by a serpent, but who then looked at the bronze serpent with a repentant heart, was healed and lived.

          Jesus refers to this incident in order to make sense of his upcoming passion and death.  In the desert, the Israelites looked upon the image of the serpent, which was a sign of death to them and, thus, the image of the full weight of the punishment due to them.  In God’s paradoxical wisdom, however, the image of the punishment became the source of repentance and healing.  Jesus, in being crucified, takes this sign and brings it to fulfillment.  You see, when Jesus is crucified, the fullness of the punishment due to mankind is effected.  Therefore, the image lifted up is no longer a thing of fear, as the serpent was in the desert, which reminded the people of the punishment due to them, but rather it is a sign of hope, tinged with sorrow: hope, because those who acknowledge their sinfulness see in it one who has given himself over to pay the full debt of punishment due for their sins, and sorrow, because those same persons realize the pure innocence of the one who was sacrificed and that he truly did not deserve to suffer. 

          This image, the innocent one who suffered for our sake, and the reaction, sorrow for our sinfulness that caused him to suffer and die, yet with hope that our punishment has been fulfilled, has become the source of salvation for everyone.  Thus, the image of Jesus crucified fulfills what he said, that “when he is lifted up from the earth, he will draw everyone to himself”.  Anyone, therefore, who recognizes their own wretchedness has only one source of consolation: Jesus Christ crucified.

          This, my friends, is why we keep the image of the crucified Christ on our crosses.  Certainly, we honor the cross itself as the instrument on which our salvation was won for us, but it is Christ, who was crucified on the cross, that gives the cross its meaning.  Our non-Catholic Christian brothers and sisters criticize us for keeping the image of the dead Christ on our crosses, saying that “Christ is no longer dead!  So we shouldn’t show him as if he is!”  But without the image of Christ’s dead body on the cross, the image of the cross loses the power that Christ intended it to have to draw all men and women to himself.  This is because the image of Christ crucified on the cross says to the one who recognizes his or her sinfulness and who sees no way out of it: “Look at the punishment due to your sins and take hope in me, because I have been punished for you!”

          And this, in a sense, is what we have been called to do during this Lent: to acknowledge our sinfulness and to look upon Christ, crucified on the cross, and, thus, to see the horrible punishment due to us because of our sins; and then to repent from them, knowing that Christ has been punished for our sake, and so putting our hope fully in him once again (or for the first time) so that we may not lose the everlasting life that we have in him, through baptism.

          If you, therefore, do not have a crucifix somewhere in your home then you must get one!  Then (or if you already have one), spend time over these next two weeks looking at the image of Christ crucified and meditate on the punishment that he suffered for you.  Thank him for not saying “Father, save me from this hour!”, but rather that he said “Father, glorify your name”.  Then, commit yourself to rooting out sin in your life and to enduring whatever suffering may come your way in this world so as to console his heart, which opens the floodgates of his merciful love for us.  My friends, if you can do this, you will not only prepare yourself well to celebrate Easter, but you will become saints.

          May his merciful love, poured out most perfectly for us here in this Eucharist, bring this good work to completion in you.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 18^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

Jesus the Divine Gardener

I gave this homily at Saint Bernard's parish in Crawfordsville this weekend.  I was there giving a "mini-mission" to the parish.  My mission talk was recorded (well, 90% of it was recorded), so if I get the audio/video from that, I'll make sure to post it as well.

I'm off this week back to Saint Meinrad to begin the Good Leaders, Good Shepherds program with a bunch of priests from my diocese.  Looking forward to being back on the Holy Hill!

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Homily: 3rd Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

A couple of weeks ago, I visited a woman named Mary in a nursing home.  This home was not her residence; rather, she still lived at home by herself for the most part, but about three months ago she had contracted pneumonia and so was sent to the hospital.  Mary’s no spring chicken and so it took her a couple of weeks of treatments in the hospital for her to overcome the pneumonia.  Her doctors, however, didn’t feel like she was strong enough to return home, so they transferred her to this nursing home for rehabilitation.

My visit to her wasn’t a random one.  Rather, Mary had requested to see a priest.  When I arrived I asked her how she was doing and began to inquire about why she felt that she needed to see me.  What I found was that Mary was depressed.  She hadn’t been home for a couple of months.  She missed her cat and, basically, she was homesick.  Add to that the rigors of daily therapy sessions, which for her didn’t seem to be helping her to get any closer to returning home and she, understandably, was beginning to feel frustrated and a little hopeless.  The thing that made her call for her priest, however, was that the administration had told her that she had one week left to show some effort and progress before they were going to cut off care completely.

Thus, when we talked, she would say things like, “I’m tired” and “I’m ready to give up.”  She also said, “I don’t see why God is keeping me here.  I don’t feel like there is any purpose left to my life.”  Then she turned to speculating about God, saying, “Why would God take my two daughters from me and leave me here?” and “I guess God must not be ready for me yet.”  All this time, I tried to listen and offer some supportive words.  Eventually, however, came the deep, fundamental question that she was grappling with: “Do you think that God is punishing me?”

Ever since ancient times, people have struggled with the idea of suffering.  For the most part, suffering seems to be illogical: meaning, the when and how of suffering is usually not connected to any discernible cause in our lives.  In ancient times, including the time of Christ, peoples made sense of suffering by connecting it to God and punishment for sin.  Thus, when the people in our Gospel reading today come to tell Jesus about the Galileans who were killed by Pilate’s henchmen on the very altars where they were offering sacrifices, the question on their minds was “for what sin were these men punished?”  Because Jesus could read the hearts of men, he also knew that some of them would be pondering the same thing about another tragedy, the eighteen people who were killed when a tower near the pool of Siloam in Jerusalem collapsed on top of them.  In their minds, such a random event could only have been the work of God; and since, for the Israelite people, God was good and just, such a work of God could not be the result of malice and, therefore, must be an act of justice, punishing those people for some sin of theirs that was unknown to others.
As I saw with Mary on that day in the nursing home, this notion that suffering is somehow a punishment inflicted on us by God is an idea that remains with us even today.  Even with all of our technological advances, we still have not been able to answer the question about suffering.  Thus, we inevitably turn to where we’ve always turned to answer the unanswerable: to God.  For some, that produces an image of God who is vengeful, cold and distant.  For others, it produces an image of God who is impotent and unable to save us.  Yet for others, it produces and image of a God who just doesn’t care about us.  For Christians, however, it should produce in us hope.  Divine Revelation has shown us that the God we worship is none of those things, but rather he is the God who is all good and just, slow to anger and rich in mercy.  Nevertheless, when the rubber hits the road and we find ourselves in a moment of suffering, it is often easier for us to begin to think of God in one of these other forms.

Jesus, however, turns this thinking around.  When these people come to him to tell him of the men that Pilate had killed, Jesus knew that they were expecting him to say, “Those men must have been great sinners!  Thank God that you are not sinful like them and so have been spared this suffering.”  Instead of saying this, however, he turned the focus back onto them: “Do you think that they were greater sinners than all of you?  By no means!  Repent now from your sins so that you do not suffer the same fate as them!”  Then to emphasize his point, he refers to the people killed by the tower of Siloam in order to show them that his admonition includes all of the Jews: “Whether you are a Galilean or are from Jerusalem, your sins are just as worthy of punishment as all of theirs.  Repent from them now before you die in your sin!”

On the surface, it can look like Jesus is reinforcing the idea that God directly punishes people for their sins.  And so, Jesus offers a parable to help dispel that myth.  He speaks of an orchard owner who plants a fig tree in his orchard.  Now no orchard owner would plant a tree in his or her orchard unless he or she expected that it would produce fruit.  Thus, after three years, when the owner finds that it has produced no fruit, he orders it to be cut down so that the nutrients of the soil could be preserved for a tree that will produce fruit.  It is not to punish the tree that he cuts it down, but rather to preserve the soil so that the other trees may continue to bear fruit.
Jesus’ point, therefore, is not to say that God is punishing people for their sins, but rather that these tragedies should be a wake-up call to remind you to look at your own lives and to root out sin without delay, for none of us know when our final day will come.  And this is Saint Paul’s message, too, in his letter to the Corinthians: For he says that, although the Israelites were close to God in the desert—they stood in the cloud of his presence, they ate the miraculous food from heaven and drank water from the rock—they grumbled against him and were struck down in the desert before they reached the promised land.  He says that these are signs for us to be vigilant against sin and to repent without delay.

The great Christian author, C. S. Lewis, said that “suffering is God’s megaphone.”  In other words, it’s God’s way of getting our attention.  Thus, when we see tragedy—or experience it ourselves—our task is not to question if God is punishing us, but rather to ask, “Am I ready to meet him?”

If your answer is “No” or at least “I’m not sure”, then don’t be afraid.  Remember that in Jesus’ parable there was a gardener who interceded on behalf of the tree that produced no fruit.  This gardener won for the tree another year and promised to cultivate the ground around it and to fertilize it for nourishment.  As we profess at the beginning of our liturgy in the Penitential Rite, we believe that Jesus is seated at the right hand of the Father to intercede for us.  Therefore, if we have survived tragedy in our lives, it is likely due to Christ’s intercession for us before the Father.

Christ is our Gardener before God, the Father, in whose orchard we have been planted.  This Year of Faith is the year that he has won for us to produce fruit and this Lent is specifically a time for the ground to be cultivated around us—to root-out all that prevents us from producing fruit.  And the fertilizer?  Well, that’s the Eucharist.  The Body and Blood of Christ is all the nourishment we will ever need to produce fruit for our Heavenly Father.

After my meeting with Mary a couple of weeks ago I had a thought.  She had been wondered whether or not God was ready for her.  Perhaps, however, what she should have been thinking—which is something that we all should be thinking—is that maybe we aren’t quite ready yet for God.  May Jesus, Our Divine Gardener, cultivate his love in our hearts so that we may fill the world with its fruit and be ready on the day when he calls us home.

Given at Saint Bernard’s Parish: Crawfordsville, IN – March 2nd & 3rd, 2013